I woke up early Monday morning only to find Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers) already up and sitting at the little breakfast table, a cup of coffee in front of her, a lit cigarette’s smoke being coaxed out a window, Patsy Cline playing softly in the background.
That cat knows how I feel about her smoking in the house.
Dolly and I have an odd relationship: I feed her small, flavored treats so that I can laugh while she stands on her back legs and she, in return, hoicks hairballs into my boots.
I’m not sure it’s an evenly sided relationship, but so few are these days.
Have you met Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers)? Dolly is a rather stunning long-haired Siamese mixture, a sparsely-toothed puddy tat with a penchant for lying flat on her back, limbs akimbo, looking, for all the world, like a warm and suspiciously unseaworthy canoe.
It’s a strange moment, catching your cat unawares. One delicate claw stirring the heavily creamed coffee, her brilliantly blue (and sometimes crossed) eyes staring off in the distance, I walked in as she was singing.
“I go out walking, after midnight…”
Well, except she wasn’t so much singing along as she was meow-meowing along. “Meow-meow mi-meow meow, meow-meow meow meow…” You’d probably have to be there, but really it’s quite disconcerting, catching a cat singing.
She stopped as I entered the kitchen, shifted the gaze that had been out the window to concentrate on the want ad section of the newspaper spread out before her.
“Mornin’,” I said.
Dolly raised her cup and nodded. She knows how I feel about early morning chatter, not to mention the fact that her lisp makes her self-conscious.
“Looking for a job?” I asked.
“Mmmmm,” she said.
“I’ll catch you later then,” I said. I was all the way to the front door before I heard what could only be a cat clearing her throat. At the bottom of the steps, I turned around and looked up.
Dolly was holding my lunch. “Meow meow meow,” she said, which I can only interpret at “You forgot your lunch”.
She tossed it down to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Don’t menthun it,” she said.
That cat knows how I feel about her smoking in the house.
Dolly and I have an odd relationship: I feed her small, flavored treats so that I can laugh while she stands on her back legs and she, in return, hoicks hairballs into my boots.
I’m not sure it’s an evenly sided relationship, but so few are these days.
Have you met Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers)? Dolly is a rather stunning long-haired Siamese mixture, a sparsely-toothed puddy tat with a penchant for lying flat on her back, limbs akimbo, looking, for all the world, like a warm and suspiciously unseaworthy canoe.
It’s a strange moment, catching your cat unawares. One delicate claw stirring the heavily creamed coffee, her brilliantly blue (and sometimes crossed) eyes staring off in the distance, I walked in as she was singing.
“I go out walking, after midnight…”
Well, except she wasn’t so much singing along as she was meow-meowing along. “Meow-meow mi-meow meow, meow-meow meow meow…” You’d probably have to be there, but really it’s quite disconcerting, catching a cat singing.
She stopped as I entered the kitchen, shifted the gaze that had been out the window to concentrate on the want ad section of the newspaper spread out before her.
“Mornin’,” I said.
Dolly raised her cup and nodded. She knows how I feel about early morning chatter, not to mention the fact that her lisp makes her self-conscious.
“Looking for a job?” I asked.
“Mmmmm,” she said.
“I’ll catch you later then,” I said. I was all the way to the front door before I heard what could only be a cat clearing her throat. At the bottom of the steps, I turned around and looked up.
Dolly was holding my lunch. “Meow meow meow,” she said, which I can only interpret at “You forgot your lunch”.
She tossed it down to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Don’t menthun it,” she said.
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21 comments:
Gambling debts piling up again?
Useful cat.
Delores, she just really wants to pull her own weight.
And keep herself in ciggies.
Vanilla, oh, she's a keeper. :-)
...she, in return, hoicks hairballs into my boots.
Spock the Cat here at my house will occasionally bring home a dead bird. Not to be outdone, Sparky the Dog brought home a dead baby squirrel late Saturday night.
Does she clean house too? Does she give lessons to others with a pride of cats?
Sia McKye Over Coffee
Beach Bum, such noble kitties! :-)
Sia, the kinds of lessons that Dolly gives, you don't want to pay for!
Maybe she could find work deterring the illegal drop offs?
Oooooh - NOTHING like the day Liza Bean helpfully packed your lunch! Thankfully.
The Chicken's Consigliere, there's always money in security!
jenny_o, Never trust Liza Bean to pack your lunch. Unless you're INTO mouse-ends and off-track racing forms...
Doesn't she ever pack you the good shrimp?
Dolly is as thoughtful as my mom or grandmother were. Sans the cigarettes.
Hari Om
... hah, she's plotting something... You were warned. YAM xx
It was the Patsy Cline music. It makes us sweet and sentimental.
Well, at least she's handy to have around some of the time. :)
I have a HUGE soft spot for Dolly. What sort of work is she looking for?
Dolly Gee Squeakers is very, um, imaginative. No sure if you have any kids. But if any are on the way, they probably should be concerned.
There is a Siamese-mix that hunts in my yard and sings. Everything with a brain runs away but lizards, well lizards... She sings of joys involving dead lizards and belongs to my neighbor. You're luckier than I am.
"a cup of coffee in front of her, a lit cigarette’s smoke being coaxed out a window, Patsy Cline playing softly in the background."
I swear, David Lynch should direct a movie about Dolly's life. In a pinch David Cronenberg would do, but Lynch would be my first choice.
I wonder what type of job Dolly would want to do, the usual cat jobs such as catching mice will not be her cup of tea, I imagine............
Yes, what Mr. Turnip said!
My house needs painting. How's Dolly with tools and/or potentially messy things?
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