Humor Magazine
Part Two: Beware Cats Bearing Alcoholic Beverages; Or Yeah, But Why Does the Car Smell Like Minnows?
By Pearl
Did you miss Part One? It was yesterday! Go on -- we'll wait here!
The cat is waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
After a long day at a new job, one in which I am regularly reminded of how very little I know, it’s like a breath of cold, gin-flavored air.
Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, understudy/stand-in for the Blue Man Group and world-class cat-treat mooch, holds the drink out.
The limes have been, as I like to say, pre-squeezed.
I don’t even take off my shoes but instead take a healthy, mid-week kind of sip.
“AH!” I exclaim.
“Mmm,” the cat concedes. “Yes.”
I take another sip, set the gin and tonic on the window ledge. “What’s this about,” I say, pulling my cap off. I place it on the hook. “I can’t remember the last time you brought me a drink.”
Immediately upon saying this, however, I realize it’s untrue. I can, actually, remember the last time the cat brought me a drink.
Oh, no…
“Liza! Did you wreck my car?”
I run to a front window.
The car is right where it should be, and it looks fine.
I turn around.
Liza Bean Bitey, a remarkably small animal, laughs. “Oh, Pearl,” she says. “How do you find your way home every day?”
I frown at her. “You know I take the bus,” I say. “The 17W, catch it at the – hey! That’s a crack, isn’t it?”
The cat lifts a clever paw, winks, taps the side of her nose.
I pull my shoes off, pick up my drink and walk the rest of the stairs to the second floor.
I look around.
I turn back to the cat. “What’s going on here, then? Why the drink?”
“What,” she smiles. “Can’t a kitty bring her favorite person a drink?”
I stare at her.
“Oh, Pearl,” she says. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”
I take another sip of my drink, make a c’mon-c’mon-c’mon motion with my free hand.
“All right, then,” she says. She jumps up on the couch, pats the cushion next to her.
I sit.
The cat primly wraps a careful tail around her feet. “Pearl,” she says. “It’s time you knew.”
I take another sip of my drink.
Dang. That cat really knows how to mix a drink.
“Knew what?”
“I took your car last might.”
“Liza Bean,” I say. “I swear –“
And the cat laughs.
Come back tomorrow for the rest of it – you know I can’t write more than 400 words at a time!
The cat is waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
After a long day at a new job, one in which I am regularly reminded of how very little I know, it’s like a breath of cold, gin-flavored air.
Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, understudy/stand-in for the Blue Man Group and world-class cat-treat mooch, holds the drink out.
The limes have been, as I like to say, pre-squeezed.
I don’t even take off my shoes but instead take a healthy, mid-week kind of sip.
“AH!” I exclaim.
“Mmm,” the cat concedes. “Yes.”
I take another sip, set the gin and tonic on the window ledge. “What’s this about,” I say, pulling my cap off. I place it on the hook. “I can’t remember the last time you brought me a drink.”
Immediately upon saying this, however, I realize it’s untrue. I can, actually, remember the last time the cat brought me a drink.
Oh, no…
“Liza! Did you wreck my car?”
I run to a front window.
The car is right where it should be, and it looks fine.
I turn around.
Liza Bean Bitey, a remarkably small animal, laughs. “Oh, Pearl,” she says. “How do you find your way home every day?”
I frown at her. “You know I take the bus,” I say. “The 17W, catch it at the – hey! That’s a crack, isn’t it?”
The cat lifts a clever paw, winks, taps the side of her nose.
I pull my shoes off, pick up my drink and walk the rest of the stairs to the second floor.
I look around.
I turn back to the cat. “What’s going on here, then? Why the drink?”
“What,” she smiles. “Can’t a kitty bring her favorite person a drink?”
I stare at her.
“Oh, Pearl,” she says. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”
I take another sip of my drink, make a c’mon-c’mon-c’mon motion with my free hand.
“All right, then,” she says. She jumps up on the couch, pats the cushion next to her.
I sit.
The cat primly wraps a careful tail around her feet. “Pearl,” she says. “It’s time you knew.”
I take another sip of my drink.
Dang. That cat really knows how to mix a drink.
“Knew what?”
“I took your car last might.”
“Liza Bean,” I say. “I swear –“
And the cat laughs.
Come back tomorrow for the rest of it – you know I can’t write more than 400 words at a time!