Part Two: Beware Cats Bearing Alcoholic Beverages; Or Yeah, But Why Does the Car Smell Like Minnows?

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!