Hissy Fitz (2015)
“Clumsy Quiche I make my way downtown. Walking on solid ground soothes my sour stomach. A few restaurants are open. People walk in and out. I climb a tree that grows out of a perfectly round circle in the sidewalk to the roof of a one-story building. From there I climb a fire escape to the third floor of an old brick building. I leap to a windowsill. The window is open.
This is Quiche’s apartment. He lives alone with an old man named Gary Rodriguez. The man speaks to Quiche in English, but scold...s him in Spanish. At this hour, the man will be asleep. He’s an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort of human.
I mew, and instantly hear the padding of cat paws.
Quiche, a black-and-white tabby with a black jaw that looks like a beard, enters the room and leaps up onto a table beneath the window. He knocks over an empty vase. The sound makes us both flinch. Quiche is one clumsy cat.
“Hi, Hissy,” he says. “You can’t sleep?”
Why does that question always raise my hackles? I should be glad that my friends know me so well.MoreLess
This is Quiche’s apartment. He lives alone with an old man named Gary Rodriguez. The man speaks to Quiche in English, but scold...s him in Spanish. At this hour, the man will be asleep. He’s an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort of human.
I mew, and instantly hear the padding of cat paws.
Quiche, a black-and-white tabby with a black jaw that looks like a beard, enters the room and leaps up onto a table beneath the window. He knocks over an empty vase. The sound makes us both flinch. Quiche is one clumsy cat.
“Hi, Hissy,” he says. “You can’t sleep?”
Why does that question always raise my hackles? I should be glad that my friends know me so well.MoreLess
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