Definitely NOT a Dead Mouse”

Benny likes to sleep late. Not that I’m complaining. As delightful as it is to live with Benny, I, Freddie, like a little quiet in the morning. When the first light comes through that high bank of windows at 124 S. Main, I stretch, wash and have a little breakfast before my roommate has even opened his eyes.

But this morning, right after a bit of grooming I went to the water bowl. It was entirely blocked by Benny’s head. He was staring at his reflection in our dish. Without moving so that anyone could get so much as a sip of water, he began to talk.

“Do you like my face better from the front or the side?”

“I like your face over by the litter pan so I can have a drink.”

“Come on, this is serious.”

“So is dehydration. Now scoot.”

“Just answer my question.”

I foresaw a day of thirst if I didn’t capitulate. “You, Benny, have a majestic profile.”

“Seriously? Thanks!”

“Eh hem..”

“Oh. Sorry.” he moved. “It’s just that it’s picture day.”

“And?”

It is often picture day. When one lives in the public eye as Benny and I do here in the Cat’s Cradle Adoption Center, the woods (as it were) are thick with photographers. I am particularly fond of one taken by downtown photographer Deb. It happens to be of me, but no matter.

Benny wasn’t the least put off. “And? And I need a picture to send to Kaitlyn!”

“Ah. It’s all clear now.” It was. Kaitlyn was the lovely young lady who had come in the day before. She and Benny had become so taken with each other that I feared my roommate would be leaving in her coat pocket. Fortunately, it’s hot outside, so she didn’t have a coat pocket. She could not take him home, but so wonderfully did they understand each other that she left Cat’s Cradle a generous donation so that the two of us could maintain the high style to which we are accustomed.

Benny was agitated by a thought. “Or does that look too arrogant? I mean, I could send her something else. But I don’t know what she reads. Or if she’s allergic to flowers. I need to send something anyone would want.” He paced a bit, stopped and began to purr. “I know! I’ll send her a dead mouse!”

Tact was called for. “I think,” I said, grooming his ears for him, “a picture of you would be perfect. In any case, since she is a young friend of the two-legged variety, definitely NOT a dead mouse.”