Laverne the Cat, caught like a criminal in the act
Yes, of course … the moment I talk with a lovely woman about how Laverne the Cat won’t come downstairs because there are YUCKY dogs who live downstairs … and the moment the woman says she would LOVE to meet Laverne the Cat … and the moment she adds that she would be VERY interested in providing a dogless home for Laverne … because oh, poor Laverne …..
is the very puzzling moment when Laverne decides to come down from her parapet and join the world, dogs and all.
How do they do that? How do cats KNOW?
I’m now puzzled and baffled and flummoxed and mostly crazy in the head, even more so than normal. How in the world do cats KNOW? This horrid, no good, very awful furball-urping, foot-biting, arm-grabbing, crazy-making cat has decided to become a now and then, semi-functioning member of this no-nonsense, no drama family.
That … that … that Laverne the Cat person found my heart string and now she’s playing it like a moaning violin. My head is filled with every churchy song I’ve ever sung about kindness and compassion and love-thy-neighborness. Just for that, I’m going to dress her in doll clothes and make her drink tea out of a plastic teacup.
Oh, how dare … how dare … but then — of course — what else would someone named Laverne do? Shlameel … Shlamazel …..