You Can't Iron a Wrinkled Birthday Suit by Sharon Phennah

Author:Sharon Phennah [Sharon Phennah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BQB Publishing
Published: 2018-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

“Kibbles and bits, I’m having fits,” Butterbean mumbled and growled, pacing from living room to bedroom and back. “Humans can’t find steak if it’s in their food bowl, no wonder the world’s screwed up. Gus needs rest, so she climbs on a social merry-go-round. Go figure. Hazel seems to be the only one paying attention, and that’s ‘iffy’ today. Everyone knows she’s going to the library in Centerville with Bruce, but not about her Advanced Chemistry book, and she’s not talking.” The slap of the doggie door interrupted Butterbean’s rant, alerting her in time to deflect a full-steam Grizzie attack.

“Cut it out!” Butterbean ordered, baring her teeth. “I’m in no mood for cat crap! Can’t you see I’m busy? No, you can’t see. You’re too self-centered to notice anyone else. You’re a cat.” She advanced on Grizzie, hackles up, her eyes narrow, shooting darts of disdain.

“Geez, don’t be such an old fart, Corgi,” Grizzie replied, sitting down. She raised a paw, ostensibly for cleaning, but kept it poised to strike in case she misjudged the dog. “You aren’t the only one who’s hip, you know. We cats have a grapevine too, and yes, Hazel’s right. More than false allegations are happening at Mark’s house.”

Mollified in part, Butterbean sat down. Grizzie, taking that for peace, began bathing her paw in earnest.

“I’m sorry,” Butterbean apologized, lying down. “Too much negativity makes me nuts. Gus is a nervous wreck in spite of her social smiles and laughter; Hazel and Bruce are strung out over court; and Marigold keeps Fleming hidden. Everyone ignores something dangerous next door to Hazel, and my Gus is as bad as the rest. Sure, she’s been with her dying mom in Florida, but the telephone works, and I know she was with Hazel when she first saw the starter fluid on one of their morning runs.”

“And this is your business, how?” Grizzie inquired with utmost seriousness.

“I’m a dog, my human is my business. Art, Gwen, Lady, and Daphne are my friends, so their humans are also my business—being too independent is clearly a feline shortcoming,” Butterbean stated, her tone over-the-top condescending.

Grizzie stretched and flicked her tail, creating a snap at the end of each flick like the tip of a whip. “Nope, humans are humans’ business. Cats are grounded in reality. For starters, humans don’t use the brains Deity gave them, and they’re unmanageable at best. We cats don’t burden ourselves with emotional giving back. Our presence and our presents of hot lunches from outdoors are enough. Besides, purring gets them every time.”

“So,” Butterbean asked sincerely, “why do cats hang around? If it weren’t for the emotional bond and my extreme loyalty, why, if I could feed myself, I’d be gone . . . some days, anyway.” Surprised at her admission, Butterbean lay down.

“They’re good providers,” Grizzie answered. “Why would I want to eat sparrow every day and sleep in a pile of leaves under a porch when I can eat the same thing that fuss-budget Persian on TV

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