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It’s
Winston here, coming to you from sprawled out on my back under the kitchen table
in a very bad mood. See, I hate it when that stupid feline sister of mine tells
“her version” of my stories. She might have thought I didn’t
hear her out here, whispering to you about my amazing bookcase ascensions in
that derogatory tone of hers, but I did.
And so I’ve realized that it’s time the world know the truth about
her. I’ve protected her long enough. It’s time you know the most
important facet to her “Liquid Kitty” identity.
Okay, so it’s true that she originally received that name for those super
powers of hers to spread herself out like a water bottle—to melt into
whatever surface she sits on. But it was only on a later occasion that we realized
how very appropriate that name was: that is, we realized Definition Number 2
of “Liquid Kitty.”
It had been one of those days, like today, when I’d been sitting back
sprawled out while Emma pushed the limits with Deborah and The Roommate. I was
in my usual station—here under the table sprawled out with my feet kicked
up in the air.
Emma, on the other hand, was practicing her jumping. First, she’d jump
on the coffee table. Deborah would yell at her, then when she wouldn’t
get down Deborah would get up and remove her. Once she’d hit the floor,
she’d wait until Deborah settled back in on the futon before she’d
jump on an end table, and the whole scenario would repeat. This was happening
in a typical variable pattern—coffee table, end table, coffee table, end
table, bookcase, kitchen table, counter, coffee table, counter…and so
on.
It went on for awhile. Finally Emma made it where she wanted to be—the
top of the refrigerator. She hadn’t been up there much, so she took full
advantage of the couple minutes before she was noticed. Of course she discovered
the amaretto bottle sitting up there. It had crusties on the rim of the lid.
She just couldn’t resist—don’t know why personally, because
I’ve never wanted to try the stuff—but she started licking those
crusties off the lid of the liqueur bottle.
And it was at that point that her Liquid Kitty identity took on a whole new
meaning. She was completely hooked.
Deborah and The Roommate had to wrest the bottle away and put it away—they’ve
never left it out again because of Emma’s disgraceful behavior. She was
terrible—you see, she got completely drunk off those crusties, and turned
into her alter ego in a whole new way I’d never seen before. Her eyes were dilated, she was twitching,
licking herself really fast and repeatedly, racing around the room,
constantly meowing, and absolutely refusing to leave the kitchen.
This behavior, believe it or not, persisted for three whole days, and a week
later when The Roommate opened a bottle of vanilla extract, Emma was there in
20 seconds just from the smell, gluing her eyes to it like the little
addict she turned into. She’s been like that ever since, whenever anything
addictive—but especially when alcohol—is around. Her eyes immediately
dilate and she gets all excited. It’s awful—so embarrassing.
But it’s high time the world knew. Besides, I need support as her sibling.
It’s just as well that she finally goaded me into telling this story,
because it’s about time I said the following:
Hello, my name is Winston, and my sister’s a feline alcoholic.
Wow, that was actually quite cleansing. I’ve needed to get that story
off my chest for a long time now.
Hm, I wonder when Emma will be let out of Our Room again—as usual, she’s
been in there for some infraction of the rules. I hope it’s a bit longer
yet, because I could really use a rest—sharing this deep dark family secret
stuff is draining. So I’m going to sign off for now—until later, this
is Winston reporting for “The Cats’ Eye View of Entertainment.”
***Will Emma find out about Winston telling the alcohol story, or will
she go on telling more average cat entertainments? Find out in the July 18,
2003 “Cats’ Eye View” installment…***
