and Lulu, the kitchen belonged to me and Lucy - only by Christmas, Lulubelle was calling her Screwlucy - and the living room was neutral territory.
The four of us spent a lot of evenings there that last year, Screwlucy on my lap, Frank with his muzzle on Lulu’s shoe, us humans on the couch, Lulubelle reading a book and me watching Wheel of Fortune or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, which Lulubelle always called Lifestyles of the Rich and Topless.
“The cat wouldn’t have a thing to do with her, not from day one.
Frank, every now and then you could get the idea Frank was at least trying to get along with me. His nature would always get the better of him in the end and he’d chew up one of my sneakers or take another leak on my underwear, but every now and then it did seem like he was putting forth an effort. Lap my hand, maybe give me a grin. Usually if I had a plate of something he wanted a bite of.
“Cats are different, though. A cat won’t curry favor even if it’s in their best interests to do so. A cat can’t be a hypocrite. If more preachers were like cats, this would be a religious country again. If a cat likes you, you know. If she doesn’t, you know that, too.
Screwlucy never liked Lulu, not one whit, and she made it clear from the start. If I was getting ready to feed her, Lucy’d rub around my legs, purring, while I spooned it up and dumped it in her dish.
If Lulu fed her, Luey’d sit all the way across the kitchen, in front of the fridge, watching her. And wouldn’t go to the dish until Lulu had cleared off. It drove Lulu crazy. ‘That cat thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba,’ she’d say. By then she’d given up the baby-talk.
Given up picking Lucy up, too. If she did, she’d get her wrist scratched, more often than not.
“Now, I tried to pretend I liked Frank and Lulu tried to pretend she liked Lucy, but Lulu gave up pretending a lot sooner than I did. I guess maybe neither one of them, the cat or the woman, could stand being a hypocrite. I don’t think Lucy was the only reason Lulu left hell, I know it wasn’t - but I’m sure Lucy helped Lulubelle make her final decision. Pets can live a long time, you know. So the present I got her for our second was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. Tell that to ‘Dear Abby’!
“The cat’s talking was maybe the worst, as far as Lulu was concerned. She couldn’t stand it. One night Lulubelle says to me,
‘If that cat doesn’t stop yowling, L.T., I think I’m going to hit it with an encyclopedia.’
” ‘That’s not yowling,’ I said, ‘that’s chatting.’
” ‘Well,’ Lulu says, - ‘I wish it would stop chatting.’
“And right about then, Lucy jumped up into my lap and she did shut up. She always did, except for a little low purring, way back in her throat. Purring that really was purring. I scratched her between her ears like she likes, and I happened to look up. Lulu turned her eyes back down on her book, but before she did, what I saw was real hate. Not for me. For Screwlucy. Throw an encyclopedia at it? She looked like she’d like to stick the cat between two encyclopedias and just kind of clap it to death.
Sometimes Lulu would come into the kitchen and catch the cat up on the table and swat it off. I asked her once if she’d ever seen me swat Frank off the bed that way - he’d get up on it, you know, always on her side, and leave these nasty tangles of white hair.
When I said that, Lulu gave me a kind of grin. Her teeth were showing, anyway. ‘If you ever tried, you’d find yourself a finger or three shy, most likely,’ she says.
“Sometimes Lucy really was Screwlucy. Cats are moody, and sometimes they get manic; anyone who’s ever had one will tell you that. Their eyes get big and kind of glary, their tails bush out, they go racing around the house; sometimes they’ll rear right up on their back legs and prance, boxing at the air, like they’re fighting with something they can see but human
The four of us spent a lot of evenings there that last year, Screwlucy on my lap, Frank with his muzzle on Lulu’s shoe, us humans on the couch, Lulubelle reading a book and me watching Wheel of Fortune or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, which Lulubelle always called Lifestyles of the Rich and Topless.
“The cat wouldn’t have a thing to do with her, not from day one.
Frank, every now and then you could get the idea Frank was at least trying to get along with me. His nature would always get the better of him in the end and he’d chew up one of my sneakers or take another leak on my underwear, but every now and then it did seem like he was putting forth an effort. Lap my hand, maybe give me a grin. Usually if I had a plate of something he wanted a bite of.
“Cats are different, though. A cat won’t curry favor even if it’s in their best interests to do so. A cat can’t be a hypocrite. If more preachers were like cats, this would be a religious country again. If a cat likes you, you know. If she doesn’t, you know that, too.
Screwlucy never liked Lulu, not one whit, and she made it clear from the start. If I was getting ready to feed her, Lucy’d rub around my legs, purring, while I spooned it up and dumped it in her dish.
If Lulu fed her, Luey’d sit all the way across the kitchen, in front of the fridge, watching her. And wouldn’t go to the dish until Lulu had cleared off. It drove Lulu crazy. ‘That cat thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba,’ she’d say. By then she’d given up the baby-talk.
Given up picking Lucy up, too. If she did, she’d get her wrist scratched, more often than not.
“Now, I tried to pretend I liked Frank and Lulu tried to pretend she liked Lucy, but Lulu gave up pretending a lot sooner than I did. I guess maybe neither one of them, the cat or the woman, could stand being a hypocrite. I don’t think Lucy was the only reason Lulu left hell, I know it wasn’t - but I’m sure Lucy helped Lulubelle make her final decision. Pets can live a long time, you know. So the present I got her for our second was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. Tell that to ‘Dear Abby’!
“The cat’s talking was maybe the worst, as far as Lulu was concerned. She couldn’t stand it. One night Lulubelle says to me,
‘If that cat doesn’t stop yowling, L.T., I think I’m going to hit it with an encyclopedia.’
” ‘That’s not yowling,’ I said, ‘that’s chatting.’
” ‘Well,’ Lulu says, - ‘I wish it would stop chatting.’
“And right about then, Lucy jumped up into my lap and she did shut up. She always did, except for a little low purring, way back in her throat. Purring that really was purring. I scratched her between her ears like she likes, and I happened to look up. Lulu turned her eyes back down on her book, but before she did, what I saw was real hate. Not for me. For Screwlucy. Throw an encyclopedia at it? She looked like she’d like to stick the cat between two encyclopedias and just kind of clap it to death.
Sometimes Lulu would come into the kitchen and catch the cat up on the table and swat it off. I asked her once if she’d ever seen me swat Frank off the bed that way - he’d get up on it, you know, always on her side, and leave these nasty tangles of white hair.
When I said that, Lulu gave me a kind of grin. Her teeth were showing, anyway. ‘If you ever tried, you’d find yourself a finger or three shy, most likely,’ she says.
“Sometimes Lucy really was Screwlucy. Cats are moody, and sometimes they get manic; anyone who’s ever had one will tell you that. Their eyes get big and kind of glary, their tails bush out, they go racing around the house; sometimes they’ll rear right up on their back legs and prance, boxing at the air, like they’re fighting with something they can see but human
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