The following night, he engaged Milo in fisticuffs, causing the bed to shake violently. Lizzie blasted him with her trademark “Time-out.” He mulled it over and wisely chose to let Milo be. He’d been hoisted by his own petard too often to count. Besides, there would be plenty of opportunities during the waking hours when Lizzie was at work. He worried briefly about the trouble he’d be in, but that foolishness soon passed.
Liam’s on-and-off bellicose nature didn’t intimidate Hobbes whatsoever. Liam snuck up behind him with his hunched shoulders and menacing monster face on full display. Hobbes paid him no mind and continued serenely washing up after his dinner.
Liam was infuriated at being ignored. “This is my scariest face ever. Why aren’t you quaking in fear, like Milo?” With Hobbes not indulging him, Liam huffed and went in search of Milo. Now he was a reliable stooge.
Each morning, when the household got up, Milo and Liam greeted one another with an affectionate head-butt. Liam generally awoke in a pleasant mood and on good terms with Milo. Hobbes wasn’t a head-butter and became quite alarmed whenever he saw Milo’s ginormous melon barrelling toward him with bonhomie. If he was quick like a bunny, he managed to duck out of the way, but if he froze in panic, Milo’s head knocked him over in a heap. Hobbes did not consider that a fine start to his day.
With four scallywags to contend with, Lizzie delayed having repairs done in the house. Locking the cats in a bedroom—a necessity to prevent a mass exodus escaping between the legs of arriving workers—was an ordeal. Being on the wrong side of any closed door drove them crazy. They could roam if it was a simple fix, but not if workers constantly went in and out with supplies. Such was the case when Lizzie needed windows replaced. When the workers arrived, she cracked open the front door and said she required a few minutes to corral the cats. They were snoozing in various spots in the living room. Lizzie hugged Hobbes and put him in the spare bedroom first. She’d prepared it with their cat beds and empty boxes—always a big hit. She closed the door and went downstairs to collect her next hostage; however, they sensed something was afoot and were preparing to flee. She caught Liam and put him in with Hobbes. Next was Joey, who was most agreeable and promptly scored the window ledge perch. Milo was not as amenable. He slipped from Lizzie’s grasp like a wet bar of soap, and when she seized him again, he hooked his front claws in the carpet and wouldn't let go, screaming like he was the star in his own horror flick. Adding to Lizzie’s stress was seeing one of the window installers none-too-patiently cooling his heels on the porch. When Milo eventually conceded defeat, he and Liam initiated a contest to see who could drown out the other with deafening yowls. Hobbes and Joey covered their ears and ran under the bed. Breathless from the exertion of hauling four cats up the stairs, Lizzie let the worker in, telling him that putting four balking cats in a room was no picnic.
He asked, “Why didn't you throw them in the garage?” Lizzie watched him squirm when she said she would never throw her children in a filthy, freezing garage, and he refrained from offering further “helpful” suggestions.
The next day, Lizzie had a smack-the-forehead moment when, after hearing of her disruptive day, a friend asked, “Why didn’t you toss treats in the bedroom to get them to go in without the uproar?”
One night, Lizzie was watching TV when Milo trumpeted a shrill warning, causing everyone to jump. Liam was sitting on the couch with her—clearly he wasn’t the instigator. Milo was crouching in front of the narrow window beside the front door, and Lizzie saw what had him unnerved. Batman was staring back at Milo. Twilight had created a faceless Dark Knight. The shadow lowered out of sight for a minute, then slowly rose up in the window—pointy ears followed by the rounded top of its head. Milo squealed and his feet pedaled furiously on the glossy tile. He hovered in the air, legs spinning Fred Flintstone-style. Finally, he secured a grip and sped off as if Cerberus were chasing him. Lizzie went outside to investigate and saw Batman was actually “Catman.” The eerie shadow was a cat with his own agenda staring in the window. Lizzie thought it was hilarious that Milo had been frightened by the head of his doppelganger.
Word on the street was that Lizzie’s house was the place for strays needing assistance. This boy was curious and decided to see for himself. His long, silky-red fur was the colour of a fox. Fortunately, an animal rescue organization was aware of a couple wanting to adopt a cat. After Lizzie trapped him and had a vet check him over, he went to live with them as a cherished member of their family. They fell in love with his geniality and were puzzled as to how this handsome fellow ended up on the street. How was he not missed by someone? It was another happy ending for an abandoned cat, but so many others were wishing for the same.
Cat Naps and Clean Teeth
Lizzie was in awe whenever she saw a snoozing Liam. How could such a conniving brain lie behind that angelic visage? Unless you knew his true nature, you’d think he was a docile miniature lion, with nothing but virtuous thoughts floating in his head.
When Liam and Milo weren’t squabbling, they were catching forty winks together. Hobbes, on the other hand, did not share sleeping quarters. He liked washing their faces, and getting his washed in return, but drew the line when a cat encroached on his territory. Milo pooh-poohed being told he couldn’t do something and wanted to snuggle with Hobbes, who was cozy in his cat cave. He put one paw beside Hobbes and slowly crept in, hoping he wouldn’t wake him. Hobbes was having none of that tomfoolery. He summarily dismissed Milo and shoved him out with his hind feet, thinking that his extra toes were just the ticket for this situation. Milo tried wheedling his way back in but, once again, was turfed out.
He was miffed and whined to Lizzie. “Mom, Hobbes won’t make room for me.”
Lizzie advised him to curl up with Liam instead. Hobbes had made up his mind—he sleeps alone. End of discussion as far as Hobbes was concerned, and he didn’t discriminate. Liam got the same treatment when he tried to trespass on a sofa cushion Hobbes was occupying.
Milo was one sharp cookie. He wasn’t able to sway Hobbes, but he could sniff out an enviable nap scenario in a pinch. When he spied Liam and Joey cuddling, he wedged his body between them. They both washed a side of Milo’s face, unaware he was basking in the perfect setup with his pumpkin head blocking their view of each other. Milo smiled craftily and purred over his good fortune.
Lizzie had one firm rule—cats under her roof would have their teeth brushed daily. That was non-negotiable. She informed her boys that cats are no different than people; they need proper dental care.
“Clean teeth mean better health and less dentistry at the vet. No one wants stinky tartar breath, and who doesn’t love smooth pearly whites?” Every time she delivered this speech to a newcomer, the same bemused facial expression stared back at her.
Lizzie introduced brushing in stages. She lifted their lips to check the teeth and gums, softly rubbing her finger over them. Once they were accustomed to this, she bought toothbrushes and toothpaste formulated for cats. They each had their own toothbrush for hygienic purposes. Lizzie squeezed a tiny amount of toothpaste onto the edge of a small dish half-filled with tepid water. After dabbing the wet bristles into the paste, she gently brushed their teeth for ten seconds. She did this minimal brushing for a few days and then increased to a thorough cleaning every night. They loved the flavour of the toothpaste, and everyone was done in less than five minutes.
The cats liked this evening ritual, but Joey made Lizzie catch him first. She would see him dozing on the couch and then he’d suddenly disappear when it was his turn. He’d either be hiding in the basement or under a bed. To fool him one night, Lizzie nonchalantly talked to Hobbes while watching Joey from the corner of her eye. She was sidling toward him when his Spidey sense alerted him to her subterfuge. He bolted through one kitchen doorway on his way toward the other, which provided a clear path to the basement. Lizzie read his mind and leapt from the hallway to the kitchen door to catch him. Joey saw her at the last minute, and in a slapstick attempt to r
everse, he skidded sideways into home base—her feet. Scrambling to gain traction on the slippery tiles, he looked like Wile E. Coyote defying gravity before dropping off a cliff. His legs were still pumping when Lizzie scooped him up and began brushing.
Sputtering through the toothpaste, Joey declared, “I need a better strategy.”
Oh, For the Love of Food
Liam loved to eat. Really eat. He dove into every meal as if it were his last one. He masticated his food with such gusto that it slopped onto the floor and walls. He resembled a pig rooting for truffles rather than a decorous cat. To contain the splatter, Lizzie put his dish on a paper towel inside a shallow cookie tin. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she told him he was special and deserved a fancy tablecloth.
Liam beamed and enjoyed his meals even more. “Hah! The others don’t get tablecloths,” he said, chortling over his elite status. Some mornings, Lizzie swooped in to wipe his face with a warm cloth, saving him the trouble of washing up. She dried him off and finished with a stellar chin buffing. Liam had come a long way from his previous lifestyle.
Not only did Liam love his food, he coveted everyone else’s as well. With half his meal remaining, he frequently darted to Joey’s dish, which was nearest to his. If Lizzie didn’t chaperone, he’d inhale Joey’s food before returning to his own. Nothing was safe from Liam’s gaping pie hole. His mouth was open more than it was shut. When he wasn’t talking, he was eating. Lizzie never had to ask him twice if he wanted his good-boy treat.
One day, shortly after Liam moved in, Lizzie put freshly baked brownies upstairs in the spare room to cool. While on the phone with a friend, she heard a thunderous crash. She went haring up the stairs and found the glass pan demolished into a million shards. Liam had followed the chocolaty scent and spied the brownies on a desk. He had taken a leap of faith and landed dead center, causing them to topple. The brownies were mashed into the carpet, and Liam was cramming chunks into his mouth. Lizzie swiftly got hold of him and dispatched him to the hall so he wouldn’t cut his feet. Yet again, he found himself on the wrong side of a door and voiced his umbrage. Lizzie stared in disbelief at the terrible mess and her decimated brownies. She loved food as much as Liam and was planning to have a slice with a cup of tea. It took all her fortitude not to burst into tears.
Lizzie had never seen a cat so desperate to eat, and she blamed his former family for leaving him starving on the streets. She resorted to guarding her meals, although sly Liam often snagged a bite. However, Lizzie now had the foresight to shut the door when food was cooling. Liam did not approve of this development, and whenever a mouth-watering aroma wafted from that forbidden room, he pressed his nose to the gap under the door. Despite his considerable efforts, he couldn’t flatten himself enough to slither under.
When Liam wasn’t napping, wrestling with Milo, or being chased by Joey, he was brainstorming how he could acquire food.
Lizzie’s preoccupation with staying on schedule had not gone unnoticed. She was forever prattling on about her tardiness, no matter how hard she tried to improve. Without fail, something went awry. Whether it was a wayward contact lens, tangled blinds, spilled water, a stubbed toe or, worst of all, hair that wouldn’t cooperate, it was guaranteed to send her into a tailspin. Her frazzled state allowed Liam to finagle food he had no business eating.
One day, Lizzie was on her way to take a carton of Häagen-Dazs to the downstairs freezer. The broom also had to be returned to the basement, and she went to fetch it after setting the ice cream on the hall table. Liam, who had been feigning sleep, flew off the couch with the stealth of a panther and contemplated how to proceed. Hmm, it’s in a plastic bag, and that pesky twist tie will slow me down. This job requires the expertise of Mr. Nifty Toes. Perhaps Hobbes would aid and abet in exchange for a tasty scoop.
He seized the bag with his teeth and hopped off the table. He was making tracks to find Hobbes when he heard a terse “Halt.” He turned to see Lizzie in hot pursuit, and judging by her expression, he was in the soup. Liam accelerated, but the container was awkward to carry and Lizzie pounced on him.
“You were going to eat my ice cream?” Lizzie reluctantly admired his audacity. “I don’t think so, you rascal.”
Liam was crestfallen. To chance upon such a rare treat only to have it snatched away before having a single lick was most vexing. He consoled himself with the knowledge he could count on Lizzie’s absent-mindedness to provide another opportunity for a stolen feast.
As he suspected, Liam didn’t have long to wait. Later that night, Lizzie used the last of the whipping cream and set the empty carton in the sink. She filled it with water, intending to throw it in the recycling bin prior to bedtime. Guess what? She forgot, and when Liam saw her switch off the light on her way upstairs, he jumped on the counter and assessed the situation. If he tipped the container, the liquid would swirl down the drain. He would certainly cry over that spilled cream. He put his front feet in the sink, clamped his teeth on the carton, lifted it without spilling a drop, and let it fall to the floor.
“What a flawlessly executed plan!” Liam was exuberant as the cream and water mixture spread into a lake. Hobbes, Milo, and Joey had been aquiver with barely contained anticipation at Liam’s harebrained scheme. Now they waded in, and the only sound was their tongues lapping.
Meanwhile, Lizzie had barely fallen asleep when she was disturbed by a muffled thud. “Now what?” she said groggily as she considered pretending not to hear it. Cognizant of what an imp Liam was, she couldn’t ignore it and plodded downstairs to check out the noise. She hollered at the top of her lungs when she saw four boisterous cats sloshing in a pool of water. They didn’t understand a word of her tirade. They were hastily slurping as much cream as possible before being expelled from the kitchen.
Lizzie grabbed a mop but couldn’t think where to begin. If she hustled them out, their soggy feet would soil the carpet. She attempted to put them in the dining room after drying their feet with paper towels, but the process was like, well, herding cats. She’d set one down and another would sneak back for more cream. She got to work mopping up the water and, with no doors to close, kept the cats out by waving the mop in front of them. Leery of the long orange strings, they turned tail. Lizzie finished washing the floor and went back to bed, but she was too wound up to sleep. This was not the restful night she had pictured. Liam, however, was triumphant, as were the others. What a way to end the day! Unlike Lizzie, who was steaming mad, they would sleep well. They all agreed that licking cream off your snout was, in a word, divine.
Whenever Lizzie went out, the cats couldn’t wait for her to come home. After running errands one afternoon, she opened the door to see cheerful faces as they lined up for hugs. She asked what they’d been up to and it was the same old thing—a gruelling day spent watching the birds, squirrels, and chipmunks, capped off with a marathon snooze. No one bothered to mention the brouhaha between Milo and Liam—they had already kissed and made up by the time Lizzie arrived.
When he’d heard Lizzie’s key turn in the lock, Liam planted himself by the door. As soon as a grocery bag was set on the floor, he lunged at it. Thinking Liam was intrigued by the crinkling sound, it didn’t occur to Lizzie that this would be a problem. She went back to the car for the last of the supplies and came in to discover Liam had ransacked the bag and was ripping apart a loaf of bread with the ferocity of a Tasmanian devil. Milo had squashed his body in the bag next to Liam and was helping himself to some as well. Lizzie screamed for them to stop and wailed when she saw they’d mauled a substantial amount. She cut off the teeth marks and stared at the now dinky loaf. “One more thing to note—bring the bread in last.”
Liam continued to scrabble in bags for something forbidden to nosh, but apparently Lizzie had gotten smarter. He only came across non-edible pantry items and vegetables he didn’t care for. Nonetheless, he kept checking.
His dedication paid off one day when a naive Lizzie set bags of groceries in the hallway and made one final tr
ip to her car for the bread. She returned to a melee. A stream of milk from the carton was shooting sideways. Liam and his three sidekicks were jostling to drink from the spray. Liam’s initial intent had been to attack the hefty slab of cheddar sealed in thick plastic. In his frenzy, he punctured the carton with a mighty canine tooth, and…Bob’s your uncle. “Wow,” Liam crowed with glee, “what do we eat first—cheese or milk?”
Lizzie’s head nearly popped off like a Pez dispenser when she saw the milk fountain. A chunk of cheese was wedged in Liam’s mouth, and he was holding it under the milk spray for the best of both worlds. “What is going on here?” she boomed.
Liam paused to swallow his cheese before replying, “Hmm, that’s a real poser—we hit the jackpot!”
There was no salvaging the milk. The modicum of cheese they hadn’t chewed left slim pickings for Lizzie. She added dairy to the growing list of groceries to take straight to the fridge. She’d be in trouble if Liam figured out how to open that.
Lizzie discovered that, for all their rowdy skirmishes, Liam and Milo were also partners in crime. One day, she was in the kitchen and heard rustling coming from inside the bottom cupboard. She thought it was a mouse, but an unfazed Milo sat nearby, so that ruled out Stuart Little. Lizzie slowly opened the door, and there sat Liam, grazing leisurely through the garbage can as if he were dining in a fine restaurant. “How did you get in there?” Lizzie asked.
The Cat's Breath Smells Like Dessert Page 4