The Cat's Breath Smells Like Dessert

by Elizabeth Jain

  Liam was tight-lipped. Revealing as few of his secrets as possible had served him well, and he was not one to mess with success. Later that day, Lizzie was privy to exactly what had happened. She was about to walk into the kitchen when she saw Liam picking at the cupboard door. She stood motionless as the scene unfolded. The door wasn’t perfectly aligned, and Liam knew the garbage can, filled with goodies, was behind that door. He worked his claws into the crack, pulled the door open, and moseyed inside. Milo pushed the door closed behind him without batting an eye and stood guard, unaware Lizzie had seen the whole incident. Milo was a glass-half-full kind of cat and was hoping Liam would grant him a soupçon as payment for sentinel duty. To Liam’s chagrin, Lizzie moved the garbage can to a cupboard with a properly fitting door, and that put an end to his pop-up restaurant.

  Lizzie’s theory that Liam and Milo plotted to confound her had been proven so many times that she was embarrassed by her gullibility. She was making dinner one night when she heard a fracas in the living room. She ran out, telling them to knock it off, and stopped mid-sentence when she saw Milo all alone. “Where’s Liam?” she asked as he stared at her with guileless eyes.

  With a sense of dread, she raced to the kitchen to find Liam had pinched a mouthful of her dinner and was running upstairs with it. Lizzie was hot on his tail, but when she caught him, he was finishing his ill-gotten gains with a gulp. Liam had perfected a crackerjack move to get out of trouble. When he was on the verge of getting an earful, he rolled on his back, tucked his paws under his chin, and gave Lizzie his beseeching “I’m truly sorry and I swear I’ll never do it again” look. Who could be mad at that face? Of course, he had no intention of behaving but, in that instant, his sole mission was to avoid a scolding.

  Liam was a discerning cat and he’d noticed Lizzie was a health nut. She cooked oatmeal every morning, and Liam watched her measure the oats into a cup. He kept a calculating eye out in case she wandered from the kitchen to see something interesting on TV. When this inevitably occurred, Liam jumped on the counter, stuck his head in the cup, and chomped on dry oats.

  “Yum, these are delicious.” He marvelled at the nutty crunchiness. “She could save herself time by not cooking them.” He lifted his head as Lizzie ran into the kitchen, flapping her arms and screeching. “Sheesh, such a ballyhoo over nothing,” Liam muttered. “There’s no need for it. She brushes my teeth every day, and my breath smells sensational. What’s wrong with sharing breakfast?” Lizzie didn’t share his opinion or her breakfast and dumped the oats in the garbage.

  Liam was gobsmacked one day to spy the bag of oats left unattended on the counter. As a rule, Lizzie wasn’t so careless. He knocked it to the floor and dove in. “Hey, where are the oats?” he demanded. “I can smell them, but I don’t see any.” He was perplexed. Lizzie had the last laugh because the bag was empty. That didn’t stop Liam from trying to find at least one oat. He marched around the kitchen with the bag on his head. Hobbes trailed behind, suspicious of this odd creature—a big yellow bag with spindly legs and a tail. He wondered if it was some peculiar cousin of Liam’s and hoped it wasn’t moving in.

  Not only was Liam adroit in pilfering food from Lizzie’s plate, he had also mastered opening the toaster oven door. He had been shrewdly observing Lizzie’s food prep, including how she put food in the toaster oven. He honed his skills while Lizzie was at work, and soon it was one smooth operation. Lizzie didn’t have to rush off on Saturday mornings, so she had time to scramble an egg while the bread toasted. Liam made his move while her back was turned. At the sound of the door squeaking, Lizzie spun around to see him reaching in with his long, skinny arm. He yanked out the toast and nabbed the entire slice with his yap. The uvula dangling at the back of Lizzie’s throat was plainly visible as she bellowed for him to drop it.

  Liam was aghast. “Yikes, that’ll give me nightmares.” He shuddered as he rushed pell-mell up the stairs with his toast, trying to erase the memory. She chased him, but he managed to consume half before he was caught. “Could’ve used some butter,” he opined. Liam knew he shouldn’t do these things, but his compulsive desire for food quashed his best intentions.

  Lizzie had a foolproof fix for this sticky wicket. Or so she thought. She leaned a cookie sheet against the toaster oven door but, lickety-split, Liam figured out he simply had to knock it over and—voila—the handle. In her bid to outsmart him, Lizzie turned the oven so the door was facing the wall. Undeterred, Liam slid his paw across the surface where the handle should have been. Uh oh. What a conundrum.

  He groped along the opposite side and soon located the door. He wriggled behind the oven and shoved it enough to grasp the handle. Her tactic was a dud, so Lizzie went back to the cookie sheet method but added a pot to the mix. When Liam opened the door, the clang of the pot and cookie sheet would give Lizzie precious seconds to save her food. Resigned, she shook her head at the stopgap. “How has my food preparation come to this?”

  Later that night, Lizzie put a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie in the toaster oven. All it needed was a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a cup of tea to make a lovely bedtime snack. No surprise, she got distracted and left to put a bag of garbage in the bin. As per the norm, Liam’s eyes were peeled for just such a serendipitous moment. He had a hankering for rhubarb pie, and the aroma filling the room set his nose dancing.

  Lizzie came in from the garage, heard the crashing cookie sheet, and sprinted to the kitchen in time to witness Liam shoving pie willy-nilly into his mouth. “Get your litter-box fingers out of my pie!” Lizzie roared.

  Liam was quite insulted. Sure, he’d been in the litter box earlier, but he’d washed up and his paws were immaculate. Not a speck on them, except for pastry and fruit. “Such drama,” he said, smacking his lips to relish every last bit. I have no qualms about taking advantage when she’s lackadaisical. In fact, her wool-gathering makes it easy as pie. He snorted at his inside joke.

  Lizzie cut off the section he had ruined and ended up with a paltry piece for herself. With his admirable track record, she was beginning to think she could loan Liam to dieters. Their portions would indubitably be smaller than they intended.

  Liam regularly parked himself on the corner of the kitchen counter, away from meal assembly. The distance was far enough away that Lizzie didn’t regard him as a threat and close enough that Liam knew he was. Lizzie called him her little apprentice as he sat patiently watching her bake a cake or a pie or cookies. With his hawk-eyes at the ready, he was quick to hijack a treat whenever Lizzie rummaged in the cupboard. For breakfast one morning, she planned to dine on luscious strawberries topped with creamy yogurt. When she turned back around to have a bite, Liam was licking yogurt off the strawberries.

  Frustrated, Lizzie dumped the contents in the garbage and said, “You are an incorrigible cat. It’s no mystery why I’m never on time—everything has to be done twice.” Liam was too busy enjoying the last of his yogurt to acknowledge her.

  In her daily bid to stay healthy, Lizzie downed a variety of supplements, including fish oil. She put them in a small dish to have with meals, which she ate in the dining room. This particular morning, she set her glass of water and vitamins on the table and returned to the kitchen for the oatmeal. Milo smelled something fishy and jumped on the table in search of the source.

  He scrutinized the dish. “Which one could it be? I shall have to sample them all.” One by one he ran his tongue over the vitamins, and the last one was the prize. Impaling the fat jelly-like capsule between his teeth and squirting oil onto the carpet was fabulous. Liam was banking on a taste too, but one thing Milo didn’t do was divvy up an unexpected bonanza. Liam conjured his menacing scowl, but Milo summoned his courage like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. He growled ferociously while chewing the capsule. Liam consoled himself by licking oil from the carpet. Although that wasn’t his objective, it assisted in the clean-up. Lizzie walked in with her oatmeal as Milo swallowed the last bit and burped a fishy breath at her.

 
; She groused at her own stupidity. “Yet one more thing not to leave unattended. Soon I’ll be eating in a closet.”

  The cats rejoiced whenever Lizzie ordered pizza. They were of the opinion it was the finest food in the world. As Lizzie ate, they sat in a semi-circle on the table, four pairs of eyes hypnotically following the pizza’s path from the plate to her mouth. Their paws drifted surreptitiously toward the food, their bodies inching ever closer. Lizzie fended them off by hunching over her plate like an inmate in the prison cafeteria. Noticing their glum faces as the slice grew smaller, she relented and gave them each a tidbit of cheese.

  Hobbes never filched Lizzie’s food, but he was exceedingly fond of pizza and cheese. He was also fond of the decorative runner on the dining room table. The tassels were particularly fascinating. One night, long before Liam arrived, Lizzie ate pizza while watching TV. Hobbes was rolling and sliding in the runner at the opposite end of the table and not paying attention to the food. Lizzie was engrossed in an exciting part of the program and forgot he was there. When she glanced down, she gasped in surprise. Hobbes had craftily wrapped himself up in the runner, and only his nose peeked out as he silently glided over to Lizzie. His impression of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood was Oscar-worthy. With his chin resting on her plate, he was a millisecond away from having a nibble. After masterminding such an ingenious plan, Lizzie rewarded him with a well-deserved sliver of mozzarella.

  When Lizzie prepared their meals, Liam and Milo worked themselves into an outlandish tizzy. They howled and pranced across the kitchen, leading one to assume they hadn’t eaten in days. Liam hooked his front claws in the drawer and his back claws in the lower cupboard to raise his head to counter level. When he leaned back, his weight pulled the drawer open with his paws still clutching it, leaving his legs swinging above the floor. He refused to let go, demanding at full volume the delivery of his meal.

  One morning, Lizzie got up early for work and was dog-tired. All the caterwauling was too much to cope with in her grumpy state. She put Milo and Liam in her bedroom while she finished warming the food. Hobbes and Joey had top-notch etiquette and sat calmly waiting for their meals.

  “Isn’t this peaceful?” she commented with a weary sigh. Hobbes and Joey agreed that Liam and Milo were extremely loud and had no manners. When the food was ready, Lizzie went upstairs to let them out. An enormous ruckus was going on behind the door.

  “Breakfast is served in the kitchen—why are we locked in here?” Liam and Milo griped. The light bulb went off simultaneously. “Argh! We’ve been hoodwinked.”

  Lizzie opened the door and, predicting a stampede, stepped aside. Milo had been standing on his hind legs over Liam, who was crouched in front of the door, and sat down the instant Liam charged out. He emerged straddling Liam like a bull rider, and they galloped part way down the hall before he rolled off. They catapulted down the stairs, seething at the injustice. To be late for a meal was disgraceful.

  Joey was at the other end of the spectrum when it came to meals. He showed Lizzie his appreciation with his meerkat pose until she set the dish in front of him. No yelling or prancing, just a quiet, earnest thank you.

  Hobbes was the consummate cat, except for one issue. He frequently regurgitated his food after he ate. The vet couldn’t find anything wrong, and Hobbes was altogether happy and healthy. Lizzie divided his meals into smaller portions, and on days he vomited, she gave him extra food to maintain his weight.

  Do you know who was not averse to a puking Hobbes? Liam and Milo. Being such zealous scavengers, they were unabashed about gobbling it up. To them, it looked the same as what they ate out of their bowls. Lizzie was appalled the first time she witnessed this and kept a close eye on them so she could clean up the mess before they got to it. Milo kept a close eye on Hobbes, and if he heard food on its way up and out, he raced to sit in front of Hobbes—his own personal vending machine. Lizzie was in the kitchen when she heard the familiar sound of Hobbes barfing. She tore upstairs with newspaper but was too late. Slack-jawed, she beheld the spectacle. Milo had been crouched in the line of fire and was unaware he was now sporting a gooey yarmulke. Lizzie edged toward Milo, who was flummoxed that nothing had landed on the floor for him to eat. He was positive he heard it come out, but where was it? He continued to wait in front of Hobbes.

  Lizzie used her library voice to instruct Milo to stand still so he wouldn’t become alarmed and run. She was careful not to tilt his body while she quick-stepped him to the bathroom. Cleaning puke off his head with a wad of paper towels was an icky job but far easier than getting it out of the carpet.

  Indoor Living

  Hobbes, Liam, Milo, and Joey loved watching wildlife. The optimal place to observe hijinks happening on the deck was in front of the patio doors. Lizzie noticed chipmunks zipping back and forth, so she left peanuts for them to stuff in their fat cheeks. Soon they were faithful visitors, and when Lizzie yelled “Chippy’s here,” the cats came running.

  The chipmunks sat on the ledge munching sunflower seeds and sipping from the Lilliputian water dish, courtesy of Lizzie. The cats flung themselves at the glass, bent on catching them. At first, the chipmunks scurried away in alarm. Once they realized the cats couldn’t get out, they washed their faces with meticulous detail and wrapped up the grooming session with casual scratching. Their taunting had the intended effect of driving the cats to distraction and provided much mirth for the chipmunks.

  Joey loved squirrels and waited by the patio doors for them to arrive. One squirrel in particular was smitten with Joey, and they had private gabfests. Maybe the squirrel was confiding his envy of Joey’s carefree indoor world.

  Liam’s fantasy was to chase the squirrels. Their zigzag games of tag were a madcap comedy show. His mind drifted. Imagine if I could smuggle one into the house to play with me and my brothers. Lizzie would be peeling us all off the ceiling.

  One afternoon, when a regular peanut-muncher came by, Liam nudged Joey and whispered in his ear, “You distract him and I’ll nab him.” The minor detail of a closed patio door was irrelevant.

  The squirrel caught wind of this collusion and piped up, “Hey, I’m just here for lunch and then I’ll be on my way.”

  It didn’t take the blue jays long to notice the peanuts, and they swooped in to grab them before flying off to the treetops. Like the squirrels and chipmunks, they adapted to being up close and personal with four salivating cats. They belted out ear-piercing squawks, giving the cats a jolt. Lizzie began putting bird seed and a large dish of water on the deck every day. Red-winged blackbirds, woodpeckers, robins, sparrows, and finches paraded on the deck in a magnificent splash of colour. The entertainment was incredible, and the cats didn’t miss being outside one bit.

  The fun continued into the night when a diminutive grey mouse came by to clear the deck of leftover bird seed. Lizzie referred to him as the mini Roomba after she regularly spotted him skimming along the deck. One wintry day, when it was far too cold for the squirrels to leave their nests, a pile of nuts remained on the patio. Lizzie noticed the cats were more excited than usual and turned on the outside light to have a look. Without warning, the mouse popped out of the snow—a live production of Whack-a-Mole. The cats were mesmerized when he appeared, disappeared, and reappeared in rapid succession. The mouse leapt in and out of the snow until he reached the pile of peanuts. He wrestled with a shell to get it upright against his body, his wee hands holding it in place while he plotted his strategy. This was a formidable task, especially with an audience of curious cats.

  “What to do, what to do?” he must have been asking himself. He had stumbled upon an extraordinary treasure, but the nuts were too big for him to handle. By wiggling the shell, he managed to slowly drag it a few inches to the corner of the deck. Lizzie went back to watching her program while the cats stayed to monitor the mouse’s progress. The next morning, Lizzie discovered the entire pile of peanuts had been moved to the corner. That was one robust mouse. Some shells had been gnawed open, so at l
east he’d rewarded himself for his effort. The cold weather lingered for several days, discouraging the squirrels from stealing the stockpile, which dwindled as the mouse feasted.

  Creative Measures

  When winter’s chill descended upon her house, Lizzie still kept the thermostat low to reduce heating costs, and usually the cats nestled in their beds during the day. Milo was more resourceful in his quest for warmth. Much to his delight, hot air flowed from the oven vents when Lizzie baked. The drama queen stretched full length across the stovetop so everyone could pity pathetic, frozen Milo as he resorted to Dickensian measures.

  Secretly, he hoped Lizzie would mistake his mouth for the oven.

  Liam and Joey had come upon another source of heat. Lying across the floor vents whenever the furnace fired up was perfect for driving away the chills, but they blocked any warm air from reaching a shivering Lizzie. She was the lone Popsicle since Hobbes was holed up in his cat cave with a hot water bottle.

  Before turning in for the night, Lizzie switched on a heating pad briefly to warm up the bed for her icy feet. Liam commandeered that hot spot without a second thought for Hobbes, who was sleeping soundly on it. He sidled up to Hobbes and washed his ears in what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture. That was a short-lived indulgence for Hobbes. A minute later, Liam gave him a little bite on the back of his neck. Hobbes howled at being usurped and stomped to the pillow beside Lizzie. Liam threw himself down, soaking up the heat with a blissful smile. He was not one to concern himself with remorse. Liam didn’t stay there for long after Lizzie unplugged the heating pad and got into bed. She was in a deep slumber when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She ignored it, but the insistent tapping continued.