Ann Marie Hall is a superbly talented and larger-than-life acquaintance who spends her spare time preparing for the zombie apocalypse when she’s not writing, acting, or directing. My dream is to see her vision of Evil Dead: The Musical on a Memphis stage. I would seriously squeal like a fan-girl if this became reality. She is also slave to Gracie Cat, a self-centered, free-spirited feline with a knack for mild debauchery.
I recently asked Ann Marie if she wouldn’t mind slumming it for a day and share her amusing missives with my readers. I am by no means the same caliber of writer for her sophisticated audience, but her shit is funny (am I allowed to curse while trying to be regal?). Ann Marie has a library of Gracie Cat misadventures, but in this episode, Gracie stows away in a recent visitor’s luggage for an adventure to Arizona.
For some time now Gracie Cat has not budged from her inner curled up position on the chair. For days, now that I think on it, I have not seen that little grey lump move.
Normally I would be concerned but the serenity of the house without her constant caterwauling out each and every one of my failings such as “LITTER BOX. FOOD. WATER. OUT. PET ME!!”…that I have just enjoyed the peace and quiet. So last night as I came in the den; there she was. I thought I would tempt her at first to get her attention with “Hey who let the bird in the house?” or “Hey guys, come on in. Sure bring in those cute puppies with you” and even “I’ll just put this seared tuna right her on the table and pop out for a minute. I am sure it will be here when I get back.” Each time I would casually saunter out of the room, and then hurriedly tune up the hidden nanny cam placed inside that stuffed bat by the TV.
Expecting the worse, I gently nudged her silky gray fur and whispered “hey old lady, you alright?”
Biting my upper lip, I turned her over, and there I found the most perfect realization of an Alcatraz escapees rendition of ‘the sleeping prisoner’ feline style using cut up Christmas stockings dyed with coffee, Clorox and urine and stuffed with the remains of one of my new pillows! Attached a note: “SUCKER!”
Sarah, check your luggage. I think Gracie has taken an Arizona adventure. She better be home by Christmas, or I’m re-gifting her bourbon.
Post card from Gracie Cat: “decided I missed you so am hitting the road and should be home by Christmas. Arizona was fun for a while but the sand got under my nails and inflamed my eczema AND they have these land lobsters that are HUGE with merciless claws and a deadly stinger at the end of their tail! Downright freaky looking! Give me a squirrel any day. …Oh…also… Sarah ran out of booze”
I go to church once a year…whether I need it or not. And I feel much the same as I do when I go to a baseball game…this would be fun if I had just brought a book. At least I have the payoff of Christmas Eve DINNER!!! and games with family.
Still wonder if Gracie Cat will make it home by Christmas day from her Arizona adventure. I have visions of her sitting on Route 66 shivering with her little kitty paw thumb stuck out, a sign around her neck: “Must be home by Christmas.” However, I am sure in reality she is cruising on the back of a Harley popping into strip clubs for a festive drink with some biker buds and working up her courage to get that holiday ‘tramp stamp’.
Awoke to Gracie Cat nuzzling under my chin, stretching; her back arching over my neck, pushing her creamy fur into my jaw.
My eyes popped open. “You’re home…” I breathed.
Head butt to mine, she gazed in my eyes, put a tender paw on my cheek and gently purred “Let’s put this last week behind us and move forward,” sealing the deal with a caressing kiss bite to my earlobe. Then she rolled over on her side, clutching the covers, and with the slightest glint of a smile moaned, “What time’s breakfast?”
Sure, she smelled of booze, cheap cigars and even cheaper women, and I found $20 missing from my purse, but still…it’s a Christmas Miracle. And we all know I wouldn’t have it any other way.