His name is Call Me Ishmeow. As well as being right a frustrated girl, he is also an actress. Every night he does his bedroom slipper routine. He sits by Michael's side of the bed, all fluffy and ready to accept a foot. slide. In the mornings he plays the part of condo owner. He marches around making noise. Not on little cat feet. letting me know, it's time to get up. He can't eat until I eat. It's not allowed. His next part is that of hood ornament. He sits at the corner of the table, looking like he belongs on a Bentley. At night, he plays the part of the torch singer. He stretches out on the sofa and prepares his music. Ishy flirts.
He is constantly in my makeup. He prefers my high end items over my Revlon.
Just this morning I retrieved a Lancome Natural Mauve lip pencil from his stash.
My friend said, “You don't need a PHD to know that your cat is sneaking out at night to gay bars.
That's why he uses your makeup.
Her female cat actually danced in a bar
That's why her boyfriend left her.
My cat may be a slut in his sable coat lying beside Bobby Brown number 4 lipstick.
It hurt to tell him “Cats don’t have lips.”
Diane Hoover Bechtler lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband, Michael Gross who is a poet with a day job and with their cat, Call Me IshMeow. As well as writing short work, she is looking for an agent for her memoir, which is about learning to live with brain disease. She has had short work published in journals such as The Gettysburg Review, Thema, Literary Journal, and The Dead Mule, School of Southern Literature.