![]() "My family's been wintering in Guatemala for as long as I can remember," the warbler would explain. "Hmmmm," they'd say, or, "Brownsville, I think I have a cousin there."įrom the southern tip of Texas, the couple would fly over Mexico and then into Central America. The birds she was talking to would try to sound sympathetic or, at the very least, interested. "An hour or two's rest is all I need, but isn't it strange? Not Olmito or Bayview or Indian Lake, but Brownsville. "Indeed she does," her husband would say, laughing. "I don't know if it's the air or what, but whenever we pass it on our migration, I have to stop and puke my guts out." The yellow warbler would often claim that she was fine until she hit Brownsville. The collie, the German shepherd, the spaniel mix she claimed to have turned away: they were all good friends of hers, and faithful clients, but what would it hurt to pretend otherwise and cross that fine line between licking ass and simply kissing it? "That they do." The cat chuckled, and the baboon relaxed and searched her memory for a slanderous dog story. ![]() "Then they slobber and drool all over everything, and what they don't get wet, they chew to pieces." "There's a grace to it, but a dog, you know the way they hunker over, legs going every which way." "On a cat it's… classy," the baboon said. "And I admire you for it," the baboon said, "but you're not a dog." Why, I lick mine at least five times a day." "Now, what's wrong with that?" the cat protested. "Some kind of spaniel mix walked in yesterday, asking for a shampoo, and I sent him packing, said, 'I don't care how much money you have, I'm not making conversation with anyone who licks his own ass.' " And the moment she said it, she realized her mistake. "What makes you bring that up?" the cat asked. "You know," she said, cleaning a scab off the cat's neck, "I hate dogs. Whatever she said, the cat disagreed with, and unless she found a patch of common ground she was sure to lose her tip. She'd planned to tell a story about a drunken marsh rabbit, the brother of the groom at last week's wedding, but there was no point in it now, not with this client anyway. The baboon nodded and smiled, the way one must in the service industry. "Well, I'm sure she tried her best," the cat said. Just clawed at those strings, almost like she was mad at them." This squirrel, I don't think she'd taken a lesson in her life. "I bet it was, but you probably hired a professional, someone who could really play. "I had a harp player at my wedding," the cat said, "and it was lovely." And all the while they had this squirrel off to the side, plucking at a harp, I think it was." "Sure you did," countered the baboon, "but you probably had something to say, not like these marsh rabbits, carrying on that their love was like a tender sapling or some damn thing. "My husband and I wrote our own vows," the cat said defensively. Neither of them had ever picked up a pen in their life, but all of a sudden they're poets, right, like that's all it takes-being in love." "Now, I like a church service, but this was one of those write-your-own-vows sorts of things. Couple of marsh rabbits got married-you probably heard about it." "Take this wedding I went to-last Saturday, I think it was. Not like some of them around here." The baboon picked a flea from the cat's head and stuck it gingerly between her teeth. "I drink until I'm full, and then I push myself away from the table. "That's never been a problem for me," the cat boasted. "Well, I guess you'd just have drinks, then. ![]() "Now, I wouldn't like a peanut," the cat said. Folks have gotten so picky nowadays, I just lay out some peanuts and figure they either eat them or they don't." You got one who likes leaves and another who can't stand the sight of them. "This is just a little get-together, a few friends. And they were pretty ones too, none of this yellowness you find on most things that eat trash." Said a fight broke out between two possums, and one gal, the wife of one or the other, got pushed onto a stump and knocked out four teeth. My sister went last year and said she'd never seen such rowdiness. "Hope it's not that harvest dance down on the riverbank. "What kind of party?" the baboon asked, and she massaged the cat's neck in order to relax her, the way she did with all her customers. The cat had a party to attend, and went to the baboon to get herself groomed.
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