January 11

the annoying furniture movers and interior decorators and the family’s preoccupation with the new house and business, all of which kept him from getting the doting attention he usually received and deserved.

His tufted paws kneaded a pillow into perfect receptiveness for his chubby contours.  Andia rose and began pacing the room, poring over the details of the building specifications she had laid out on the desk.  Her father, August Wrightley, developer and financier, had accrued yet another property and seventeen-year-old Andia was eager to show him she was capable as his new intern.

The Wrightleys embodied B-list elegance, and so did their feline resident.  Booie wasn’t pedigreed and one of his curled ears faced the wrong way. Jefferson had brought him home from college as a present for his sister.  Spoiled as he was, Boo had a sensible head on his substantial shoulders.

“Boocake!”  Jeff gave the cat a rough-and-tumble hello after breezing into the room, weaving around the dozens of boxes the movers were still unpacking.  “Where’s Mums?”  Though Booie knew the answer, the question was put to Andia.  She had a question of her own.

“Where were you last night?  I could have used some help with these specs.”

 Jeff ignored the irritation in his sister’s voice.  “I went to the downtown campus to meet some people.  They were having that fundraising spaghetti dinner, remember?”

Andia ran refined fingers through her straight black hair, sniffing, “I don’t have time to waste on frivolities.“

“Some would say frivolity is not a waste of time,” answered Jeff.  “What’s the problem with the specs?”

While the two bent over the papers strewn on the desk, Boo half-snoozed, watching them with one open eye.  He was remembering the visit he’d had the previous afternoon from a local cross-eyed tom.

“Wanted to welcome you to the Community,” the cat had said after introducing himself as Cor.  “A Carrier will be swinging by most every day; if you need anything, let us know.  Nice digs, by the way.  I bet these humans have a possum-pouch full of paw-clodders.”

Boo’s fat forehead wrinkled.  Then, making the connection, he said, “Oh….shoes!”

 “Love to wear ’em.  ‘Specially over at Elsy’s.  She lives two doors down,” Cor indicated with his big nose.  “She’s a right ball of twine and will be over to visit soon as she can.”

Booie melted into his satin, letting the Wrightley’s voices drift far away.  He had a feeling living in Shenango would prove to be very interesting.