The weatherman had been right. A northwesterly wind did indeed turn gusty and usher in an unseasonably cold, wet, spring day. Rain poured down, occasionally splattering against the windows in sheets, driven by a wind that seemed intent on blowing my house to Oz.

     Fine, I thought. It’s time to tackle the To-Do list anyway.

     I’d been hunkered under my writing desk for a good fifteen minutes painting the legs of the desk when I heard a sudden loud thud on the front porch followed by a series of mysterious scratching on the metal storm door.

     Uh oh. That can’t be good.

     Balancing my paintbrush on the paint can, I crawled out from beneath the desk and flew to open the door. I expected to see a tree limb sprawled across my porch, but there was nothing there. Not even a wayward leaf.

     That’s bizarre.

     I went back to my study and settled back down under the desk to paint.

     “Hello, Karen.”

     My head struck the bottom of the desk as I startled. “Cat?” I whispered. “You’re supposed to be in—”

     “Massachusetts with your daughter and her cat. I’m aware. I still can’t believe you had the audacity to give me away. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’ve been gone a year and not once has your daughter, or her stupid cat, even acknowledged my existence.”

     “Well … in their defense, you are invisible.”

     “Don’t get snippy, Karen. I deserve a life where someone values and appreciates me. However, at this point I’ll settle for someone as mentally unstable as you. Because let’s face it, Karen. You’re cuckoo.”

     I shrugged. The cat had a valid point. Afterall, I was the one who thought it was a good idea to acquire an invisible cat when the Covid pandemic started. I hadn’t even batted an eyelash when the cat began speaking to me. No. The cat was right. I definitely was the one whose cornbread wasn’t quite cooked in the middle.

     “Do you realize you have not posted on your blog for the entire year I’ve been gone?”

     “So?”

     “Obviously, you’re depressed, Karen. Just look at what you’ve been reading. Really? A Crappy History of Rockland. Really?”

     I glanced at the newspaper I’d placed on the floor around the desk to catch any paint drips. “For your information it is a newspaper article about the early sewer system in Rockland, and it was fascinating,” I said in a defensive tone.

     “Karen, Karen, Karen. We used to discuss vocabulary words and current events. I’d spill the beans on your husband, and that thing that passes for a dog in your house, when they were acting out. You need me desperately, and have no fear, I shall answer your call.”

     “No. Nope,” I said, vigorously shaking my head back and forth. “I made no call.”

     “There is no need to grovel. I accept your apology, Karen. Ooooh. Look out the window. The tom turkeys are out there trying to impress the ladies,” said the cat in delight. “I know fun turkey facts! Did you know that the males can change the bare skin on their heads to a raging red hue when they are agitated or excited? Their heads are combination of white or blue when they are less riled up.”

     “I did not apologize,” I said.

     “And they are called “toms” short for “tomcat,” Bizness rambled on. “You know like one of those wild cats or men who like to keep the company of a lot of different women, but turkeys aren’t cats so we just say “toms.” Also, a juvenile male is known as a “jake,” and a juvenile female is known as a “jenny.”

     “I did not apologize,” I insisted.

      “Good talk, Karen. The cat scampered down the steps to the basement. “I’ll be in my room.”

     Just then the hubster rounded the corner. “Were you talking to me?” he asked.

     “Nope,” I replied. “Just singing … a silly song.”

     “What song?”

     “But the cat came back the very next day,” I warbled. “The cat came back, we thought he was a goner, but the cat came back, it just couldn’t stay away, away, away.”

     “You’ve lost your mind.”

     “Yes,” I said slinking back into my study to finish painting the desk. “That is a real possibility.”