I heard the front door open and close, but I didn’t glance up from kneading the dough on my counter. I still had to make dinner, and I had a zoom meeting in an hour. It was going to be tight.

     “Karen?”

     “Not now, cat. I’m slammed”

     “What does that even mean?”

     “Busy. Super busy.”

     “This is important, Karen.”

     “Stop calling me Karen.”

     “Look. I need to tell you something and I don’t want you to freak out on me.” 

      Looking towards the cat’s voice, I scowled. “I don’t know how it is for other people, but when I’m told how I should or should not react, I usually feel obligated to snap like a rubber band. “

     “I think you need to sit down. Seriously. Do. Not. Flip. Out.”

     “Excuse Me,” I said, placing a hand on my hip. 

     “Okay. Now I am not following you, Karen. Was that an excuse me like a sarcastic excuuuuse me, excuse me like a question, or excuse me like a whoops I farted, my bad?”

     Retrieving some flour from a nearby container, I threw a bit more on my bread board. “None of the above,” I replied. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

     That cat heaved a dramatic sigh. “I can see you’re not going to let me break this to you gently, Karen, so I’ll just go ahead and say it. I just died. Did you hear me? I died!”

     “Great,” I said, not batting an eyelash while I continued kneading my dough. “So now you’re not only an invisible cat, but you’re an invisible ghost cat, and you’re haunting me?”

     “Don’t be a dolt, Karen. I’m a cat with nine lives. Although, I’m down two lives since last night, so I’ve only got seven left.”

     “You lost two lives in twenty-four hours?” I asked, incredulously. “What exactly have you been doing? Skydiving?”

     “Naw. It all started when I saw that other kitty cat creeping around the brook last night, so I walked down to extend my paw in friendship.”

      “I told you stay away from that cat.”

     “I don’t recall that, but I distinctly remember you telling me the cat’s name was Bob.”

     “I told you it was a Bobcat, and to stay away from it!”

     “Did you? Hmmm. Well … you should have said, ‘Bob has a great sense of smell and a nasty temper. You’ll make a tasty little snack for Bob.’”

     “Did I not tell you repeatedly, and on many occasions, that it was only safe to make friends with the kitties under my bed?”

     “Ugh! Speaking of that. What kind of slipshod show are you running under that bed, Karen? Although, presently I have no room to talk. It’s lucky for you I’m invisible, because there is a terrible mess out back around that brook now and another terrible mess down on Route1.”

     “Ewwww.”

     “You don’t know the half of it. Why did you not warn me about New York drivers?”

     “Please stop talking,” I pleaded. “This is not a discussion to be had when I’m baking bread and making supper.”

     I finished shaping my bread into two loaves and went to the cupboard for my loaf pans. When I returned, I found two tiny paw prints pressed into my dough.

     “Are you kidding me? Why did you do that? That is disgusting!”

     “Sorry, Karen. It’s a free country, so I retain the right to annoy, offend, and disgust you from time to time.”

     “I feel sure that is not the intent of freedom.”

     “I disagee.”

      “Okay. I’ve had enough, and I know a way to stop all this.” With a devilish grin, I broke into the song my cat hated most. “Ding Dong bell. Pussy’s in the well. Who put him in? Little Johnny Flynn.”

     “You’re going to hell, Karen. Hell, I say! Please tell me you didn’t sing that horrible nursery rhyme to your children. If you did, you’re a despicable person, and your life is full of mistakes.”

     “So true, but making terrible mistakes seems to be how I learn best in life,” I said, lunging towards the cat’s voice, 

     “You’re the worst, Karen. By the way, the funerals are tomorrow. I hope by that time you can act more appropriately,” the cat bellowed as he scampered away. “I expect flowers.”

     “And I expect a headache,” I mumbled, crossing my arms and staring at the bread. There had to be a plausible way to explain the paw prints on the bread loaves to the hubster this evening.

At that moment the dog rounded the corner and I lifted him into my arms to examine his paws. “Purrrrrfect, Rupert. Much larger paws. How do you feel about covering some cat tracks,” I asked.

     “Don’t you dare, Karen!” the cat shouted from the other room. “Don’t you dare! Your bread is always hard as rocks and I was planning on using them as my tombstones.”