Daddy was convinced somebody had broken into your apartment and stolen her. Which was ridiculous, of course, since all the windows were locked.
I thought maybe she was hiding. Or that she’d squeezed out through your mail slot and was roaming the city, lost and afraid. Cats have been known to squeeze through extremely small places. Why, just the other day on America’s Funniest Home Videos I saw a cat who squeezed through a downspout. True, the cat got stuck in the downspout, which is why they sent in the video in the first place. But the point is, I was certain no one had broken into your apartment.
But you know how Daddy is. The next thing I knew he was calling the police and reporting a burglary!
Two of the nicest officers came by. Of course they said what I said all along, that there was no sign of forced entry. And even though they tried to hide it, I could tell they were peeved at Daddy for wasting their time.
Then just as they were driving away, your neighbor Lance showed up and told us that Zoloft was with you on the cruise. I had no idea you were allowed to bring pets on a cruise. Why didn’t you tell us you were taking her, darling?
Lance was so sweet. He could see how upset we were, so he had us over to his apartment for cocoa and biscotti. He didn’t even mind when Daddy lit up his smelly old pipe.
Did I tell you Daddy has started smoking a pipe? He bought it at a flea market last week and has been stinking up our condo ever since. I mean, who on earth smokes a used pipe?
He swears that it’s a collector’s item, that it was once smoked by Basil Rathbone in a Sherlock Holmes movie. Hah! The only thing it’s collected is a bunch of old germs.
But Lance didn’t seem to mind a bit. He’s been so nice about everything, I’ve invited him to join us for dinner Tuesday night.
That’s it for now, honey. Time to unpack.
Love and kisses,
Mom
To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Hi, Lambchop—
Here we are in sunny L.A.—no thanks to our idiot pilot. The man had no idea what he was doing. I’m surprised we didn’t wind up in Zanzibar! But once I voiced my concerns, I’m happy to say he shaped up and finally got us here.
Why didn’t you tell us you were taking your cat with you on the cruise? Your mom had quite a scare when she thought she was missing. I, of course, knew all along there had to be some rational explanation for why we couldn’t find her, but I phoned the police just to allay her fears.
Everything worked out fine in the end. Well, almost everything. One of the cops scuffed your wall with his nightstick on his way out. But fear not, lambchop. I’ll clean it up.
By the way, we met your neighbor Lance. He and your mom really seemed to hit it off.
Well, it’s been quite a day. Time to relax with my pipe. Did Mom tell you I started smoking one? It’s a rare collector’s item, the very same pipe Basil Rathbone smoked in the Sherlock Holmes movies! Lucky for me, I have a discerning eye and was able to snap it up for only a buck fifty.
Love & kisses,
Daddy
To: Jaineausten
From: Sir Lancelot
Subject: Such a Hoot!
I can’t believe Prozac stowed away on board ship. Oh, well. At least now you’ll have someone under eighty to hang out with.
I know I was supposed to tell your parents she was with you, but I met some friends for dinner after work, and by the time I got home, your dad had already called the police.
Your mom was so frazzled, I asked them over for cocoa and biscotti. Your parents are such a hoot. Do you know your father actually smokes a used pipe? What a contrast to my parents, who are about as much fun as dried oatmeal. In the meantime, your mom has invited me for dinner on Tuesday. What a sweetie!
Well, happy cruising! And if you meet any cute guys, give them my number. Haha.
XXX,
Lance
To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: PS
Why didn’t you tell me Lance was so attractive? I wonder why a darling man like him isn’t married. Oh, dear. I’ve got to go open the window. The smell of Daddy’s pipe is driving me crazy.
Chapter 4
My neck was stiff as a board the next morning from sleeping without a pillow. Prozac, the spoiled brat, had hogged it all night and had only reluctantly abandoned it to perch on my chest and claw me awake for her breakfast.
I plucked her off and rolled over, only to see Samoa’s manuscript looming on my night table, waiting to be edited. All nine hundred pages.
Oh, groan.
But I had to look on the bright side. Now that Samoa knew about Prozac, I’d be getting maid service. I could even ask him for another pillow.
See? There’s always a silver lining.
Working on the Silver Lining principle, I got dressed and scooted over to the buffet, where I scored a divine breakfast of bacon, eggs, and cheese Danish for me and baked ham for Prozac. Countless calories later, I made my way up to the Sports Deck, where I ran a few brisk laps on the ship’s jogging track. (Okay, so technically I didn’t run any laps, but I did watch other people run laps. Does that count?)
Having burned off approximately three and a half calories, I headed over to the ship’s computer room to check in with my parents and make sure they’d arrived safely. I’d recently bought a fancy new cell phone that did everything except brew coffee. One thing it did not do, however, was work on board ship. So I’d arranged with my parents to communicate with them via e-mail.
I found the computer room sandwiched between the ship’s chapel and the Photo Studio. Several Webaholics were seated at a bank of computers getting their daily Internet fix.
One of them was Kyle Pritchard. Clad in a designer polo and Bermuda shorts, he was tapping away at his computer. At his feet was an attaché case, no doubt made of some endangered species. And spread out next to him were what looked like a bunch of financial statements.
“Hi, Kyle,” I chirped.
“Hmmph,” was his cheery reply.
Careful to put plenty of space between us, I settled down at a computer and tried to get an Internet connection. For some idiotic reason, I thought it would be free, as part of my “free, all-expenses-paid” cruise. But, alas, the helpful Holiday staffer on duty informed me that I wasn’t about to be comped on e-mails.
“How much is it?” I asked.
“A buck fifty.”
Gee, that wasn’t so bad.
“A minute,” he added.
Holy Moses. I made a mental note to keep my communications with my parents to a bare minimum. But after reading my e-mails I’m afraid I wasted valuable Internet minutes staring into space, agog at the thought of the cops charging into my apartment on a “catnapping” call.
It was so typical of Daddy, creating an uproar over nothing. I love him to pieces, but the man is a born crazymaker. I swear, he’s caused more ulcers than pepperoni pizza and jalapeno chiles combined. How Mom has put up with him all these years, I’ll never know.
Of course, Mom is not without a few quirks of her own. Not only is she constitutionally