A hilarious Romantic Comedy in which Daisy's cat begins speaking to her and giving her dating advice.
About the Book
At first, Daisy ignores her cat’s dating tips.
On the same day Daisy’s five sisters invade her house for an old-maid intervention, her cat Shakespeare begins talking to her. Why would she listen to dating tips from a fixed cat with a Cockney accent who is a virgin? But after six blind dates from hell arranged by her sisters and mother, Daisy crawls the mucky minefields of dating with a Shakespeare-quoting, bubble-bath loving, beer-chugging, chain-smoking, cussing cat as her guide. If only Daisy didn’t suspect that her cat is her soulmate.
Literature & Fiction › Humor & Satire
Literature & Fiction › Women's Fiction › Humor
Romance › Romantic Comedy
Science Fiction & Fantasy › Fantasy › Humorous
“I brought you a bottle of wine, dearie,” the cat said, cackling like an old witch.
She tiptoed over to the door. “I suppose you have a poisoned apple, too, in that filthy paw of yours.”
“I didn’t bring a wormy apple. Would you like a nice unopened bottle of Pinot Noir?” he said.
Daisy twisted a fist in her yellow Cinderella nightgown. Her big toe stuck out of one of her slippers. She normally did not drink this early in the day or was even up on a Saturday morning, but her sisters banged on the bedroom window at nine-something, waking her for an old-maid exorcism. What started out as a Daisy-we-are-worried-about-you-being-lonely intervention quickly escalated into an old-maid prayer meeting with her five sisters and aunt laying healing-through-prayer hands on her head and shoulders.
Aunt Davina started it all with the question, “When was the last time you went to church?”
Daisy had mumbled, “two years ago or before that.”
“I knew it! Right before Steve dumped you,” Delta said, as if two of her ex-husbands had not left her for other women.
“I dropped him,” Daisy insisted.
“You told us he sent you a text with a picture of him and his new girlfriend,” they all sang in an angelic chorus.
Ugh! Why did her sisters have such good memories?
Given the day she was having, a ten a.m. drink not named Bloody Mary or Sunrise Mimosa could hit the I-feel-good-about-myself spot right on.
Contrarily to her nature, Daisy really should be strong and tell the cat to go catch a mouse.
On the other hand, a stiff drink would calm the cockroaches chewing inside her stomach and the lizards jogging around her brain. The interior racing and munching was all due to her new twisty, freaky, mad-as-a-hatter relationship with her cat.
“Uh, a glass of wine would be good,” she squeaked. Or two or three or the whole frickin’ bottle!
First however, Daisy closed the web browsers that were open on her computer, not wanting the cat to stick his furry nose up her, er in her business. Not that Shakespeare could read, a totally silly thought, but then this was such a bizarre day starting with all of her sisters acting religious all of a sudden. They even yanked scarves from their purses, knotting the silk beneath their chins before praying. Of course her eldest sister Delta purchased the scarves since they all had sales tags with designer brands dangling from the knots. Daisy usually shopped for clothing at the discount stores. She should feel special that a famous designer prayed all over her, albeit a dead designer, Versace, but then it had been a spinster exorcism.
Daisy really, really, really needed some breakfast alcohol.
She slowly opened the creaking door.
Shakespeare rolled a wine bottle with the tip of his nose, stopping the bottle with her slippers.
“You’ve been in the beer again,” she noted, waving a hand in front of her nose
The cat swayed slightly on his paws. “I had a pint, me dear. I imbibe now and then because you cut off me love buds.”
Humph! She tapped her foot. “Well, imagine carrying a litter of ten or so kitties in your womb ever three months!”
“That’s a female problem,” Shakespeare said with a typical male response. The cat blew on a paw, showing off his flexed claws. “You need a pedicure, Daisy.”
He then bounced on all four paws, sideways, over to the chair in front of the computer monitor. He jumped on the cushion, rubbing his furry buttocks against the fabric. Shakespeare liked to scratch his butt a lot, and he often had kitty litter stuck between his claws. She shuddered to think what else he found stuck up his rear.
He probably just came from the litter box, she thought, fuming.
While she opened the bottle of wine with a spare opener, the cat began pounding the keyboard with his paws.
She took a swallow, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and said, “I didn’t know you were literate, Shakespeare.”
“Just because I’ve always been the strong silent type don’t mean that I can’t read and write like a proper gentleman.” The cat sounded like a British butler.
“You’re a cat. Therefore, you can’t ever be a gentleman just because you know how to use a computer. You smoke like a fish but you aren’t a fish.”
“Point taken, Daisy. Enough of your insults before I report you to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”
“I’m not being cruel to you, Shakespeare, by stating the obvious.”
“Mental cruelty,” he said, “along with the butchery of me balls.”
She had turned down her sisters’ offers of blind dates and now the phone was ringing with the word Ma ominously blinking beneath an image of her mother’s big, wide-open mouth. She wished her mother had never taken a class in using Smart phones and discovered Video calling.
Well, she would ignore the phone call.
Damn Shakespeare jumped from the keyboard to the Accept button of the phone.
“You vengeful hairball,” Daisy hissed.
Shakespeare hissed back at her.
Ma didn’t talk; she screamed. “What’s this I hear, young lady, about you being so picky about what man you are going to marry? Well I married your dad, didn’t I? If I had waited for the pick of the litter, I’d be dead right now, wouldn’t I, and YOU WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN!”
“Oh, gee we have a bad connection. I think my cellphone is about to drop this call.”
Quick, Daisy turned off her cellphone.
Shakespeare had gone back to typing at the computer.
She would need another swallow or two of cheap wine before reading what the cat was typing.
Daisy crept up behind him, reading his Shakespearean message out loud. “For you and I are past our dancing days.”
“I'm not that old!” she shrieked. “You’re like 91 or something in human years. I’m only 39!”
“You had a fearful look in your eye when your sisters crashed into the house and attempted to convince you of the need of finding someone before you become obsolete on the love market.”
“Big deal, so I’ll be turning 40 in eleven months which is less than half your age. Card companies call 40 ‘over the hill’ not obsolete!”
“Forty is a lot of candles, luv. I’ve got a vested interest if you burn the house down on your next birthday, which is why I’m offering to cut down on me nappy time to help.”
“Why should I listen to advice on relationships from someone who has never had…ever even had…or could have…”
“It’s not for lack of trying.”
It was true Shakespeare had a thing for fuzzy blankets. He was rather randy to use the British term for frisky.
He placed a paw on her hand. “Don’t mind your sisters, aunt, and mother Daisy; a little more than kin, and less than kind.”
She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “A Shakespearean quote sums up my sisters alright. They’re like five wicked stepsisters only they are not steps. Poor Aunt Davina can’t seem to remember that her husband died ten years ago, probably hen-pecked to death.” Daisy had smelled the liquor on her aunt’s breath. Davina imbibed rather heavily in God’s grape juice, proclaiming that wine was divine like her name.
As for Ma, well Ma was recently widowed by her second husband being struck by lightning while golfing.
“Between the seven of them, there is a wealth of experience when it comes to men. However, I do not need their offers of blind date setups. I can find my own man, thank you very much.”
“Still waiting for a knight in shining armor to wake you from your sleep, my pretty one?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“A prince to return your glass slipper to your chapped foot?”
She circled her head.
“A charmer to hold you up when you’re falling-down drunk?”
“So you were awake last night when I stumbled through the door, huh?”
“Who do you think it was dragged you to bed and tucked you in, chickadee?”
“No wonder I woke up with claw marks.”
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About the Author
Belinda has a degree in Applied Mathematics. Before pursuing a full-time writing career, she worked as a Computer Programmer, Software Engineer, and Web Developer. She is a Zumbaholic and really does have a cat named Shakespeare. She has dreamt several times that her cat spoke to her in English. There are times that her cat really does speak words such as Ma-Ma and No. Her cat Whiskey (R.I.P.) was uber-talkative and would carry on a conversation but in cat language. He always had the last word.