“Put the money in my hat, now.” Another headshake.
This time, a little girl giggled.
“Do I have to take it back from you?” I stalked two overexaggerated steps toward Mimsy, making the mime clear. I didn’t need anyone actually grabbing at her. She sat up on her butt, then darted between my ankles, stopping two feet behind me. I whirled. “Oh, is it like that?” I held out my arms wide. She pretended to dodge left, then right, while I intercepted her. Then with a leap, she landed on my shoulder, then jumped off behind me, fiver still in her teeth.
Both kids laughed.
We did thekeepawaydance for a few more minutes, ending with the bit where Mimsy got behind my heels and I pretended I couldn’t see her. Then, as I bent over, she ran up my back and onto the top of my head. I straightened— carefully— and put my hand over my eyes like I was shading them, pretending to peer all around while she balanced on my scalp.Ouch, watch the claws, baby.“Where did she go?” I asked the several children now gathered. “That cat has my money. Where did she go?”
They pointed and called out, “She’s there,” and, “On your head,” while laughing and jumping up and down.
“Oh! She’s sneaky!” I swiped Mimsy down, juggled her, pretended to lose my grip. She landed on all fours and on my signal, dropped the money. I grabbed it. “Hah! I have it!”
In one quick move, Mimsy grabbed the cap off the ground in her teeth and dragged it three feet away.
The children roared with laughter.
“Oh, no,” I cried in mock anguish. “I’m not doing that again.” I looked around the audience. “I’ll have to buy it from her. What do you think cats use for money? Chicken?”
“Mice!”
“Fish!”
“Cat treats!”
I pointed at the third child. “There. I don’t have mice or fish, but I miiiiight have…” Drawing the moment out, I dug in my pocket, then waved my hand in the air. “Cat treats!”
Mimsy sat down on the hat, facing me.
“Look,” I said. “A tasty cat treat.” I set one on the ground. “Come and get it.”
On my cue, Mimsy shook her head.
“Two treats?” I put another beside the first.
Headshake.
“How many do you want?”
Mimsy meowed five short sharp sounds.
“What do you think, kids? How many was that?”
The ones old enough to count yelled out, “Four,” “Five,” “Six,” “A hundred!” with varying degrees of accuracy.
I snickered at the kid who’d said a hundred. He looked to be about five and had a wicked grin. Kid was gonna be my kind of hellraiser.
Poised on one knee, I set out a line of treats and counted, “One, two, three, four, five. Now can I have my hat back?”
Mimsy waited a count of three, then sauntered over and ate her treats with neat snaps of her little white teeth. I leaped to my feet, scooped up the hat, and put it on my head. Last treat eaten, Mimsy jumped to my shoulder and we took a bow with her draped around my neck.
The applause warmed me. But I quickly set down the cap with the five back in it because applause was nice, but it didn’t buy me lunch.
Luckily, the bright sun, happy crowd, and laughing kids meant some parents opened purses and wallets. A couple of the kids asked if they could pet Mimsy, and I bent to let them stroke her without taking her off my shoulders. She purred like a rock grinder, happy to be admired.
When the crowd had drifted off to their postponed shopping or errands, several fives and at least one ten sat in my cap. I pulled out the money, folding the bills into my pocket without counting because that looked tacky and I might want to come back another day. The fruit and baked goods displayed in the store made my mouth water, but I didn’t even consider buying. This kind of fancy market in an upscale neighborhood would charge twice what I’d pay in a supermarket.
“Hey,” I asked an older man going by. “Is there a Target or Walmart or something near here?”
