What I did see for myself was her visa to America. First Preference EB-1. Which means she’s an extraordinary scientist and that America was ecstatic to import her extraordinary brains. She did not even need an offer of employment to be imported into the U.S.A.
And there is more.
There was a large free space on Old Lady’s visa form — for her to write in anybody she wanted to bring with. She could invite whomever else she wanted—write in any name.
But! — She chose to bring me,
“one pure-bred black and roan English Springer Spaniel, tail docked, shots current.”
Me! Make what you want of it.
Also, she brought Milly, my younger sister.
Because Old Lady does not hunt, I classify myself as a guarding dog. My sister Milly helps. We are quite skilled.
We guard our Human from all unpleasantness—small, medium and large ones. And especially from that one unpleasantness that we never talk about. That one is our family secret.
She’s dragged in all manner of “buddies” — from birds to reptiles. A neighbor’s rabbit, a turtle from the creek, a possum stealing scraps at night—anybody who so much as smiled at Milly would get invited to munch on our food. I am not greedy, but .. Old Lady paid good money for our Spaniel food. If she’d wanted to throw money out in the Forest, she’d done it.
Besides, this entire zoo drinks from our water dish. And prone to stepping into it. Or worse, know what I mean. Unsanitary. Disgusting even.
n all humility, she was the one and only adequate choice, far and away the most superbly qualified Expert available—at least in the Neighborhood and quite possibly in all of Ducklingburg.
“Request granted,” she purred with laconic simplicity. “I’ll be your Expurrrt. I work prrroo bono. Meaning you do not have to pay, but I do not have any rrrrresponsibility.”
Before the Spaniels could react, the Cat explained,
“I don’t need your pay, I’m already immensely rich. I do not want for anything, there’s plenty of food and attention.
“The Humans in my First Family feed me twice. Neither knows that the other fed me. They work so hard, no time to coordinate. They rely on this stupid two-sided sign.
One side says:
CAT IS FED
The other side:
FEED THE CAT
They never figured out that, with one swipe of my paw, I can beat that system, turn the sign around to any way I want it.”
Both Spaniels salivated in acknowledgment, and the Cat went on.
“And Suzy in my second home shares everything she has with me… So, I will work purrr . . . pro bono. Meaning free,” she said once again, with the patronizing tone.
“And since it is pro bono,” (meaning free, mouthed the dogs silently) “you will please control your expectations.”
“Meaning what?” asked Milly.
“Meaning,” said the cat arrogantly, “I am a Legal Expert, not a miracle worker. No warranties of a successful result. If your Principal, Old Lady, is unsatisfied with my advice, no claims against my insurance.”
“You are insured for bad legal advice?” Milly was incredulous.
“It’s called malpractice coverage,” corrected Cat Rosie, evading answering the question. “And, what’s more, if your Matter comes to an appeal, my name is never mentioned as your counsel. We lawyers call that being not of record. Purr-fectly clear? . . . Agreed?”