A Giblet & Belle Story: Martini Time

Belle had only been with the family for a short time, but already she had decided that she liked the late afternoons in her new house the best. That was when everybody returned home from their various jobs or school and the house became alive again. She would see the happy faces on the Woman & Man People, who were glad to be home from work and the happy faces on the Person-Kittens who would be happy to be home from school.

While the family was out on a normal day, Belle would usually be curled up next to her best friend Giblet. He was a cat that liked his sleep and a set tight schedule. He would always insist that he could not function unless he got his required eighteen hours of sleep per-day. However, even Giblet would make time to come downstairs when the family came home. He did so for no other reason than to let the family make a fuss over him.

Belle was a little all black kitten and the newest member of the family.  She observed that there was routine when the family got home. The Person-Kittens would come in, throw down their book-bags and would race upstairs to let the dog, Iko, out of her kennel. Then, they and the dog would race downstairs to the kitchen to get a snack. After which, all three would go and play until dinner time.

The Woman-Person would come in, drop something called mail on the counter and make a cup of tea. She would then check through the mail. No bills, Belle had observed, was considered a good day. Who is Bill? she wondered. Then, with the cup of tea in her hand, she would settle in front of the computer and check her favorite cat comic sites.

Finally, the Man-Person would come into the kitchen and begin the most intriguing ritual…making a cocktail.

Belle enjoyed watching all the family go through their routines, however, it was what the Man-Person did every day that piqued her curiosity the most. What exactly is a cocktail? she wondered.

She would watch the Man-Person make his potion, and it fascinated her. He would gather all the ingredients, ice from the freezer, his fancy glass from the cabinet, and brightly colored liquor bottles (Blue for something called Gin and Green for something called vermouth). Belle heard the Man-Person call the special cocktail glass a Martini glass and NOBODY was to touch it he would say with mock gravity.

The glass had a gold band completely around its wide top, wide enough that she could put her whole face in the opening, then it tapered down to a thin stem. It was several cat-paw lengths tall, and the outside of the glass was not smooth, except around the top-edge. The sides looked like the glass was cut at different angles around the whole bowl. It made light coming through the glass twinkle.

Belle had heard the Man-Person call the glass—Cut Leaded Crystal—but she had no idea what that meant. The glass never cut anything and as far as she could tell, it did not lead the Man-Person anywhere either. Although that was not entirely true, the cocktail did seem to lead the man to happiness.

The Man-Person would hum to himself as he mixed the different ingredients together in the silver container and then he would put in ice, close the top, and shake the concoction vigorously. Belle would sit on the table, watching this process in amazement. Certainly, no chemist ever mixed a formula with greater care or enjoyment. Whatever was in the glass, it was very special, indeed.

On this particular evening, the Man-Person finished making his cocktail and poured it in his special glass, but before he could sit down and enjoy it, he had to go take a phone call from the university where he worked. The finished Martini sat in its chalice, tiny drops of condensation forming around the outside.

Belle decided to see what all the fuss was about and walked over to the Martini to inspect it. She got her nose close to the rim of the glass and took a sniff. Yuck, she thought, that didn’t smell good. She scrunched up her little black nose and gave the cocktail a disapproving look.

“Oh, that face sure is a funny one,” Joel Grey the Russian Blue observed with a chuckle, his West Virginia accent coming through loud and clear.

“I don’t think Kittens and Martini’s go together young missy,” he concluded.

“Maybe it will smell better the second time,” Belle suggested.

She leaned over and took a deeper sniff, only to get the end of her nose in the Martini. Without thinking, she licked her nose and began gagging and trying to spit the taste out of her mouth. Joel erupted into laughter from his chair.

Whatever this was, couldn’t be good for the Man-Person, she thought. “This must have gone bad,” Belle announced. “I will make sure this doesn’t hurt him.”

“WAIT, YOUNG MISSY, DON’T…” Joel called out, but it was too late. Belle pushed the Martini off the table and the cocktail crashed to the floor, the ornate leaded glass breaking into numerous pieces—the sound of glass breaking reverberating around the kitchen.

The Man Person heard the crash from the next room and rushed back into the kitchen just in time to see a little, black kitten rear-end disappear around the corner and a shattered drink on the floor.

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A little while later, Giblet sat in the Master Bedroom, looking under the bed at his friend. Belle was curled up in a ball, refusing to come out.

“Belle. You will have to come out eventually,” Giblet meowed.

“No. I’m never coming out ever. Everyone hates me,” she said with a kitten’s certainty.

“Nobody hates you,” Giblet assured her. “The Man-Person thinks he left his Martini too close to the edge of the table and that it was an accident when it was knocked off.

“In fact,” Giblet continued, “The Man-Person was worried you may have cut yourself.”

“I ruined his cocktail and broke his special glass,” she lamented. “Now it won’t lead him anywhere.”

“I’m never coming out,” the kitten repeated.

“The longer you avoid a problem, the harder it is to solve it,” Giblet told his friend from experience. “Go downstairs and apologize. You will feel better and so will the Man-Person.”

“No!” he heard from under the bed.

“Fine,” he said.  “I guess I will have to go apologize for you.”

Giblet left the room leaving the little kitten to reflect on what he said.

I can’t let Giblet take the blame for something that was my fault, she thought.

After a few more minutes. Belle crawled out from under the bed and went to find the Man-Person. She found him sitting in his chair, drinking a new cocktail in a different glass. And, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a mason jar. Well poop, she thought.

She cautiously walked up to the Man and sat by his leg and meowed softly, I’m sorry I broke your cocktail. Then reaching out with her little black paw she patted his leg.

The Man-Person looked down and smiled. Reaching, he scooped her up with one hand and deposited her on his lap. She looked uneasy at first, but when he began rubbing her head between her ears, Belle purred loudly. She automatically began to knead his lap, and, after a little while, she laid down but kept purring.

All was forgiven.

From the corner of the room, the scene was taken in by a large, silent Maine Coon cat. She was a Protector for the family, the neighborhood, and leader of the clowder. That is a brave little kitten, she thought to herself. 

I wonder...I wonder, hmm—she contemplated.

Coming to a decision, Mittens vowed—I am going to have to keep my eye on this one.