The Big Cat Nap

wiggled the stubborn plant, and cursed some more—louder, too. Finally the root gave way, emerging from the ground like a dirty giant worm. She tumbled backward.
    Coop had to laugh. There she was, flat on her back, just as Harry came down the driveway. Rolling over and getting up, she held up her hands in surrender as Harry and Susan disembarked from Susan’s lime green Wrangler, her fun second vehicle. The two cats, Tucker, and Owen—Susan’s corgi and Tucker’s brother—disembarked, too.
    “Are you okay?”
Tucker, a sweet animal, licked Coop’s hand.
    Cooper leaned over, patted the glossy head, then picked up the long, giant root, holding it aloft. “Killed in the line of duty.”
    Harry took the root from Coop’s hand. “What a monster.”
    Susan’s eyes gazed west at the huge timber tract abutting the back of the old Jones place before returning to the vanquished invasive root. “You should save that for Miranda. Maybe the two of you could bronze it for posterity.”
    “Dropped by to give you something.” Harry returned to the wagon, brought out a Mason jar filled with clear liquid. “Good for what ails you.”
    “Illegal, no doubt.” Coop smiled, taking the moonshine, called “country waters” in these parts.
    “Perhaps there are too many restrictions on enjoyment and profit,” Susan added.
    “Tell that to your husband,” Harry jabbed.
    “Ned has never introduced any bills against any activities bringing income into our county,” Susan countered.
    “Honey, Ned hasn’t introduced many bills yet.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up.
    “Who cares?” said Susan. “Come on. Let’s have a sip under the hickory.”
    The humans walked to the Adirondack chairs under the two-hundred-year-old hickory. Coop ran into her kitchen, came back with a pitcher of lemonade and a box of shortbread cookies.
    “I could eat a cookie.”
Pewter noticed the box.
    “We’re obligate carnivores,”
Mrs. Murphy noted.
    “Doesn’t mean I can’t eat a cookie.”
    Murphy and Tucker ignored Pewter, taking up key positions by the chairs just in case a human wished to throw a cookie to them.
    “Lemonade for a long drink. Ladies, I’m about out of food and I can’t face the supermarket, so we’ll make do with cookies.”
    “Hey, sounds good.”
    The three sat, passing around the Mason jar and taking tiny sips. They knew better than to take a swig.
    “Smooth.” Cooper closed her eyes in appreciation.
    Harry nodded. “Those old boys know what they’re doing.”
    “Where’d you get this?” Cooper asked.
    “I’m not telling.”
    “All right.” The blonde shrugged.
    “I won’t tell, either, except to say the waters were all clear mountain runoff,” Susan added. “That’s the thing about Virginia country waters—they really are country waters. Of course, some people throw in peaches, others plums, cherries, kind of like a signature, I suppose. But if I’m going to take a sip, I like it clear, clear, clear, just like the runoff from the Blue Ridge.”
    “Susan, I didn’t know you were such a fan.” Cooper used the lemonade as a chaser, quite refreshing.
    “I’m full of surprises, although not as many as I’d like.”
    “Guess that could apply to us all. I turn on the TV and see the misdeeds of politicians, TV stars, movie stars, and realize I’m plain old white bread.” Harry laughed at herself.
    “You know, those people can’t be happy. To act out like that, to sleep with battalions of men or women, to send photos of your genitals—I can’t believe anyone who acts that way is truly happy,” Susan mused.
    “I’ll never know.” Cooper grinned.
    “Hey, girls, there’s still time,” Harry said cheerfully.
    They laughed, gossiped, talked about what was left to be done for the Flag Day celebration at St. Luke’s, which would be held next Saturday, June 16, starting early, at ten, in case the heat came up. Harry told them the T-shirts looked great.
    “Coop, you need a hobby other than pulling out burdock root. I’d be happy to take you out on the driving range at the club,” Susan offered. “Golf can take you away from the world.”
    “That’s what you say. Wasn’t there a book written about golf entitled
A Good Walk Spoiled
?” Harry took her last little sip from the Mason jar.
    “Susan, thank you,” said Coop in her dark soprano. “I don’t see how I would ever get the time. As it is, we’re working overtime because we can’t hire any new recruits. The only way the