A Frightening Fangs-giving

seeing that I do need to eat, not to mention mind the three of these women lest they burn down all of Maine, I’m front and center for all the action. I’ve donned my best fall boots, my peacoat, and here we are staring up at the behemoth establishment wondering what kind of an adventure waits for us inside.
Fish mewls from the tote bag cinched onto my shoulder, I smell food, Bizzy. We’re lucky we didn’t bring Sherlock. He’s not nearly as obedient as I am around human food. She nuzzles her face against my chest. You do know how much I like fresh fish. It’s in my name, for Pete’s sake. If you don’t mind, pick up a bite for me, would you? I’ve never eaten out at a fancy restaurant before.
I wasn’t going to bring Fish along for the ride, but Georgie scooped up the kittens and put them in a little front carrier papoose I had lying around. I have several, but this one has a small platform for them to stand on, and the front is made of mesh so they can see everything around them. Georgie has it strapped to her chest, and the kittens have been giggling and snipping at one another all the way over. And now the three of them are crying out Fish’s name like a choir.
The bar itself is tucked inside an oversized long cabin of a building with a sign out front that reads Welcome to Happy Hour, where every hour is happy!
Juni grunts, “You got your booze, you got your happy tappies.” She pats her stomach. I think she meant tapas, but I’m not up for correcting her. “I may never leave.”
Juni has donned her traditional biker gear, a dark leather jacket, matching short leather skirt, fishnets, and flashy red heels. There are only two trains of thoughts when it comes to her accouterments: either people love it—a category almost exclusively reserved for newly released convicts—or they think her cognition is a little mixed up and she’s trying to emulate a hooker.
Georgie nods. “And look”—she points to a small sign in the window—“happy hour includes a Thanksgiving dinner plate sampler. Ooh, I love me some Thanksgiving. Let’s get on inside, girls. There’s food, booze, and boys to be had.”
Georgie is causing a bit of a scene herself with the way she’s chosen to dress. She’s got on her requisite kaftan, in a rich shade of mustard, and over that she’s tossed one of her wonky quilts, an orange and yellow wonder with prints of a cartoon turkey stamped over it, and she’s cinched it around her neck with a giant pumpkin-shaped brooch. The wonky cape is alive and well, and right here in Edison with us.
Honestly, I’ve sported that same look a time or two late at night when trekking from the sofa to the fridge while on the hunt for a midnight snack, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to parade around town in it.
Macy growls over at Georgie, “Which superhero are you supposed to be? Captain Crazy? Or just plain Crazy Cat Lady?” She jabs a finger at the trio of kittens and sends them into a frenzy. Her short platinum bob has had a fresh cut this afternoon and looks just as razor sharp and dangerous as my sister’s tongue. She’s donned a brown leather jacket with matching boots that ride up well past her knees, and she’s finished the look with large gold hoop earrings that are big enough to work as bracelets.
The kittens mewl in turn.
Oh, she hates us.
I think she’s going to eat us.
Perhaps she’s a witch looking for a familiar? Is that food I smell?
I do my best to stifle a laugh and Macy lands her wild eyes on mine.
“You’re one to laugh. Why in the heck is Fish here? Haven’t you ever heard the words, no shirt, no shoes, no sanity, no service?”
I make a face. “I know, but as soon as Georgie grabbed the kittens, Fish insisted on coming. She’s protective over them.”
And equally as hungry as they are, Fish purrs with a touch too much excitement.
“Besides”—I say to my ornery sister—“you mentioned we were going to make this quick, remember? I want to be home before Jasper gets to the cottage. And didn’t you say something about having a hot date?”
Macy grunts at her own reflection while sprucing up her hair with her fingers.
“That’s right, I do have a hot date.” She sniffs. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to let a hottie go to waste if I find one inside. Lucky for me, I don’t have a limit on how many men I can date in a single night.”
“Me either, sister.” Juni rocks her hip to Macy’s. “I say we leave the crazy cat ladies in the dust and get down to it.”
The two of them speed inside while Georgie and I get congested in the entry as we try to walk in at the very same time. The cats yowl, Georgie yelps, and I groan because Macy is right—I am clearly entering without my sanity.
Inside, it’s dimly lit, the scent of fresh roasted turkey permeates the air, and the sound of a sappy country song filters through the speakers.
We follow Macy through a thick crowd of mostly inebriated and very happy to be here patrons as we make our way to one of the tall tables near the bar that is apparently for standing only seeing there’s not a chair in sight. A few people are dancing near the front and the sound of intermittent laughter threatens to pierce my eardrums, but once I get a glimpse of the buffet, all sins are forgiven.
“Oh wow! It really is like Thanksgiving,” I say as my stomach begins to growl on cue.
Georgie brushes her shoulder to mine, and I can’t help but notice she’s getting some odd looks from the tables around us.
“Speaking of Turkey Day, what’s the lowdown on who we’re going to spend it with?