Divas Do Tell by Virginia Brown

around my ankles and yammer at me until I empty the tins into shallow pie pans. There aren’t usually too many squabbles between the cats since there are a lot of pie tins to go around. While they eat I clean water bowls and refill them and make sure there are no injured cats in the beds along the walls or up in the lofts. I was lucky enough this time that there were no sick cats requiring medications so that I didn’t have wire crates with litter pans to empty and cats to medicate.
    When I finished that I went in the house to turn the hound loose in the back yard. He ran around like crazy, throwing back his head every now and then to announce the fact that there’d been a squirrel, bird, or other critter in the yard. Since Cherryhill sits on ten acres surrounded by woods and fields, and the subdivision down the street has too many residents to encourage critters like possums or raccoons, we get our fair share in the yard. I waited on the deck for the dog, mentally counting to ten a few times while he finally decided to take care of his business. Sometimes he sniffs along the ground and poops at the same time, a trick not many dogs I’ve known have managed. I can’t decide if Brownie has attention deficit syndrome or is just really good at multi-tasking.
    Once back in the house I went through the ritual of heating his food and putting it in his bowl on the placemat before I could tend to my own dinner. Another frozen pizza had little appeal. I decided to scramble some eggs and make toast instead.
    I’d just sat down at the table when my cell phone rang. It was still in my purse across the kitchen, and I debated not answering it. Sometimes my first instinct is related to survival. When I ignore that instinct is when I get into trouble. Still, I got up and went to my purse to dig out the phone.
    Bitty chirped, “I’m coming over with our outfits. We need them tomorrow, so you have to try on yours. I think you’re going to like it.”
    I doubted that. “I’m eating,” I said. “Maybe we can do that tomorrow.”
    “No, tonight. We have to be on the set at five in the morning.”
    Black dots danced in front of my eyes. “Five in the morning ? Who does anything at five in the morning?”
    “Well, apparently, Hollywood people do.”
    “That’s obscene. And I’m amazed you’re even considering it at that hour. You rarely get up until ten in the morning.”
    “I’m willing to suffer for my career.”
    “What career?”
    Bitty sounded a bit exasperated when she said, “My acting career, Trinket.”
    Good lord .
    “An acting career as an extra doesn’t sound like something I want to suffer for, Bitty. If it was later in the day, maybe I would be more interested.”
    “This could be our big break, Trinket.”
    “As what? Pedestrians?”
    There was a moment of silence before she said, “One day you’ll thank me for dragging you out. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
    I would have said I was going to bed or taking a shower or just twiddling my thumbs, but she’d already hung up. Since I’m not sure I know how to twiddle anyway, I sighed and finished my scrambled egg sandwich. Brownie looked up at me expectantly. I shook my head.
    “Remember me? I’m not your real mama. She gives you bites of her food. I don’t. You’re already fat enough.”
    When he kept staring at me as if he stared hard and long enough food would suddenly magically materialize, I gave in and got him a doggie biscuit. He immediately took it and trotted to the den with it. I had been had, I was pretty sure.
    All too soon Bitty was at my door. She likes to come in the back way since it leads straight into the kitchen, and it’s the door we’ve used since we were kids. Most of the time the front of the house is reserved for company only. I dust it for Mama once a week, but other than that it’s rarely used.
    “Look, precious,” she said to Chitling, “there’s your cousin Brownie. Be nice.”
    Precious looked grumpy in her thick