We were tasting the cheese Mama Hiam had bought when Emily scurried across the room. Simba was on a forbidden table in the salon, and when he jumped off he knocked over a small crystal sculpture of an oyster with a pearl inside.
Spitting out an olive seed just in time, Hiam roared "BEAT HIM!" through olive puree and cheese. Emily chased Simba around the living room, climbing over the couch and opening and shutting the balcony door. The little shit was sly, but Emily knew his tricks. She was obviously a veteran. From my seat at the lunch table, I had a clear view of the spectacle whereas Hiam's back was to the chase.
Before I knew it, Emily had inched up to the table. She was cradling Simba. Hiam swung around and, cursing the cat in Arabic, smacked him on the head a good half dozen times.
"If it hurts enough, he'll remember," she concluded as she downed the pills in her palm.
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