by Deanna Kent
“Let’s allow P.U.G. to prove its worthiness.” Oscar whistled. “P.U.G.! Go get the mail!” The robot bounded outside at top speed.
When the mechanical abomination didn’t return for several minutes, Ophelia poked her nose outside to see what was happening. Its head was in the dirt, its metal butt sticking straight up, and all four supersonic paws were frantically clawing up Ophelia’s award-winning rosebush.
“Your dumb dog-bot invention is broken!” she yelled to Oscar. “You asked for the mail and it’s digging up my garden!”
“Impossible,” Oscar answered. “I coded it myself. P.U.G. is perfectly programmed to be quite doglike and very obedient.”
Suddenly, P.U.G.’s tail started wagging and it emerged from the freshly dug hole with a small bag in its mouth. Proud and panting, it dragged the sack through the dirt and dropped it in front of Ophelia. Curious, she opened it and reached inside to retrieve the contents.
“YEOW! MEOW!” Her delicate paws became victims of several rose thorn prickles. But her pain was quickly replaced with puzzlement. The bag was full of dozens of unopened letters—all addressed to her!
Who would steal her mail and bury it in her garden? And why?!
“There are only three things you really need in life: a big dream, a terrific plan, and a fabulous shoe collection.”
—Ophelia von Hairball V
4
A PURR-FECT STORM
What’s in the bag?” Oscar was jumping out of his fins with curiosity. “Giant opals? Priceless coins? Secret love letters?”
“No, you nosy fish. They are … invitations.” Ophelia could hardly believe it. With each letter she opened, new waves of anger curled her whiskers. After a few moments, all of her fur stood on end. She pulled out one envelope after the other. Every one had the FFBI seal on the corner. “This bag is filled with invitations and reminders about the latest and greatest Furry Feline Burglary Institute Purr-fect Heist Competition! The one that’s happening in Paris RIGHT NOW! The one that I can’t win, because I didn’t even know about it!”
“Do you want to sit down?” Oscar pulled a fuzzy cushion over for her. “You look like your blood might just boil.”
“There’s no time to sit, Oscar. There’s hardly time to breathe. The contest ends in under TWO DAYS!” She examined the postmarks. “My mail has been buried in the garden for weeks!”
“Intriguing,” Oscar puzzled. “Why would someone try to prevent you from participating in the competition? Also, why doesn’t the FFBI use e-mail?”
“They do. But I don’t enjoy e-mail. It’s easier to tamper with and not as classy as old-fashioned mail.” Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Besides, the catnip spam I get is beyond ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong. I like high-tech things. But when there’s a choice, I always request the classic option.”
Oscar peered into the bag. “Anything else in there?” There was one last, lone letter at the bottom.
“Hey!” Oscar exclaimed. “I’ve seen his picture at FFBI HQ. He’s a bully. None of the inventors like to work with him.”
“GROWL. Pierre von Rascal of Thievesyl-vania, my cousin, is the least charming criminal around.”
“Oh!” Oscar clapped his fins together. “A family rivalry! Such drama! I think his eyebrows are impressive….”
“This is no ordinary rivalry, fish-face. Pierre’s jealousy of me started when we were barely more than small balls of fur. He once stole my favorite Captain Claw-some action figure. He still has it!”
“But that must have been so long ago,” Oscar replied.
“Oh, it just gets worse and worse! He’s always mad at me because I win. Do you want to know why I win? Because he’s sloppy, and I do things right!” Just then, P.U.G. licked Ophelia’s face. “UGH! Please program that robot to never lick me. I suppose I don’t really have time to tell you a bunch of old Ophelia versus Pierre rivalry stories. I’ve got to figure out how to get ahead when I’m already so far behind.”
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed and she paced the room. The thought of Pierre stealing these letters for weeks and weeks made her want to cough up a big, fat hairball.
“My cousin is out to sabotage me and break my winning streak. I’ve always won the FFBI’s Purr-fect Heist Competition!” She took a deep breath to counteract the hissy fit she felt coming on. “Can you check to see if anyone’s successfully stolen the Paris diamond yet? If not, I need to get there ASAP.”
Ophelia knew that if she could get to Paris quickly, then with the right tools and the help of a few international allies, she could win the contest, get her prize, and keep her number-one spot.
Oscar checked the global databases. “The diamond still appears to be at the Mew-seum. We have a chance!”
Ophelia studied the Mew-seum’s blueprints. A few ideas about a very grand heist started to brew in her mind.
“I can do this,” Ophelia muttered out loud. “I’m going to need a grab-and-switch gadget—one that’s the exact weight of the Himalayan diamond. There are invisible lasers surrounding the pedestal; I’ll need some way to see them. If I can get into the room and avoid the alarms, I should be able to grab that gorgeous gem and waltz out the front door with style. I do love a good heist where I can walk out the front door….”
Oscar jumped into action. “That’s the winning attitude! I’ll start making gadgets while you book our passage to Paris.”
“‘Our’ passage?” Ophelia’s purr-fectly manicured eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. “I need gadgets for sure. But we do not need a travel plan. Only I do.”
Even though Ophelia was almost two full days behind Pierre and all the other agents, she knew she was the superior contender. Her stomach fluttered. This particular competition was such a wonderful thrill! Nothing worth having was ever easy to obtain. But she was prepared to win at any cost, because there was absolutely no way that she would allow her cousin to knock her from the number-one spot at the FFBI.
It was time to get to Paris and steal the giant diamond.
“Know your friends. Know your anemones. And always know where the best snacks are.”
—Ophelia von Hairball V
5
PAWS-ITIVELY PREPARED
Successful heists are only as good as the brains behind them. Under normal circumstances, Ophelia prepared for months prior to every criminal escapade. Plans were crafted! Disguises were created! Blueprints were studied, and global allies were sent big boxes of treats in anticipation of their generous help.
But because of Pierre’s trickery, Ophelia had hardly any time for secret travel or elaborate plans. She had to get to Paris fast. She got to work booking first-class airline tickets. “The last name is von Hairball. That’s V-O-N H-A-I-R-B-A-L-L.”
“Pssst! Hello! Excuse me, please.” Oscar interrupted her phone call with a very loud, dramatic whisper. “I know an international heist-master like you must have a ton of fake identities.” His brow furrowed with concern. “I don’t think you should be using your real name! We should assume that your evil cousin is watching your every move!”
Ophelia shushed him, but he was persistent.
“Oh dear. He’ll try to set you up! What if you go to jail? You would not be happy in prison, Ophelia. They use very uncomfortable fabric for their uniforms! Plus, orange isn’t at all complementary to your fur tone….”
“Oscar, stop. I’m simply booking decoy travel to trick Pierre if he’s watching me.”
“Ooooh. OOOOH! You’re entirely too clever. . . .” He smiled. “So … what’s the real plan?”
“Shhhh. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat … but it could come after the fish! Please leave me be. Don’t you have things to invent?”
Oscar crumpled. “Ophelia! I’m your biggest fan, and I’m craving action and adventure! When the FFBI assigned me to you, they said I’d be out in the field more. Also,” he confided, straightening his tie, “Paris is perfect, because I love fashion. And I need to learn some French! Wee-wee, mon-see-yur. Le pwa-sawn dore say troo-vay oh
ban-an-ee-air.”
“‘The gold fish is in the banana stand’? Do you even know what you’re saying? FISH! STOP! You’re hurting my ears!”
Ophelia sighed. Overall, she thought Oscar seemed like a nice fish. He’d certainly done his homework and knew a lot about her. She wanted to be honest with him. “Fin-boy, even if I wanted you to come—which I don’t—the last thing I need is to be taking care of you and your little tank lab. All the splooshing and splashing would be counterproductive to my solo stealth operation.”
Oscar stood tall. “Counterproductive? Oh no! I’d never be a burden to you. My S.P.I.T. is totally portable, not to mention sploosh-proof.”
“Spit?” Ophelia asked. “How crass.”
“S.P.I.T. is short for Small Portable Inter-water Tank. It will sustain me on dry land for weeks at a time. It has a sleek design, too.”
Ophelia was speechless. Oscar mistook her silence for jealousy. “Oh, don’t be sad! I’ve also made you something! … Ta-da! A scuba suit. It’s quite fashionable and coated with a highly water-repellent compound I came up with.”
The cat shook her head back and forth. “NO, NO, NO, fish-flake. Scuba suits aren’t my thing—fashionable or not. I’m not a fan of water. Anyhow, if you’ve studied my criminal career, you’ll know that I’m a solo act. I don’t need a companion, buddy, or sidekick. I’ll steal the diamond alone. Now, do you have the gadgets I asked for?”
He sighed and handed over a small silver box. “Of course I do. When you get into the room with the jewel, hit the purple button. It will release a specially formulated purple dust concoction. The dust will hide you from the cameras and also let you see any invisible laser beams.”
“Why purple?” Ophelia asked.
“Just for fun. You might want to design an outfit around it,” Oscar told her.
“Impressive,” Ophelia admitted. “I always say the devil is in the details. It’s the same weight as the diamond?”
“Yes. Once the dust is released, the box will be exactly 3,501.17 carats—or approximately 24.700027472 ounces—the weight of the Himalayan diamond. It’s so easy. Push the button, perform a very precise grab-and-switch move, and then take the diamond. The box is untraceable.”
Oscar looked at her with respect. “Do a lot of cat burglars still do the grab-and-switch? It seems so marvelously old-fashioned.”
Ophelia was flattered. “Not many, in fact.” She was proud of her skills. “I may be the only cat burglar left in the world who can pull it off. But I do love well-timed moves. Did you know I trained with the world-renowned Mewdini? A grab-and-switch is difficult to perfect but worth learning.”
“I did know that,” Oscar admitted. “I really have researched and memorized your heists. Every single one. Your moves—and your disguises—are famous around the globe.”
Secretly, she was pleased that he knew her pedigree. “What’s the tiny gold button for?”
He looked embarrassed. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing. Sort of my personal signature. I put bonus features in all the gadgets I make. Just for fun. A ‘deluxe Oscar surprise,’ if you will. There’s even one on P.U.G. But you should leave the gold button alone. Don’t ever push it unless I tell you to!”
Ophelia scowled, fighting her natural curious instincts. She handed it back to Oscar. “Oh, I won’t. I’m not a fan of surprises. But I want to know what it does. So you’ll push it—now.”
Oscar knew he wasn’t going to change her mind, so he took the box and closed his eyes, then reluctantly tapped the gold button. A whirling tornado formed above his head and spun him around and around. After a few seconds, the spontaneous wind stopped and he collapsed in a dizzy heap. “I like to do different little things every time. That handcrafted, artisan tornado was my first attempt at a portable mini weather storm.”
Ophelia looked at him and sighed. “I won’t ever press the gold button,” she vowed, knowing that probably wasn’t true. (She was as curious as any cat.) “And one more thing, Oscar … would you happen to have a pattern for an aerodynamic wingsuit somewhere?” she asked. “You can use the gorgeous silk I bought in Japan.”
“Yes, of course.” With a wobble, he stood up. “I’ll make you a pattern—one of a kind, of course—and P.U.G. can quickly sew it for you. But first, please tell me your plan. How are you going to sneak your new gadget past the rigid Mew-seum security? Do you have insiders? Contacts? Spies?”
“Normally, I’d have help. But thanks to Pierre, there won’t be time.” She went to her storage room and lugged out a very large crate. Oscar tagged along right behind her. “You’re crowding me,” she told him. “I’m trying to get ready.”
His eyes widened. “But I want to know your plan!”
Ophelia sensed that he would keep asking until she told him. “See this luxurious, spa-like crate big enough for one cat and her accessories? THIS is how I’m traveling to Paris! By express airmail.”
“I don’t understand. No stealth helicopter? No supersonic jet?”
“No. Pierre will be expecting that. Just look at the address! This crate will be shipped—expressly, of course—directly into the Mew-seum in Paris where the jewel is kept. Get it? When I open the lid, I’ll already be inside the Mew-seum and past entrance security. I’ll have everything I need to nab the famed Himalayan diamond. Then I’ll go to Brussels to collect my FFBI trophy. It’s genius, if I do say so myself!”
Oscar paused and studied her face. “Do you ever feel sorry for Pierre? Would it be so bad for him to win one time?”
Ophelia took a breath, smoothed her tail, and put on her travel robe. “Yes, it would be so bad. I need to win this competition. I’m well on my way to breaking the world record for the highest number of successful heists sanctioned by the FFBI. My legacy will live on in the Hall of Fame. I’ll be forever known as the best and classiest cat burglar.” Ophelia hopped into the crate, which coincidentally contained a spa-style chair, luxury rug, and small trunk for all her burglary necessities. “Good-bye, Oscar. Have a relaxing week. If you’re bored, please go visit MEW. Just make sure to lock up before you leave my lair.”
For a moment, Oscar had a glimmer of admiration for her in his bulgy eyes, but it quickly died and Ophelia saw something else. Concern? Fear?
“I hate to rub your fur the wrong way, but before you put the top on that crate, I need to tell you that your plan might be flawed.” He continued, “I mean, in theory, it’s brilliant—like you!” He gulped nervously. “However, scientifically speaking, you’re going to take your last breaths in that little travel spa crate of yours.” He popped his small body up and down to look Ophelia right in the eyes.
“Always know what you do well. Then do more of it.”
—Ophelia von Hairball V
6
FIN-VENTOR ON THE MOVE
Last breaths? Never make it alive? Ophelia checked her watch (an antique trinket she’d nabbed during a Scottish castle heist). She only had ten minutes until her travel crate was to be picked up. Her gut was telling her that the fish was being overly dramatic. However, she didn’t want to die—or for Pierre to get the diamond.
“All right, all right!” she gave in with a huff. “Just hurry up and tell me what’s wrong with this crate!”
Oscar looked smug. “According to my calculations, the airhole circumferences aren’t large enough to give you a steady flow of oxygen during your long international travel time. But no worries; I’ve got just the tools to fix them.”
“Bigger airholes?” She sighed. “Seriously?”
“It’s true that you have a mind for stealth. But are you claiming to be a scientific expert as well? Even if I’m wrong—which, let’s be clear, I’m not—what would it hurt to get more air? It’s good for your skin!”
“True, true,” she admitted, warming up to the idea. “But listen, fish. Express airmail pickup happens in exactly nine minutes. It’s the last one of the day. If I miss it, I won’t be delivered to the Mew-seum tomorrow.”
“Oh, you’ll be there ton
ight,” Oscar assured her, “with a glowing complexion.” He turned to P.U.G. “Carry this crate parallel to the ground at a speed of two miles per hour. Gently set it down in the middle of the porch.” The loyal robo-dog obeyed. “Ophelia, make yourself comfortable inside the crate, and I’ll drill the airholes just a bit bigger. You’ll be breathing easy the whole way to Paris.”
Seven minutes to parcel pickup.
She collapsed in the spa chair, applied a variety of fancy conditioners to her fur, and placed cucumber slices over her eyes.
“Whatever you do, fish, try not to make too much noise. I’m going to have a nap now. And please keep your bulgy little eyes on the lookout for anything suspicious before I get picked up.”
Oscar saluted her and sealed the travel crate shut.
Four minutes.
Even with Oscar’s construction ruckus, Ophelia somehow managed to relax. She took a deep breath and visualized Pierre’s surprised face when she was announced the winner of the Fifth Annual FFBI Competition. He should know by now that she would win every small challenge and every big competition. She would set world records! She would cement her legacy as the most brilliant, best-dressed, most epic, world-class cat burglar of all time!
Oscar’s drill stopped. Right on time, Ophelia heard the mail carrier, then felt the crate lift up in the air. In a few moments, she felt bumps. This wasn’t her first time in the back of a delivery truck.
After about thirty minutes, Ophelia could tell from the noises outside that she was at the airport. Soon, the engine of the express airmail plane rumbled beneath her. She was on her way.
She smiled. The grand plan for her Paris heist and continued cat burglary fame and fortune was coming together.
