by Nic Saint
It took us a while longer to practice patience, until Odelia came home. To say she was impressed is an understatement.
“The cleaners! Are you sure?” she asked.
We all nodded, all four of us, and when she looked annoyed, I assumed it was because now she’d have to go and find another cleaner. Instead, she said, “I should have known. People who hate cats always have something to hide.”
And with these words, as much an admission of her error in judgment as anything I’d ever heard, she took out her phone and called Chase.
Epilogue
It was with sweet success still fresh in our minds that the four of us enjoyed the first fruits of Tex’s labors at the grill. Our resident grill master has steadily and slowly been improving his craft, but still the humans think it wise to allow us cats to have first dibs.
We can smell a turd from a mile away, and rotten food from even further. And if we dig in and enjoy the nibbles thrown our way, they know that the products of Tex’s grill are safe for human consumption.
“Who would have thought that the cleaners were also a couple of cat burglars,” said Charlene as she happily dug in. She may be skinny but she has an appetite on her that belies her slender form. Uncle Alec, who loves people who like to eat as much as he does, watched on with a distinct look of pride.
“Yeah, we found an entire stash back at their place,” he said. “Jewels, paintings, money… It looked more like an Amazon fulfillment center than a regular home. And lucky for us they hadn’t yet managed to fence off their latest haul, so Mort Hodge, Ida and Kurt have already gotten their precious stuff back.”
“And so have I!” Tex called out from behind the grill. He was sweating profusely, for the day was warm, but he seemed to be in his element, and the fact that Big Gnome #21 had been returned in pristine shape probably had something to do with that.
“They did fit the description,” Chase allowed. “Two burglars, one short and one tall. Though truth be told, Iris and Mira Johnson also fit the description, and so did Vale and Carew.”
“At least this time you got the right guy,” said Gran, who was still sore about the fact that her son was starting a dog kennel.
“Yeah, turns out we got the wrong guys, and gals, twice!” said Uncle Alec, though he didn’t seem too troubled by the fact. Then again, Charlene had relaxed her dieting instructions, and seemed to have decided to accept her man the way he was: curvy.
“It was a neat scheme,” said Marge. “All of their victims were also their clients, and they managed to get a good look around the houses they targeted, picking out what they were going to steal, then returning under the cover of darkness to rob them blind.”
“Wearing rubber masks that made them look like Vale and Carew and dropping their names was also very clever,” said Chase. “Your secretary didn’t pick up on the ruse.”
“No, she certainly didn’t,” said Charlene. “Well, I’m glad we got those coins back.”
“Is that why they tossed Mort Hodge’s house?” asked Marge. “To hide the fact that they knew exactly what they were looking for?”
“Exactly,” said Chase. “To make it look like a regular robbery.”
“I’m selling my gnome, by the way,” Tex announced now as he pushed his chef’s hat further back on his head.
Marge stared at her husband. “You’re selling your painting? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It takes a special kind of person to be a collector of extremely valuable works of art, and I’ve discovered throughout this episode that I’m not that kind of person. I keep worrying that someone is going to steal it, and that’s not a great feeling to have.”
“You could lock it up in a safe at the bank,” Odelia suggested.
“And then have Vale and Carew steal it? No, thanks,” said Tex, throwing his tongs into the air and failing to catch them, causing them to hit the table and knock over Uncle Alec’s beer, pouring its contents all over the big guy’s lap.
“My beer!” said Uncle Alec.
“Sorry about that,” Tex muttered. He grabbed a towel and started mopping up his brother-in-law’s crotch, who respectfully declined the treatment, yanked the towel from the doctor’s hands and did the honors himself.
“So what’s going to happen to the Johnsons?” asked Charlene. “Are they as crooked as you think they are?”
“Oh, yes,” Chase confirmed. “They may not be burglars, but they are thieves.”
“Two pairs of thieves caught in one week,” said Uncle Alec. “Must be a new record.”
“Look, I can condone a kennel, but does it have to be a dog kennel?” asked Gran suddenly. She’d been oblivious to the conversation and immersed in her own world.
“Where is your friend Scarlett, by the way?” asked Marge.
“At the spa,” said Gran. Her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you start a spa instead of a dog kennel? We could all use a nice day at the spa from time to time.”
Charlene directed a kindly smile at the older woman. “If we called it an animal shelter and dropped the reference to dogs, would you feel more comfortable, Vesta?”
“Well…” said Gran, wavering. “Maybe. I mean, what did dogs ever do to get preferential treatment?”
“She’s not wrong,” said Harriet, once again outing herself as another dog hater. “Though there are exceptions, of course,” she quickly added when she saw Rufus peeping through the hole in the hedge. “Some dogs are almost as nice as cats, in fact.”
Rufus raised his eyes heavenward, shook his big fluffy head, then reeled it back in.
“We’ll call it the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter,” Charlene suggested. “How does that sound?”
This time Gran was actually beaming. She clasped her hands together and said, “Are you serious?”
“Of course. I’m a politician. I don’t have a sense of humor,” Charlene quipped.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” said Gran, and there were tears in her eyes when she got up to give Charlene a big hug. “I love it!”
“Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter?” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Why not?” I asked. “I think it’s very sweet of Charlene to call it that.”
“Yeah, but what if Gran is tired of us and decides to donate us to the shelter that carries her name?”
We were all quiet after that. The prospect was too gruesome to contemplate. But Odelia must have overheard, for when she next came to dispense some more delicious grub, she said, “We’re never giving you away, you guys. And you can quote me on that.”
Just like a reporter to use that kind of language, I thought. But it was really kind of Odelia to confirm that we were, now and forever, her pets, and she wasn’t going to give us away. I like to think she was also saying it as a form of apology, after subjecting us to the cat-hating antics of the two cleaners-slash-burglars.
“Why do they call them cat burglars, Max?” asked Dooley.
“They call them cat burglars because they can scale a building like a cat, and crawl across roofs like we do. Though no human will ever be able to truly be a cat burglar.”
“What Max means to say is that cats are natural burglars,” said Harriet. “Though of course we would never stoop so low as to go and burgle people.”
“But if we would, we could?” asked Dooley.
“Well, of course, but it wouldn’t be right,” said Harriet. “We’re cats, not thieves.”
“I think I would like to be a thief,” said Dooley, surprisingly.
We all looked at him. “You, a thief?” I said. “But why?”
“I’d steal from the bad people and give it to the good ones,” he said. “Like Blanche and Bella Trainor? Or Iris and Mira Johnson? If we could steal back what they stole, and return it to the people they stole it from, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Of course that’s a good thing,” I conceded. “But that’s why we have Uncle Alec and Chase.”
“Well, not exactly,” said Brutus. “Uncle Alec
and Chase find the thieves, and lock them up, and they return the stolen items to the victims. But they don’t burgle the burglars.”
“Some thieves are too big to lock up,” said Dooley. “I saw it on the Discovery Channel. Some thieves are so big and powerful no one can touch them, not even the police. And if we could steal from them, I think that wouldn’t really be stealing, would it?”
He had a point. Sometimes the thieves got so big they were untouchable. Then again, lucky for us there were no such thieves in Hampton Cove. At least not that I knew of.
“You’re thinking of Robin Hood,” said Harriet.
“No, I’m not,” said Dooley.
“Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They made movies about him.”
This piqued my friend’s interest. “Tell me more,” he said, and so Harriet told him more. I could have told her this might not be such a good idea, as Dooley has a very active imagination.
And sure enough, before the barbecue was over Dooley was already thinking up ways and means for us to go thieving together!
“We could both wear masks and be like masked vigilantes,” he enthused. “Like Batman, but without the bat part, and the man part. And without the cave, of course. I don’t like caves. They’re dark and creepy.”
“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “I don’t think robbing people is a nice thing to do.”
“We’d be like superheroes,” he said as his eyes flickered with excitement. “We could skip from roof to roof on our quest to right wrongs and mete out justice.”
“Right,” I said dubiously. “So no more quiz shows for you, I gather?”
“No more quiz shows,” he said, darting a quick look at Harriet. “I don’t want to win a house anymore. I like the house we have, and I like the people in it—and the cats.”
Harriet smiled. “I’m sorry for trying to steal your idea, Dooley,” she said. “I guess I got carried away.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “We all get carried away from time to time.” He yawned. “And now I need a nap.” And so he rolled himself up into a ball and went to sleep.
“Dooley the superhero,” said Brutus. “I hope he’s not serious.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “This time tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Harriet, and pointed to our friend.
Dooley was smiling in his sleep, and his four paws were twitching.
He was dreaming, and possibly running in his dream, or even skipping from rooftop to rooftop, the feline crime fighter.
“And you’ll be his loyal sidekick, Max,” Harriet whispered.
“Yeah, if Dooley is Batman, you’ll be Robin,” said Brutus.
“In tights,” Harriet chuckled. “Don’t forget about the tights.”
And laughing a little too heartily for my taste, they both hopped down from the swing and walked off in the direction of the bushes at the bottom of the garden.
I glanced down at myself. I didn’t think I’d look good in tights. Or a mask. Then again, I had nothing to worry about. Soon Dooley would forget all about his silly little—
“Let’s go get them, Max!” he suddenly muttered in his sleep. “I’m Batcaaaat!”
Holy smokes.
THE END
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Excerpt from Purrfect Patsy (The Mysteries of Max 26)
Chapter One
There comes a time in every cat’s life when he’s forced to face his greatest fears—or at least one of them—and today that day had come for me. Odelia, having made this promise a long time ago, had finally decided to make good on the swimming lessons she felt we all needed.
As you may or may not know, cats don’t like water. We don’t like getting wet, and we certainly would never volunteer to enter a large, or even a medium-sized or small, body of water if we can help it.
But I could see she had a point. In the recent past we’d been faced with the kind of emergency that befalls all of us from time to time: Brutus had fallen into a duck pond, and only happenstance had prevented him from meeting a watery death at the time. Happenstance or, as the case may be, Chase Kingsley, who’d saved his life and had earned our eternal admiration and gratitude in the process.
Chase, if you happen to come upon these chronicles for the first time, is my human’s boyfriend and future husband, and a local cop in the Hampton Cove Police Department. We also think he might be Jesus reincarnate, but the jury is still out on that.
“Look, it’s very simple,” Odelia said now as she pointed toward the small inflatable paddling pond she’d acquired especially for the occasion. It was one of those garishly colored plastic thingamabobs that Chase had managed to inflate to the right proportions and that Tex had filled to capacity with his garden hose. “All you have to do is step into the little pool and get acquainted with the feel of the water on your bellies. That’s all.”
“But we’ll get wet,” said Dooley, who’s my best friend and a cat, just like me.
“Of course we’ll get wet, Dooley,” said Brutus. “It’s water. What do you expect?”
“But… I don’t like to get wet,” Dooley pointed out.
“It’s a beautiful day,” said Odelia, gesturing to the sun which was high in the sky and giving of its best as it had for the past couple of days. “The moment you step out of the pool you’ll be dry in no time.”
Dooley directed an uncertain glance at the sun, as if trying to ascertain the veracity of Odelia’s statement. He didn’t look entirely convinced.
“So who’ll go first?” asked Odelia, clapping her hands like a den mother.
“I’ll go first,” said Odelia’s grandmother, who’d joined us for this auspicious occasion, and true to her own words stepped into the pool and uttered a sigh of ecstasy. “Nothing like a cool bath on a hot day like this,“ she said with visible relish. “My dogs love it.”
We all looked at her in alarm, but to my surprise I didn’t see any sign of dogs. “Where are the dogs, Gran?” I asked, figuring the old lady might be seeing things.
“I’m talking about my feet, Max,” she said.
Why anyone would refer to their feet as dogs is beyond me, but then we all know that humans are strange.
“Gran, the idea is to teach the cats how to swim,” Odelia pointed out. “Not for you to cool your feet.”
“I’m the designated lifeguard,” Gran said. “And a lifeguard should be right there where the action is. Which means right here in this here pool. Now are you going to start swimming already?” she asked, giving us the kind of look that spelled doom. Gran isn’t one of those people who like to be kept waiting, and it was clear she was going to start dunking us into the pool if we didn’t get a move on soon.
“Why don’t you go first, Max?" Harriet suggested. She’s a pretty Persian and didn’t look all that excited at the prospect of getting that gorgeous white fur of hers all wet.
“Me? “I cried, my voice rising an entire octave. “Why me?”
“Well, someone has to go first, and your fearlessness is a legendary,” she said sweetly.
It sounded like a compliment, but I had the feeling there was a hidden snag.
Brutus, who dislikes his girlfriend being complimentary to other male cats, now stepped forward with the kind of bluster that is typical for the butch black cat. “I’ll go first,” he announced, and approached the paddling pool with a devil-may-care attitude that is typical for Hollywood movies of the James Bond variety. The moment he got closer to the pool, though, his resolve faltered and he stopped short of stepping into the inviting cool waters. “Um…” he said. “Are you sure this water is clean? I’m allergic to bugs, as they might do irreparable damage to the internal organs, and the external ones.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” grunted Gran, and bodi
ly picked up Brutus and placed him squarely into the water.
Brutus emitted a very unmanly high-pitched scream, and within seconds was scrabbling out of the pool again, then squealed, “It’s cold! Cold and wet!”
“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet with an expressive eyeroll. “Of course it’s cold and wet. It’s water. Now let me show you how it’s done.” And with a death-defying leap, she actually jumped… a few feet short of the pool. She produced an embarrassed little chuckle. “Oops. Must have miscalculated my approach shot. Let’s try that again, shall we?”
This time, however, she didn’t jump as much as ever so slowly trip up to the waterfront, daintily dipped in one paw, then shook it with a horrified expression of loathing on her face. “Brr,” she said. “Brutus is right. It is very cold and very wet, isn’t it?”
“Max?” suddenly whispered Odelia into my ear. She’d crouched down right next to me. I gave her a startled look. It’s never a good sign when you’re on the verge of being dunked into a very uninviting body of water when your human starts whispering into your ear. It can only mean one thing: doom and gloom! “Why don’t you go first?” she suggested, confirming my worst suspicions. “If you go the others will surely follow.”
And I must confess it was at this moment that a mercenary streak in my character suddenly manifested itself, much to my own surprise. I didn’t go so far as to ask ‘What’s in it for me?’ but I did say, “And if I do go first…” and wiggled my eyebrows meaningfully.
Odelia smiled. “An unlimited supply of Cat Snax,” she said. “The gourmet variety.”
I like Cat Snax. In fact I love it, and I could probably eat a ton of it. But even the prospect of feasting on my favorite treat did little to allay my fears. “So… if I step into the water, is Gran going to save me when I go under for the third time?” I asked.
“You’re not going to go under, even for the first time,” said Odelia. “The water isn’t deep enough.”
“Mh,” I said doubtfully. It was true that Odelia had explained that this was only the first step in teaching us how to swim, and if we passed this hurdle, in the next phase of the program we’d visit an actual pool and proceed to the next step: learning how to stay afloat by the judicious application of our paws and certain techniques she’d teach us.
