The day was a little strange, I must admit. Usually when Odelia is in the throes of a murder investigation she likes to take us along wherever she goes, hoping we can talk to a pet witness or somehow snoop out some hidden clue that will help her catch the killer.
Today, though, she’d left that morning without a word, and hadn’t returned since.
So we just sat there, at home, wondering if perhaps she’d already caught the killer and didn’t need us anymore.
On the other hand, it wasn’t as if there wasn’t anything else to do. For one thing, I was keeping an eye on Odelia’s tablet to see if the illustrious Chloe had already started her stint as Hampton Cove’s pet advisor at the Gazette. Dooley had asked a question, I had asked a question, and it was reasonable to assume answers were forthcoming. So I kept refreshing the front page of the Gazette and hoping to see something appear there.
And then of course there was the mouse problem we were faced with. Last time the mice had selected Marge’s basement for their own, before absconding to the neighbors, but now it appeared as if they were back, and this time had picked Odelia’s basement.
“Why do mice like basements so much, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d been pondering the same question.
“I think it’s because they think they can more easily hide there from the likes of us,” I said. “Everyone knows that cats’ original role when they joined humans all those thousands of years ago was to catch the mice that ate humans’ grain supply. In exchange for shelter and food, they did humans that little favor and now, so many millennia later, they still expect us to offer them the same courtesy. Only cats have evolved, haven’t they? They’ve become civilized, and aren’t as keen to act as their humans’ killing machines.”
“I wouldn’t like to kill a mouse, Max,” Dooley intimated. “I don’t think I’d like it. Live and let live is my motto, and even mice have a right to live and breed, don’t you agree?”
“I do agree, Dooley, in principle. But when they start breeding like crazy and have hundreds of the little critters running amok, I think maybe it’s time for a strong-worded talk to the feisty little fellas.”
Suddenly the pet flap flapped and Harriet and Brutus walked in.
“So what are we going to do about the mice, you guys?” I asked, deciding that maybe Harriet had picked up a few tricks last time she went into battle with the murine colony.
“Who cares?” said Harriet. “Besides, maybe you should ask a smart cat. A wise cat. An intelligent cat. I’m neither smart nor wise nor intelligent, so why ask me?” And with these words she trudged off in the direction of the kitchen and tucked into her bowl.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked Brutus.
“No idea,” said Brutus, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“I think she doesn’t want to catch those mice either,” said Dooley. “Harriet is a peaceable cat, like us, and she hates the idea of causing those poor little creatures harm.”
“Any ideas, Brutus?” I asked. “To get rid of the mice?”
“None,” he said, darting a nervous look in the direction of the kitchen.
“So did you ask a question?” I asked, deciding to change the topic, since the original one obviously failed to grip.
“Ask what question?” asked Brutus.
“To the new pet oracle. Chloe?” I specified when he gave me a blank look.
“Oh, yeah, right. No, actually I haven’t. I don’t really have any questions at the moment.”
“I asked a very important question,” said Dooley. “And I really hope to get an answer.”
Harriet had returned and just then, to my surprise, a new column suddenly popped up on the Gazette’s site. ‘Chloe’s Pet to Pet,’ it read. And I hunkered down for a read.
“It’s my question!” I cried, and read aloud. “Dear Chloe. Is it safe to say that there’s a lid for every pot, or is this just a myth? Asking for a friend. Answer: Dear Brave Heart, I wish I could say there is a lid for every pot, but unfortunately for your particular pot there is none. And that’s probably because you’re ignorant, obnoxious and annoying. But don’t give up hope. Maybe one day you’ll meet a cat who’s just as ignorant, obnoxious and annoying as you are and become obnoxiously happy. Until then, don’t count on it.”
I stared at the text and frowned. “I don’t get it,” I said. “Did Chloe just call me ignorant and obnoxious and annoying for asking a question about Mia Gray?” I’d wanted to know if there was any hope for Mia, after the girl’s disastrous affair with the late Kirk.
“Did she answer my question?” asked Dooley excitedly. “Let me see.” He hovered over the tablet and yipped when he saw his question had been addressed, too.
“Dear Chloe,” he read. “A friend of mine is very hairy on account of the fact that she’s a Persian. And since so much hair causes a lot of static electricity and we all know static electricity is what makes babies, it’s strange she hasn’t been blessed with lots and lots of kittens. Why do you think that is? Answer: Dear Hopeful Heart. I’m sure it’s not your fault that you’re as dumb as a brick, but even you can’t be dumb enough to think I’d be dumb enough to answer a dumb question like that. Yours, Chloe.” Dooley looked up with consternation written all over his features. “Did Chloe just call me a dumb brick, Max?”
“Looks like she did,” said Harriet pleasantly, “and looks like she called Max obnoxious, too. Imagine that. So if you guys have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll be more than happy to deliver them to that dear, dear Chloe.”
I stared at her. “But… I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get, Max?” she asked sweetly as she cocked her head.
“All I wanted to know is if there’s a chance for Mia Gray to ever find love again, after her fiasco with Kirk Weaver. Surely that’s not an obnoxious question?”
Harriet’s smile faltered. “Well…”
“And all I wanted to know is why you haven’t been blessed with lots and lots of babies, Harriet, because with that gorgeous fur of yours, by all rights you should. That’s not a dumb question, is it?”
“Um…” said Harriet, and swallowed. “Look, you guys, I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta run.”
“But, Harriet!” I cried.
But Harriet was already flitting through the pet flap, en route to who knows where.
Brutus gave me a sad look. “For what it’s worth—and I know I’m not Chloe—but I think there is a lid for every pot, even your pot, Max, and most definitely for this Mia person that I don’t know. And as far as your question is concerned, Dooley, static electricity can only do so much, and so can a gorgeous coat of fur. So I’m afraid the matter of a large litter for me and Harriet can best be put to bed. It’s not gonna happen.”
And with these sad words, he, too, was off.
Dooley looked at me, I looked at Dooley, and then we both heaved deep sighs and hunkered down on the couch.
What a strange day! And I was refreshing the screen again, hoping Chloe had printed a retraction of her ‘obnoxious’ and ‘dumb’ statements when a squeaky little voice sounded nearby.
“Hey, fellas!” the voice said. “Yeah, you fat cats on the couch!”
And when I looked in the direction of the voice, I saw a small furry face, attached to a small gray furry body. It was a mouse. And it was grinning widely. “I brought you guys a little present!” the tiny critter cried, and then dropped a little something on the top step of the stairs to the basement, and scurried away again.
“Was that… a mouse?” asked Dooley.
“Yeah, I guess it was,” I said.
“He left a present,” said Dooley, and we both jumped down from the couch to have a closer look, then stared down at the item the mouse had dropped.
“It’s droppings,” I finally determined.
“What, Max?” asked Dooley, as he reached out a tentative paw.