Who was uttering a word in protest was Dooley.“So Tex and Marge are starting a giant resort,” he said, “and Odelia is starting a bed and breakfast in the air, and, and… where does that leave us, you guys!”
It was a question that gave us all pause. I don’t know if you know, but cats enjoy a sedentary life—a life of peace and quiet and fixed habits. In that sense you might even call us autistic. And as far as I know life in a spa is never very peaceful or very quiet or staid. Guests come and go all the time, and usually these places come equipped with a fitness club and a nail salon and sometimes even with a hotel so guests who come from farther afield can still enjoy the spa experience.
And so as we slunk out of the house once more, and found ourselves confronted with a sweaty Tex who stood leaning on his sledgehammer and eyeing his work of destruction with satisfaction, I have to say a sense of gloom wrapped itself around us like a wet blanket.
“It’s the end of an era, my friends,” Brutus spoke softly. “Our home is no longer our home.”
“Yeah, it’s official,” Harriet chimed in. “The Pooles have finally gone nuts.”
“Or they’ve become very smart,” I said. “There’s probably a lot of money to be made in the wellness industry, and maybe they’re right to grab a piece of it.”
“At the very least they could have told us what they were up to,” said Harriet.
Brutus turned to his lady love.“Which proves my point exactly, sweetums. Humans are duplicitous. That’s just the way they are. They simply can’t help it.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Dooley.
We plunked ourselves down on our haunches.“So now what?” asked Harriet. “What are we going to do?”
“We could wait and see how things pan out,” I suggested. “It might take months to build this hotel and spa, and maybe it won’t even be a great success.”
“I don’t know about you,” said Brutus, “but I don’t think I’d enjoy living on a building site. People messing about, digging holes and trampling us underfoot.”
“Cats are very small,” Dooley agreed. “We can easily be trampled underfoot.”
“Do you think they’ll tear down the house?” asked Harriet, glancing up at our lovely home. “They just built it and already they’re going to demolish it again?”
“It’s the way of the future, sweet pea,” said Brutus sadly. “Progress has its price.”
Just then, Marge came charging out of the house. She must have just arrived home and seen the work her husband had wrought.“Tex Poole!” she cried. “What do you think you’re doing!”
“I’m tearing down the garden house?” he said hesitantly.
“But why! I thought we were going to turn it into a bathroom?”
“You can’t install a bathroom in an old wooden shack like this, honey. Better to build the thing from scratch and make it nice and sturdy. Build it in brick.”
“Oh,” she said, taking his point of view on board and taking it for a spin. “Did you at least remove all of your tools and Ma’s gardening equipment?”
The sheepish look on Tex’s face told us everything we needed to know.
“Oh, Tex,” Marge sighed, as she dug through the wreckage and liberated the lawnmower. It had taken a dent but still looked fairly functional. Clearly it was made of sterner stuff than the garden house itself.
And since Marge and Tex seemed to have some personal issues to work out, we decided to give them some space and take a look across the hedge. Cats are optimists, you see, and always hope for the best. Perhaps in our absence Odelia had seen the error of her ways and had uninvited the Boggles and sent them on their way?
But we’d only taken one step through the opening in the hedge that divides both backyards to find our hopes crushed: John Boggle was lying stretched out on Chase’s favorite lounge chair, busily tapping a message on his phone, while his dog Little John was lying right next to him, looking very important.
“Oh, hey, cats,” said Little John. “Just the guys I wanted to see. Tell me, who do I talk to around here to take me for my walk? At home it’s usually some junior member of John’s staff who handles that kind of thing. In the meantime I’ve taken the liberty of relieving myself in those bushes over there.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me, and knew that Harriet had added two and two together and had come to the conclusion that Little John had relieved himself in her precious rose bushes—her and Brutus’s makeout spot!
“Oh, and since you’re here, can you talk to management—whoever they are—and tell them to change the food in our bowls? I tried some of the stuff they have on offer and I have to say it’s subpar to say the least. Absolutely subpar.” He closed his eyes again and waved an airy paw. “That’s all for now. Dismissed.”
I could sense that Harriet was about to explode, and so decided to lead her away. After all, it wouldn’t do to commit dogicide and have Big John leave a negative review in the process. Everyone knows that reviews are a big driver of sales, especially for a new startup like Odelia’s Airbnb endeavor.
“Let’s go,” I said, and gently took Harriet by the paw and led her into the house.
“He… he peed in our rose bushes, smoochie poo,” she told Brutus as she staggered along, looking quite stricken. “Our happy place!”
“I know, snuggle bunny,” said Brutus, looking equally affected. “I know.”
“And I’ll bet he pooped, too,” said Dooley, adding his two cents.
CHAPTER 12
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Inside the house, we found Odelia sitting next to Grace’s cradle, appearing moderately frazzled. Then again, I guess starting a new business venture from scratch takes a lot out of a person, especially when she’s just had a baby, which, to all intents and purposes, must be a tough proposition for any human.
Grace, meanwhile, was expressing her opinion on the matter at hand—whatever it was—with customary gusto: she’d opened her lungs and once again was doing a great imitation of a fire engine—or a jumbo jet, as Fifi’s human would have described it. She certainly had a great set of pipes. If I wasn’t mistaken one day she’d give C?line, Mariah, Barbra and Adele a run for their money.
“Do you think Little John pooped in her crib?” said Dooley as we glanced up at our human, who also looked a little pooped.
“Oh, you guys?” said Little Janine, walking up to us from the kitchen. Her jaws were still moving, and I could see crumbs of what looked like the remnants of a gourmet meal on her chin. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used the funny-looking latrine in the kitchen to do my business. I know Little John said to do it in the bushes but I told him I’m a lady, and ladies never do their business in the bushes.”
“Did you… use my litter box?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little sick.
“I don’t know what you call it,” said Little Janine. “It’s big and made of plastic and there’s some kind of funny-smelling sand inside. Very nice. Oh, and if you don’t mind, can you tell Odelia to get me a dog bed? We had to leave England in such a rush Janine forgot to bring mine. Mind you, I only sleep on a Queen Bee dog bed, the one with the genuine sheep wool. I have sensitive skin so I can’t sleep on anything else I’m afraid.” She gave a sort of wave in our direction. “That’ll be all.”
“What was that all about?” asked Odelia, who’d taken Grace from her crib and was gently rocking her in her arms.
“Little Janine wants you to buy her a Queen B dog bed made of real sheep wool,” I said.
“And Little John said to tell you the food is super,” said Dooley.
“Subpar, Dooley, not super,” I corrected my friend.