And he didn’t have to tell his people twice, for already they were filing out the door, en route to their respective vehicles, to organize what is commonly termed a manhunt, or a dragnet.
We soon found ourselves alone in the room with only Charlene, Charlene’s secretary and Uncle Alec, and then the secretary made herself scarce, and when Uncle Alec wrapped Charlene into his arms and started whispering words of comfort into her ear, we figured we better skedaddle, too.
And we were walking down the stairs when Dooley said, “If Johnny and Jerry are spreading the word of Jesus in Harrington Street, how did they steal Charlene’s coins?”
“What a dumb question,” said Harriet. “The Jehovah’s Witnesses thing is just a cover. They use it to get into unsuspecting people’s homes and case the place, before returning under cover of darkness to steal whatever valuables they can lay their hands on.”
“But it’s not dark now,” said Dooley.
“Oh, Dooley. Please be quiet,” said Harriet.
“Pretending to be a religious person is a great cover,” Brutus said. “People tend to let their guard down and reveal things they shouldn’t.”
“Anyway, case closed,” said Harriet. “And of course we cracked it.” She shared a high five with her mate, and they both grinned. “We beat you fair and square, Max,” she added.
I frowned. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”
Brutus slapped me on the back. “Haven’t you learned anything, Maxie, baby? Life is always a competition. And you lost, bro.”
And with a raucous laugh, he tripped down the stairs, Harriet in his wake, leaving me and Dooley to follow at a much slower pace.
“Brutus isn’t being very nice today, Max,” said Dooley.
“No, I guess he isn’t.”
“Success really doesn’t become him.”
“No, it definitely does not.”
Brutus is one of those cats who get a little obnoxious when they’re feeling on top of the world, and really nice when they’re down in the dumps. And right now he was flying high. I had the distinct impression it wouldn’t last, though. Success and failure are never far apart for the Brutuses of this world. For now, though, we’d have to suffer Obnoxious Brutus, and hope Nice Brutus would soon make a triumphant return.
Chapter 19
Tex, hurrying home after a day spent examining people’s throats, ears, noses and other orifices for signs of disease or decay or both, made a beeline for his living room, where his pride and joy greeted him with a jolly smile: it was a large painting of a jocular-looking garden gnome, its blushing cheeks round and plump, its black eyes dark and sparkling with mirth, its white hat slightly askance, giving him an odd rakish look.
Tex breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re home early,” said Marge as she walked in. She watched as he flicked a tiny speck of dust from the painting and frowned. “Are you all right, honey? You look a little feverish.”
“It’s still there,” he announced. “They didn’t take it.”
“Of course it’s still there,” she said. “Who would want to steal that thing?”
He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he detected in her tone of voice a slight diminution of the kind of appreciation he expected people to award his new acquisition.
“When Ida told me about her Picasso being stolen, I feared the worst,” he explained, figuring it wasn’t fair of him to criticize one who wasn’t fully informed about the dangers that lurked out there for owners of works of art like his precious Big Gnome #21.
“Don’t worry, honey,” said Marge, placing a soothing hand on his arm. “No one in his right mind would steal the painting of your gnome.” And with a smile, she left the room.
He stared after her, a little puzzled. What exactly did she mean by that? Everyone in their right mind would steal a masterpiece of the first order like this, and he now wondered if he shouldn’t give it another, safer place. Only question was: where?
The basement was too humid, and might cause damage to Jerome Metzgall’s work of genius. The attic was too dusty, the kitchen too greasy, the family room too busy. Then he remembered watching something on TV not so long ago, about a couple who’d kept a very expensive stolen painting in their bedroom for years, hidden behind the bedroom door. So that when the door to the bedroom was closed they enjoyed its full splendor.
His face lit up with a smile. He didn’t often get brainwaves like this, but when he did, it was a doozy.
By all accounts the hunt for Johnny and Jerry had proven successful, and the two crooks were now in custody and presumably being grilled over a slow fire by Uncle Alec and Chase.
I just hoped they’d be able to retrieve the stolen Picasso, and the other works of art the two thieves had snatched.
Unfortunately my attention wasn’t really focused on the crooks, but on the strange contraption that awaited us when we walked through the door and into our home.
The four of us halted in our tracks the moment we saw it.
“What is it, Max?” asked Dooley.
“It’s a toaster,” said Brutus.
“Don’t be silly,” said Harriet. “Who in their right mind would put a toaster on the floor?”
“It’s a humidifier,” I ventured. “Remember how Odelia often complains how the air in here is too dry? I’ll bet she bought herself a humidifier.”
“It doesn’t look like a humidifier,” said Harriet. “Oh, I know what it is. An air freshener.”
Whatever it was, it simply sat there, on the floor of the living room, looking very ominous indeed. It was round, a little over a foot in diameter, and about four inches high.
The thing took Odelia by surprise, too, or at least that’s what her first words seemed to indicate: “What the heck is that thing doing here?”
Just then, the kitchen door opened and closed and Marge walked in.
“Oh, you saw my surprise, did you?” she said. “And? Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“What is it?” asked Odelia.
“What do you think it is? A Roomba, of course. Thank you, Mom. Thank you for saving my sanity and hours of my precious time.”
“Thank you, Mom,” murmured Odelia, still staring at the thing. “How does it work?”
“Well, you simply switch it on and it takes care of the rest.” And to show us she wasn’t all talk but action, too, she pressed a button on the contraption and immediately it whirred to life, making one hell of a noise and moving—moving straight at me!
I yelped and jumped in the air, then sprinted in the direction of the nearest couch and burrowed underneath. It wasn’t the best idea, though, for the thing—whatever it was—hit the wall, then did a slow ricocheting movement and came zooming at me again!
“Heeeeelp!” I cried. “It’s coming for me!”
“Save yourselves!” Brutus screamed. “Women and children first!”
“It’s just a vacuum cleaner,” Marge said. “It’s not going to hurt you.”
I wasn’t too sure about that. My friends had scattered to the four winds, and were hiding wherever they could. But it soon became clear that there was no hiding from this machine from hell!
So I wormed myself from underneath the couch again, and jumped up onto the couch instead. I had a feeling—call it survival instinct—that it might be able to kill anything on the ground level, but wasn’t able to take off and fly.
I was right, for as I watched on, the machine did its terrible devious work on the floor, but never made any attempts to have liftoff.
“I found its fatal flaw, you guys!” I shouted to all who would listen. “It can’t fly! So better hide where it can’t get at you! Aim high! The higher the better!”
Marge and Odelia were laughing their asses off, which was very rude, I thought. But that’s humans for you. They love nothing better than to watch their pets suffer indignation.