A certain kind of peace descended upon the backyard, and for a while everything was nice and quiet. Then, suddenly, there was the loud screeching sound of a bird swooping down, and as everyone looked up, fully expecting things to turn into a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds, Moses’s loud voice could be heard screaming, “Take that, Frank—and that and that and that!” followed by the loud lamenting voice of what I imagined was a large orange cat named Frank, bellowing, “Hey, whaddya think you’re doing, bird!”
Dooley giggled, and so did Harriet, Brutus and myself. Even Odelia was smiling.
It’s not often that bird poo brings about what can only be termed poetic justice, but when it does, I can tell you that it is extremely satisfying for all concerned.
Then again, Hampton Cove is perhaps not a town like most others. I mean, where else can you find four cats quietly applauding a bird’s defecatory act of vengeance against one of their own?
Moments later, Moses swept down upon our backyard, and gave us a flyby salute.
“I got him, you guys,” he said with marked satisfaction. “I got him good.”
“Great job, Moses,” I said.
“Yeah, great job, buddy,” said Dooley.
“He won’t do that again,” Brutus grunted.
“No, he’ll think twice next time,” Harriet added.
And with a cheerful, “Adios,” the large pigeon flew off.
Charlene, who’d watched the back-and-forth with open-mouthed surprise, turned to her boyfriend, and said, “There’s something going on with your family’s cats, Alec. I almost can’t believe I’m saying this, but it seems to me as if… they can talk to birds.”
Uncle Alec swallowed uncomfortably. “I’m sure you’re just imagining things, honey.”
“No, I’m serious. They were talking to that pigeon just now—and you know what’s even stranger? The pigeon was talking back to them! Isn’t that just the weirdest thing?”
“Oh, Charlene, Charlene,” said Harriet with a purr. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
Uncle Alec, looking for a way to distract his girlfriend, suddenly pointed to the haphazardly glued-together goatherd. “Hey, what did you do with my present?”
All those around the table looked at him. “Your present?” asked Marge.
“Sure. I got you that thing for your tenth wedding anniversary, remember? Cost me a pretty penny, too.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me you broke it. You told me when I gave that to you that you’d put it somewhere you could look at it every day—to remind you of your favorite big brother.”
Marge looked a little shamefaced. “Well, I did give it a great spot in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, a real top spot,” said Gran with a little grin.
“Good,” said Uncle Alec, leaning back. “The guy who sold it to me said it was a real Otto Spiel. Pretty valuable, too.”
“But, honey,” said Charlene, “that’s one of the figurines Vicky Gardner was forced to make when she was being kept a prisoner by her sister-in-law, remember?”
Uncle Alec stared at her. “Oh, right.” He thunked his head. “How could I forget?”
The meal continued, and Charlene seemed to have forgotten all about the Poole cats’ strange behavior. Soon I noticed how Dooley was eyeing Uncle Alec with concern.
“What is it, Dooley?” I asked.
“Do you think Uncle Alec is losing his mind, Max?” he asked. “He completely forgot about that figurine.”
“I’m sure he was just trying to distract Charlene,” I said. “I think she’s starting to suspect there’s something strange going on with us.”
“Oh?”
“I think she’s starting to suspect that we can talk to our humans.”
“Which is a good thing, right?”
“Not exactly. You never know how she’ll react. She might completely freak out.”
So now Dooley switched his attention from Uncle Alec to Charlene, and eyed her very closely indeed—to such an extent that Charlene started to become a little uncomfortable.
“Alec?” she whispered.
“Mh?”
“That cat is staring at me.”
“What cat?”
“The small gray one.”
“Oh, that’s Dooley. Don’t mind him. He’s a sweet little fella.”
“Dooley?” I said. “Can you please stop staring at Charlene?”
“I think you were right, Max,” he said, intensifying his gimlet stare. “I think she knows. And if she knows, she might file a complaint and put us in her new pound.”
“If you don’t stop staring at her like that she certainly will—you’re right about that.”
“Dooley, can you please stop staring at Charlene,” suddenly said Odelia, who’d become aware of this new development.
“Oh, all right,” said Dooley.
“Thank you,” said Odelia, then looked up when everyone was staring… at her. “What?” she said.
“Odelia!” said Charlene, slowly rising from her chair. “You-you-you talk to your cats!”
“No, I don’t,” said Odelia.
“I just saw you—you talked to that Dooley!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did! You talked to him and he talked back to you and you said ‘Thank you!’”
“Nope.”
Charlene suddenly put her hands to her face. “What’s going on? Am I going crazy?”
“No, you’re not.”
But then Charlene uttered a blood-curdling scream that chilled us all to the bone.
“Oh, boy,” muttered Vesta, and threw down her napkin. “And here we go again.”
Purrfect Son
The Mysteries of Max - Book 27
Chapter 1
Marge had recently bought herself a new couch to replace the one she’d used for the past fifteen years, and of course it hadn’t taken long for us cats to explore its many advantages, such as there were: softness, firmness, and the many other characteristics that potentially turned it into our new favorite spot to lounge on and take those precious catnaps that we enjoy so much.
Marge had, of course, put down a blanket to prevent us from ruining her new couch—as if we could ever ruin a couch simply by our mere presence—and when we’d communicated our disfavor of the new blanket, she’d put down a protective sheet. All in all I think we’d used the couch more than she or Tex ever had, or Gran, and I don’t think that was exactly what she’d had in mind at the time of purchase.
Then again, if you’re going to be a cat lady, you have to be prepared for the consequences is what I always say.
And so it was that four cats were lounging happily on Marge’s new acquisition, sleeping peacefully and generally spending a lazy morning at home.
Marge was at the library, Tex was at the doctor’s office, and so was Gran, and next door the house was empty, too, as Odelia had gone to work, and so had her boyfriend.
I have to admit I thoroughly enjoy these lazy mornings, when the house is quiet and it’s just us cats, with no humans to disturb us or to trouble us with their dramas.
“Max?” suddenly asked Dooley, rousing me from my slumber.
“Mh?” I said with some reluctance, for I’d just been dreaming of the largest and tastiest chicken nugget I’d ever encountered. That chicken nugget was mine, and now it simply vanished as I opened my eyes. Bummer.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
I noticed how my friend had tensed up, and he looked as much like a pointing dog as a pointing dog could look if he were a smallish gray cat.
Dooley has these moments when he starts seeing things that aren’t really there, like mysterious diseases that suddenly afflict him, or the sky falling on top of our heads when the sky is still firmly attached to whatever the sky is attached to.
But this time I had to admit he wasn’t hallucinating, or getting all worked up for no reason whatsoever. There was indeed a noise where no noise should have been. It sounded like… scratching.