“You’re as afraid of vacuum cleaners as the rest of us, Brutus,” I said. “Just admit it.”
“I will do no such thing,” he grunted, and lifted a paw as if to strike me, then used it to smooth his ruffled brow instead. I flinched and he flashed me a triumphant grin.
Even though Brutus has mellowed out a lot in the time he’s been with us, he can still be his old obnoxious self if he wants to be.
The final cat to emerge from the safety of the makeshift burrow was Dooley. “Are you sure she’s gone?” he asked, giving me a piteous look.
“Yeah, she’s gone. She said the coast was clear, and then the doorbell rang and then I heard her talking up a storm with whoever was at the door, so we’re perfectly safe.”
“For now,” Harriet muttered as she inspected herself in the mirror Odelia likes to use when getting ready to go out and Chase likes to use to see if his left bicep is the exact same size as his right bicep.
“At least there are no more health hazards lurking around every corner,” I said. “No more bacteria, fungi or germs in evidence.”
“Yeah, at least there’s that,” said Harriet with the sigh of a long-suffering health fanatic.
“I wonder who was at the door just now,” I said, my natural curiosity asserting itself once again.
“Probably the mailwoman,” said Brutus as he licked his paw then applied it to his brow, smoothing out a few errant hairs located there.
“So did Max tell you about my great idea?” asked Dooley now.
“What great idea?” asked Harriet, striking a pose in front of the mirror.
“Max! You didn’t tell them?”
“When would I have told them? You only told me an hour ago or so.”
“I’ll tell you now,” said Dooley, “shall I?”
Harriet didn’t seem particularly excited by the prospect, and neither did Brutus, but that didn’t bother Dooley, for he launched into his pitch for his cat quiz show with marked glee. When it was all over, Harriet was frowning, and so was Brutus.
“So you want Gran to reveal her big cat-talking secret to the world so you can win a house, while you already have a perfectly nice set of houses to live in?” asked Harriet. “I’m sorry, Dooley, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. None whatsoever.”
Of course Dooley had neglected to add one crucial detaiclass="underline" that he wanted the new house so he could get away from Harriet’s overbearing ways. I wasn’t going to supply this information either, so Harriet naturally remained mystified.
“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “Cats from all over the world will love it. Humans won’t, though, unless you provide subtitles.”
“Subtitles! What a great idea, Brutus!” Dooley cried. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I think it’s a disastrously ill-conceived idea, but who listens to me? No one,” said Harriet as she studied her paw with interest. “Is it just me or did my paw pads look pinker yesterday?”
“You probably shouldn’t involve Gran, though,” said Brutus. “She might get in trouble. What you need is a seasoned show host. A cat who exudes natural charm and that air of debonair flair you want to see.” He tapped his chest. “And as it so happens I’m between engagements right now so I’ll gladly pick up the baton and fill the position.”
Dooley, who’d been listening intently to this speech, seemed to have missed the point. “So you want to win a house, too, Brutus?”
“I want to host your show,” Brutus corrected him. “But only if you call it something appropriate. Like The Brutus Show.”
“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “If anyone is going to host Dooley’s new show it’s me. I’ll be a regular ratings hit.”
“It’s a YouTube show,” I pointed out, “so there won’t be any ratings, only views.”
“Well, rack up the views for here I come,” said Harriet, tilting her head and looking every bit the quiz show queen of the new era.
“I don’t know,” said Dooley, taken aback a little.
“Of course you don’t. A quiz of this caliber needs a firm paw to navigate the rocky cliffs of the interwebs,” said Brutus, and tapped his chest again. “Me, myself and I will do the job. And no one else.” But when Harriet gave him one of her trademark icy looks, his self-assurance wavered, and soon he mumbled, “Or it could be you, sweet pea.”
“Of course it’s me,” said Harriet. “But you can hold the camera,” she allowed.
Dooley cast me a look of confusion, and I shot him back a look of commiseration. With Brutus and Harriet on board his little quiz show had just entered a new, more challenging era. That’s what you get when you hire talent as capricious and prone to temper tantrums and diva behavior as Harriet and Brutus.
Things get complicated. Very complicated indeed.
Chapter 10
Odelia had just started typing up the story of the latest farmer’s market to spring up in Hampton Cove, when her editor Dan Goory walked in, his white beard waggling excitedly and his eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was onto a good story.
“Stop the press,” he cried as he took a seat on the edge of her desk. “I’ve got tomorrow’s cover right here.”
He was holding his phone, and now handed it to her.
She frowned as her eyes adjusted to the small screen, then frowned even more when she recognized the people depicted in the picture on the screen. They were none other than her uncle Alec Lip, chief of police, and his girlfriend Charlene Butterwick, town mayor. They were locked in a tight embrace, gazing into each other’s eyes intently, the epitome of the loved-up couple.
Dan swiped through to the next picture, which showed the same couple, only now their eyes were closed and their lips were touching in a touching display of public affection—at least Odelia thought it was a public place.
“Where were these taken?” she asked immediately.
Dan didn’t respond, but merely swiped again. The next shot showed the couple’s surroundings: Café Baron, right in the heart of town, with patrons to the left of them and patrons to the right, all doing their darndest not to look too closely at the couple in their midst and failing miserably.
“I think it’s beautiful,” said Odelia. “They’re clearly very much in love, and I think it’s wonderful that they’re not afraid to show it to the world.”
“Yeah, but as the sender of these pictures rightly states, aren’t they supposed to be at work? These were taken yesterday afternoon at two o’clock, when by all accounts both the Mayor and the chief of police should have been at the office, doing whatever it is that a mayor and a chief of police are supposed to be doing at that time.”
Odelia leaned back and shook her head. “Don’t these people have anything better to do than to take pictures of my uncle and his girlfriend and send them to you?”
“It’s news, Odelia, and like it or not news is the business we’re in.”
“You’re not seriously considering printing these on the cover of the Gazette, are you?” she asked, horrified.
The editor shrugged his bony shoulders. “Like I said, it’s news, and people have a right to know what their civil servants are up to when they’re supposed to be working, earning their paycheck, paid for by your taxes and mine.”
“Oh, come on, Dan. It’s sweet! It’s romantic!”
“And I’m sure the majority of our readers will think so, too,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, no, they won’t. They’ll think my uncle and the mayor are playing hooky.”
“Then maybe they should be more careful next time,” said Dan as he got up, taking his phone from Odelia’s hands. “Look,” he added when he saw her expression, “I’m all for romance, and personally I think it’s pretty sweet, too. But you have to admit that when the mayor and the chief of police of a town like ours hook up, and don’t bother to hide their affection, it’s news. And if we don’t carry this story, I’m sure plenty of others will.”