We were all seated in Tex and Marge’s backyard, though if the guests had expected Marge to lay out a nice big spread they were sadly mistaken. In fact Tex had had to order pizza because his wife made it clear that she would never, under any circumstances, cook for this son of his he hadn’t told her about in the twenty-five years they’d been married.
I think it was safe to say that Marge was livid, and Tex looked distinctly ill at ease.
“So how did you find out that Tex was your dad?” asked Scarlett, who’s never shy to ask the really tough questions. She would have made a great reporter, I reckoned.
“My mama told me before she died,” said the kid, whose ears really were quite large.
“On her death bed, huh? How romantic,” said Scarlett, with a distinct lack of tact.
“Yeah, she would have told me sooner but she was always afraid to,” said Dudley. “But when she got the diagnosis she knew she had to make a choice: take her secret into the grave, or tell me. And I’m glad she opted for the latter,” he added, directing a proud glance at his father. “In fact I’m happy things turned out the way they did. Not with my mother dying, I mean, but with me finally finding my dad. Can you pass me the ketchup, Daddy?”
“Sure… son,” said Tex awkwardly.
“So is it true that Dad offered for you to stay here?” asked Odelia now.
“Yeah, I’m in between homes right now? I was living with my mom the last couple of months, taking care of her. But since she died her sister, my Auntie Ellen, put the house on the market, and so I don’t have anywhere to stay right now.”
“You can stay in the attic,” said Marge, earning herself a startled look from her husband.
“Honey, I thought he could take the spare bedroom.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t have a spare bedroom anymore, Tex,” said Marge icily. “We turned it into a storage space,” she explained for the sake of Dudley.
“Oh, but the attic is perfectly fine,” said Dudley, squirting a big helping of ketchup on his pizza and then taking a big bite. “In fact any room will do. I’m used to living rough.”
“Didn’t your mother ever marry?” asked Gran, who is just as curious as Scarlett and just as shameless in her questions.
Dudley’s face darkened. “I did have a stepdad for a while, but he wasn’t the kindest man in the world.” He shrugged. “What can I say? In between the beatings and the verbal abuse he was okay, I guess. But I was still happy when Mom finally kicked him out.”
“That sounds pretty terrible,” said Odelia with feeling.
“Yeah, it wasn’t the best time of my life.” The kid’s face creased into a big smile. “But things are finally looking up now that I finally found my daddy.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Gran, giving her daughter a curious look, which Marge pointedly chose to ignore.
“What do you think about Tex’s new son, Max?” asked Dooley.
The four of us were lying a little ways away on the cooling lawn, observing the humans’ interactions with a distinct sense of astonishment. It’s not every day that suddenly your humans’ number is expanded with the arrival on the scene of a new son.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “He sure seems nice enough. But I don’t like that he’s causing this rift between Marge and Tex.”
“He’s causing a rift?!” asked Dooley, giving me a look of surprise.
“Oh, Dooley, can’t you see yourself how hard Marge is taking this whole situation?” said Harriet. “She’s obviously suffering.”
Dooley studied Marge for a moment, then shook his head. “She looks all right to me.”
“That’s because you’re a guy,” said Harriet. “Guys always have a hard time putting themselves in the shoes of a girl.”
“Why would I want to wear Marge’s shoes?” asked Dooley. “I never wear shoes.”
“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a sigh.
“I like him,” said Brutus. “I think he looks just like Odelia. And if he would do something about those ears of his, I think I would probably like him even more.”
“Which just goes to show what a superficial cat you really are,” snapped Harriet. She’d obviously not forgiven her boyfriend for peeing in our bowls yet. “I just hope for your sake, Brutus, that you haven’t been doing number two in our kibble bowls,” she added, causing both Dooley and I to give her a look of horror.
“Number two in our kibble bowls!” Dooley cried.
“For the record,” said Brutus stoically, “I did not—I repeat, I did not—do number two in your kibble bowls.”
“Oh? And why would I believe you?”
“Look, I just didn’t, all right? There’s a big difference between doing number one and doing number two in someone’s bowl, is what I mean to say.”
“The only difference is in your head, Brutus,” said Harriet. “And you know why? Because you have no respect for me, that’s why.”
“I have all the respect in the world for you, sugar plum. Absolutely. I just never thought—”
“I’d find out?”
“—I’d suffer an accident like that.”
“And how many times did you suffer this ‘accident?’” she asked, making air quotes.
“Um…” He shot a quick glance in my direction and I held up a single digit. “Um…” I stressed the digit with a pointed look in his direction. “Um… maybe like… six times?”
“Six times!”
Oh, dear. Now he’d gone and done it.
“You peed in my bowl six times?”
“Well, no. Like I said, I always tried to be fair and share the, um…”
“Fruits of your labor. I see. So you peed in my bowl twice, in Dooley’s bowl twice and in Max’s bowl also twice, is that it?”
“It could have been less… or more. I didn’t exactly keep count.”
Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.
“Right!” Harriet got up and walked off. And when Brutus made to follow her, she said, “No, Brutus. You’re in the doghouse from now on. So please stay right where you are.”
“But—”
But Harriet held up her paw. “Talk to the paw, Brutus. Talk to the paw.” And then she was gone, presumably to take a long hard long sniff at her water bowl and her kibble bowl, to determine whether Brutus had or had not relieved himself there.
“I told you specifically to tell her you only had that mishap once!” I told Brutus.
“Oh, is that why you held up one claw?”
“Yes, Brutus. That was why I held up one claw. One, as in: one lapse of judgment on your part—not six!”
“I only did it once,” said Dooley. “And look where it got me.”
“Dooley, did Gran have the talk with you yet?” I asked.
“What talk?”
“You’ll see.” I turned back to Brutus. “Look, buddy, you have to tell Harriet it only happened once, and even then you peed in your own bowl, not hers. It’s important.”
“Why? You think she’ll stay mad at me if I don’t?”
“Oh, yes, she will. She’ll stay mad at you pretty much for the rest of your natural life, and possibly even long after that—haunting you in the afterlife.”
“Oh, boy,” he said with a sigh as he placed his head on his paws. “I should have known it was a bad idea. I just figured a little pre-tinkle wouldn’t hurt anyone, you know. Seeing as there are so many people that drink their own pee and seem to like it.”
This had Dooley look up in surprise. “People drink their own pee?”
“Oh, sure. Some guy called Gandhi used to drink his own pee all the time, or so I’m told. He swore by it. And plenty of others, too, and they think it’s just the greatest thing.”
“But why?” asked Dooley. Clearly this wasn’t something he’d seen on the Discovery Channel yet.
“They claim numerous health benefits—too numerous for me to name them.”
“You mean you didn’t pay attention,” I said.
“Yeah there’s that,” he admitted. “Look, I can’t just tell Harriet that I made a mistake and in fact only peed once, and in my own bowl at that. She’ll never believe me now.”