And before Jayme had recovered from the shock the woman’s words had caused, Veronica James turned on her expensively shod heels and stalked off, her feet click-clacking on the checkered stone floor until she had turned a corner and was gone.
Jayme’s mouth, which was still open, now closed as she slowly turned to her teacher. “What just happened, sir?”
Her teacher regarded her with a mixture of compassion and contrition, then finally said,“I think you and I need to have a little talk, Jayme.”
Chapter 1
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the concept of the Lazy Saturday. In fact when Chase told Odelia how he enjoyed their lazy Saturdays it was my introduction to this fascinating phenomenon. Then again I think I may be excused for my lack of awareness of this particular human habit, since for catsevery day is a lazy day. Though we don’t like to use the L-word. We simply call it common sense.
“What are you reading?” asked Odelia, who occupied one part of the couch while her husband occupied the other half. Both were reading the same newspaper, only divided into different sections, with Odelia having taken charge of the section dedicated to international news while Chase had decided to immerse himself in sports and comics.
“Tollie the Turtle,” said Chase with a grin, indicating that he liked what he saw.
“Oh, I love that cartoon,” said Odelia.
“Comic strip,” I corrected her.
She glanced down at me.“What’s that, Max?”
“Tollie the Turtle is not a cartoon,” I said, “but what is commonly termed a comic strip. A cartoon is a single drawing, whereas a comic strip is a sequential series of drawings.”
“What is he saying?” asked Chase as he turned the page.
“He’s just showing off,” said Odelia as she devoted herself to an article about some trouble in the Middle East.
“I’m not showing off,” I said. “I’m merely making sure you use the correct term. Comic strips are a national treasure, especially Tollie the Turtle.”
“What’s Tollie the Turtle, Max?” asked Dooley, who was lying next to me on the carpet, most of his body concealed underneath the coffee table, while only his nose was visible. Like all cats, he likes to provide himself with some measure of cover, just in case some big bird might swoop in and try to abscond with him.
“Tollie the Turtle is a cartoon,” said Brutus, who was lying on top of the coffee table. He likes to have an overview, and the coffee table is as good a place as any to provide him with same.
“Not a cartoon,” I said. “A comic strip.”
“Whatever,” said Brutus with a lazy flick of the paw at a pencil that was lying nearby. The gesture made the pencil make the final jump over the edge and sent it rocketing into the abyss, where it landed right between myself and Dooley.
“Tollie the Turtle is a fictional character,” I said, deciding to enlighten my friend, who was still looking at me with that wide-eyed attention only Dooley masters so well. “It was created fifty years ago by Dave James, and has been a big hit all across the globe. It is syndicated, meaning published by a comic strip syndicate, and currently published in more than two thousand five hundred newspapers worldwide, making it one of the most successful comic strips in existence. There have also been TV shows, movies, and thousands upon thousands of merchandising products bearing the likenessof Tollie and his friends. In other words: Tollie has made Dave James a very rich man indeed.”
I noticed how Harriet, the fourth member of our feline household, had pricked up her ears at the mention of Dave James’s wealth. She was lying right next to Brutus and had, or so I thought, been happily napping until now.
“Rich, is he, this Dave James?” she asked.
“Oh, very,” I confirmed.
“Millionaire, billionaire?”
“A millionaire many times over.”
“Gee,” she said, as she cut a quick look to the section of the newspaper Chase had discarded and placed next to him on the floor. Visible to us was now the comic strip section, where the most popular comic strips of the moment were on display. One of them, prominently displayed, was indeed Tollie the Turtle, which, in spite of the fact that it has been in existence for five decades now, is still going strong, as is its proud creator.
“I never thought a dumb turtle could make a person rich,” said Harriet.
“Turtles aren’t dumb,” Brutus corrected her. “In fact they’re very smart.”
Brutus had recently become friends with a turtle, and clearly they’d bonded for life.
“I didn’t mean it like that, snuggle bear,” said Harriet. “What I meant was that it’s hard to see how a drawing can make a person rich.”
The white Persian now jumped down from her perch, graceful as ever, sashayed over to the newspaper and sat down to study the comic strip, neatly draping her tail around her buttocks. Finally she shook her head.“I don’t think it’s funny,” she determined.
“Ouch,” said Brutus. “Take that, Dave James.”
“I can see howhumans would think it’s funny, but I certainly don’t.”
Dooley, his curiosity aroused, joined her to stare down at the comic section. He took a good look at Tollie the Turtle’s latest adventure, then suddenly burst into loud laughter.
“Dooley seems to think it’s funny,” said Brutus.
“Dooley thinks everything is funny,” said Harriet.
“What’s the joke?” I asked, vaguely interested in the topic of discussion.
“Well…” Harriet began, but Dooley quickly interrupted her.
“Listen to this, Max,” he said, still laughing. “A young turtle is sitting next to an old turtle, and asks, ‘So how old are you, Tollie?’ And Tollie says, ‘How old do you think I am, my young friend?’ And the young turtle says, ‘I don’t know—as old as time?’ You should see theold turtle’s face, Max—it’s priceless! Just priceless!”
I gave him an indulgent smile.“Sounds like one of those jokes where you had to have been there,” I remarked, earning myself a grin from Harriet.
Suddenly her face lit up with an expression of sheer excitement.“Say, listen, you guys, I just had the most amazing idea!”
Uh-oh.
“Why don’t we start one of these cartoons?”
“Comic strips,” I corrected her.
“And then we can become rich and famous, just like Dave James!”
“Cats can’t draw, Harriet,” I said. “We don’t have the opposable thumbs.”
“We don’t, but Dave James does,” she said.
I frowned at her.“So?”
“So Dave James is a famous artist, and he’s been making this Tollie cartoon—”
“Comic strip.”
“—since the dawn of time. So he’s probably sick and tired of his stupid turtle.”
“Turtles are in fact very intelligent and sensitive creatures,” Brutus interjected.
“Whatever. My point is that he probably had one great idea and got lucky and hit the jackpot. But what if we offer him another great idea? Then he can have two comics in the paper instead of just the one.” She gave us a look of triumph, and seemed ready to take a bow and accept our excited applause. Only I had no idea what she was talking about, and neither did Brutus or Dooley.
“I think Tollie the Turtle is very funny,” said Dooley. “As old as time—ha ha.”
“Us!” Harriet cried. “He can make a cartoon about us!!!”
This time I didn’t even bother to correct her. Instead I merely stared at my friend, hoping she’d elucidate, which of course she immediately did, and vociferously, too.
“Look, nobody wants to read about a stupid turtle. They’re dumb creatures that crawl around and eat lettuce and bugs. But what if he made a cartoon about us? People love cats, so if Dave James managed to become a multimillionaire by drawing turtles, can you imagine what he could do with cats? I’m talking billions, you guys! And since he’d be drawing us, we’d share the profits and start a new life. I’m thinking a ninety-ten split in our favor, since we’d be doing all the work, though of course I’m open to negotiations.”