“I like my old life,” I said.
“Me, too,” said Dooley.
But Brutus, even though I was pretty sure he liked his old life, too, said,“We’re listening.” In the strictest sense of the word that was true, of course.
“Okay,” Harriet said, her eyes bright and shiny now. “So the four of us have had our fair share of exciting adventures, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“So we simply ask Dave James to turn them into an entertaining cartoon and become even bigger than Tollie the Turtle.”
“He’s so funny,” said Dooley. “As old as time—ha ha ha.”
“I don’t think Dave James will agree to create a second daily comic,” I said. “He probably has his hands full with Tollie. Besides, most comic strip artists both write and draw their strip, and Dave James is no exception.”
“Oh, but he can write and draw Harriet the Cat as much as he likes,” said Harriet. “Only I’ll provide him with the inspiration he needs, see?”
“Harriet the Cat?” I asked.
“Sure. Obviously I should star in the cartoon, since this is my idea in the first place. Besides, you all know I was born to be a star, and this could be my big break.”
Well, that part at least was true. Harriet has always suffered from the diva syndrome.
“Why not Harriet, Brutus, Max and Dooley?” asked Brutus.
“Too much of a mouthful,” said Harriet. “No, it has to be Harriet the Cat. Just like it’s Tollie the Turtle and not Tollie and…” She consulted the comic strip and added, “Finkus.”
“Finkus is the little turtle?” asked Brutus.
Harriet nodded.“He’s Tollie’s dimwitted little friend. Dimwitted but lovable.” She patted Dooley’s back. “Great news, Dooley. You can be my Finkus.”
“And who am I going to be?” I asked.
“And me?” asked Brutus.
“We’ll figure it out,” said Harriet. “Or Dave James will. He needs to do something for his ten percent. Besides, he seems to know what he’s doing, otherwise he wouldn’t have managed to turn a dumb turtle into a global phenomenon.”
“Turtles are actually—” Brutus began.
“I know they are, sugar bear,” said Harriet, giving her mate a sweet smile.
And then she gave herself up to thought, and I could see she was already dreaming of a world where Harriet the Cat was the biggest comic strip franchise in existence, with movies, TV shows, and plenty of merchandising, effectively a brand-new global empire.
Just then Gran walked in, and when she found our humans stretched out on the couch, she frowned and said,“Look at this bunch of lazybones. Don’t you got nothing to do?”
“It’s Lazy Saturday, Gran,” said Odelia, as she yawned and placed the final piece of her newspaper on the floor and rubbed her eyes.
“Lazy Saturday? What is the world coming to?” the old lady cried as she raised her arms heavenward. “There’s cars that need to be washed, floors that need to be vacuumed, bathrooms that need to be scrubbed and laundry that needs to be done.” She clapped her hands. “Chop, chop. Let’s get up off your asses and let’s go-go-go!”
Just then, the doorbell chimed, and Odelia reluctantly picked herself up from the couch and shuffled over to the door to open it. She was in yoga pants and a sweater and looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. And since I’m even more curious than I’m lazy, I decided to take a peek myself and see who would dare interrupt Lazy Saturday.
It was Bambi Wiggins, our mailwoman. Turns out not everyone gets to spend their Saturdays being lazy.
“Letter for your hubby,” said Bambi. “Sign here.” So Odelia signed there. For a few moments, both women exchanged the latest gossip, and since nothing they said held any particular interest to me, I returned to the living room, where Harriet was trying to drum up support for her latest scheme.
“Multimillionaire, huh?” said Gran as she held the comic strip section in her hand. “I wouldn’t mind becoming a multimillionaire. You, Chase?”
“Mh”, said Chase, who hadn’t followed the discussion since he doesn’t speak our language.
“Harriet got this great idea about starting a cartoon of our own, featuring her, to replace this lame Tollie the Turtle that’s been in the paper for God knows how long.”
“You want to create a new comic strip?” asked Chase as he stretched his brawny arms.
“Thank you, Chase,” I said. Finally someone who cared about themot juste.
“Sure,” said Gran. “And I for one think we don’t even need this Dave James. Why split the profit if we can do it ourselves and keep all the money?”
“I like your thinking,” said Harriet. But then her face sagged. “Only problem is: nobody in this family knows how to draw.”
“News flash,” said Gran. “Dave James doesn’t know how to draw either. Look at this. He doesn’t even do cars or houses or whatever. Just a couple of talking turtles and one tree. Kids could do it. Heck, I could do it.”
“You think you can draw a cartoon, Gran?” asked Harriet.
“Sure! Me or Scarlett.”
“Scarlett!” said Brutus.
“Don’t look so surprised. Me and Scarlett took a drawing class back in the day. We’d heard they had men modeling in the nude so we wanted to get us some of that. They kicked me out, though, when I asked the guy to squat so I could check out his glutes.”
“Okay, so Scarlett can draw my cartoon,” said Harriet, “but who’s going to write it?”
“There’s no writing involved, honey,” said Gran. “Look, it’s only a couple of lines. Easy!”
I cocked a curious whisker at Gran.“You have to come up with the jokes, Gran.”
“What jokes? This stuff ain’t even funny. Two talking turtles. How hard can it be?”
Odelia had returned, and handed her husband a letter.“For you,” she said. She noticed her grandmother’s excitement and asked, “You’re looking awfully happy, Gran. Did you win the lottery?”
“I did a lot better! I’m gonna be a multimillionaire cartoonist! And you,” she added, pointing a bony finger in Chase’s direction, “are gonna build me an art studio!”
Chapter 2
It was Monday morning and we were peacefully taking up space in the corner of Odelia’s office as we usually do, with Harriet and Brutus taking up space in the opposite corner and Odelia working at her desk, when suddenly the outer door swung open and footsteps sounded in the corridor, halting outside Dan’s office. The aged editor directed the visitors to Odelia’s office, located further down the corridor, and so even before they arrived, Odelia was aware she had visitors. Her hands, which had been flying over the keyboard, working on an article for the Hampton Cove Gazette, now halted, and as she looked up, a young woman entered, along with an older woman. They both looked very anxious, and decidedly ill at ease.
“Mrs. Kingsley?” asked the older woman. “Odelia Kingsley? Mr. Goory said to walk right on through so we did. I hope we’re not disturbing you.”
“Oh, no—come in,” said Odelia magnanimously. “Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
Next to me, Dooley stirred.“Who are these people, Max?” he asked. “What do they want?”
“I have no idea, Dooley, but I have a feeling we’ll soon find out.”
With the youngest of the pair too intimidated to speak, the oldest one took the lead.
“I’m afraid we find ourselves in a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Kingsley,” said the woman as she leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk and wringing them freely.
Odelia smiled and said,“Maybe you can start by telling me who you are.”
“Oh, of course,” said the woman. “Well, I’m Hester Liffs, and this is my granddaughter Jayme Ziccardi.” She turned to her grandchild and gave her an encouraging nod. “Maybe it’s best if you tell the story, Jayme. Just tell Mrs. Kingsley what you told me.”
“Just call me Odelia, please,” said Odelia.
Jayme took a deep breath, and seemed to gather her thoughts.“I’m what you might call an aspiring artist, Mrs. Kin—Odelia. In the sense that I’ve been following art classes at the Gardner Institute of Art for a while now, and training under Mr. Fernleigh Cabanes.”