“I think if people found out what this woman went through, they’d show her compassion and support instead of scorn and suspicion. Just my two cents.”
“No, but you’re absolutely right.”
“Do you think cats can get a facelift, Kingman?” asked Dooley now.
Kingman frowned.“What do cats need facelifts for?”
“Well, when their jawlines starts to sag,” said Dooley. “To lift them, you know.”
“Look, Dooley, we have one advantage over humans: our faces are covered with fur. So if we get a sagging jawline or the odd wrinkle, who cares? No one will notice.”
Dooley thought about this for a moment, then said,“But then why don’t humans simply let their beards grow out? That way they can cover their faces with fur, too.”
“Oh, but they do,” said Kingman. “Haven’t you noticed that when men get older, they suddenly decide to grow a beard? It’s simply so they can hide that sagging jawline under an inch of fuzz.”
“So why don’t women do the same thing?”
“Because women don’t grow beards, Dooley.”
“But they do,” said Dooley. “Gran has a mustache, but she waxes it. I’ve seen her do it. I’ve asked her why, but she won’t say. She just said she doesn’t want to look like a Yeti.”
Both Kingman and I laughed heartily at this, but since Dooley kept staring at us, clearly expecting an answer to his unasked question, I finally said,“Look, Dooley. Bearded women aren’t as universally accepted as bearded men.”
“But why not?”
“Because humans like to adhere to certain standards of beauty, and a woman with a beard simply doesn’t fit into that concept.”
“Well, it should,” said Dooley. “It would solve all of their problems. They could hide their jawlines when they sag and they could also hide the wrinkles around their mouths.”
“Great,” I said. “You tell Gran, and maybe she can start spreading the word.”
“Oh, but I will, Max,” said Dooley. “I think it’s a lot less painful than pulling up your face and then chopping off the excess skin. Or ripping out those hairs with hot wax.”
“What excess skin?” asked Kingman, clearly at a loss.
“Didn’t you know, Kingman? People have their faces lifted and the excess skin surgically removed.” His eyes went wide. “That’s probably why people lose their hair when they’re older: it’s simply chopped off at the top, along with all that wrinkly skin!”
“You just might be right, Dooley,” said Kingman, as he glanced over to his human. I followed his gaze, and saw how Wilbur was indeed getting thinner on top, and how the beard he’d started growing had moved up his face. It used to start around his Adam’s apple but now started just below his chin, and had almost reached his eyes.
“Soon his eyebrows will be on top of his head,” said Dooley in hushed tones, “and his beard will cover the place where his eyes used to be. He’ll have to part the hairs to see.”
I shivered, and I think we all praised a benevolent god who’d made sure that cats never had to go through the terrible ordeal of the so-called facelift.
And as we said goodbye to Kingman, he reminded us to talk to Odelia, and to tell Rosa not to be afraid to confront her blackmailer. She would be just fine if he told the whole world about her secret, and I can’t say I didn’t think Kingman was right on the money.
Chapter 6
That night, a veritable welcoming committee was awaiting the blackmailer and lying in wait for his arrival. The particular trashcan the blackmailer had told Rosa Bond to dump the bag of money in was located directly underneath a lamppost… which was out of order.
“I think he must have picked this spot for this exact reason,” said Chase, who was located in the bushes directly opposite the trashcan, along with Odelia. “Which means he thought this out in advance.”
“I still think we should have asked Uncle Alec to dispatch a couple of his officers,” said Odelia. “What if he manages to escape?”
“No way,” said Chase. “He’ll have to run really fast if he wants to beat me.”
“Chase sounds very confident, Max,” said Dooley. “Do you really think he will be able to catch the blackmailer?”
“I’m sure he will, Dooley,” I said. “Chase is very fit.”
“Chaseis very fit,” Dooley admitted.
We gave the man a look of admiration. Chase looked in fine fettle tonight, and even seemed eager to confront Rosa’s blackmailer.
“That’s why he’s such a great cop,” said Dooley.
“Because he’s so fit?”
“Because he’s never afraid to confront the bad guys.”
Just then, a lone figure came wandering along the path. Rosa didn’t look left or right, but immediately dumped a small plastic bag into the trashcan, placed there by the town council for the purpose of receiving cigarette butts, candy wrappers, chewing gum, dog excrement, but most definitely not five thousand dollars wrapped in one of the General Store’s generic plastic baggies. Then again, humans have always been very creative in thinking up ways to repurpose household objects like plastic bags. Nowadays they turn them into park benches, backyard decks and fences and even playground equipment. So this particular plastic bag might one day make its way back to the park—minus the cash.
Rosa quickly walked on, as she’d been instructed to, and now the long wait began for the crook who’d forced her to pay up to avoid her past becoming common knowledge.
And we didn’t have to wait long: suddenly a man came trudging up that same path, looked left and right, then dipped into the trash receptacle, took out the plastic bag, and then tucked it into his coat and was off at a nice clip! All in all a very smooth operator!
“Let’s grab him!” Chase said, and was out of those bushes and proving his parents correct in naming him Chase: he hurried in the direction of the blackmailer, and made haste doing so. Unfortunately the blackmailer must have seen him coming, for he, too, quickened his step, then broke into an outright run. Odelia had sprang from the bushes like a coiled spring, and even Dooley and myself were giving chase, though at a much more sedate tempo. And as the chase was on, we could see Chase gaining on the blackmailer, and I anticipated an imminent capture any moment when all of a sudden, out of the bushes Gran and Scarlett appeared, followed by Harriet and Brutus. They crossed Chase’s path as the cop was in the homestretch to tackle the blackmailer, and their timing was thus that Gran collided with Chase, Scarlett collided with Odelia, Harriet collided with Dooley, and Brutus collided with me. So on the whole you might say that it was one serendipitous collision, and the upshot was that by the time all the limbs had been disentangled, and all the heads had been screwed on right again, and the loud and vociferous recriminations had died away, of our blackmailer there was not a single trace.
In other words, the neighborhood watch—or should I call them the Neighborhood Cat Watch now?—had effectively been instrumental in allowing the bad guy to get away.
Not a propitious start for Gran and Harriet’s latest harebrained scheme!
The conversation that followed wasn’t a very fruitful one, either.
“You let him get away!” Chase cried.
“Let who get away?” asked Gran, massaging a sore spot where the large and muscular cop had bumped into her. It was in fact a small miracle that all her body parts were still attached and that she was still breathing. If a man of Chase’s dimensions had bumped into me, going at that speed, I would have been flattened. Like running into a bulldozer.
“Can’t tell you,” Chase grunted, scanning the horizon for the elusive blackmailer.
“Can’t tell me what?”
“Sorry—it’s classified,” the cop announced.
“Classified? Who are you? James Bond? Do you have a license to kill, too? Cause you tried to kill me just now!”
“As if,” Chase scoffed. He was clearly annoyed that he’d lost his man.