“Brain damage!” Dooley cried. “Max, do you think you have brain damage?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, and shook my head a little, just to make sure my brain was still present and accounted for. “I don’t have a headache, if that’s what you mean,” I said.
“Yeah, a headache would be a clear indication that your brain is all shook up,” Brutus agreed.
Harriet now also woke up and stretched languorously before opening her eyes and taking in the scene.“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you all looking as if somebody died?”
“Brutus thinks Max has brain damage from running into him last night,” said Dooley.
“It’s like running into a brick wall, see,” said Brutus, reiterating his earlier point. “And I have to say I take full responsibility, Max. When you have the kind of otherworldly physicality I have, your body turns into a lethal weapon, even if you don’t mean it to.”
“Oh, pookie bear, Max didn’t run into you that hard,” said Harriet.
“Yeah, you probably have a point,” said Brutus. “Max is big and sluggish, so he probably isn’t capable of reaching the kind of speed required to do serious damage when suddenly brought to a stop by hitting an unyielding rocklike object like myself.” He clapped me on the shoulder, almost making me topple off the bed. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Max,” he said, giving me the smile a doctor would give a cancer patient who he knows only has a couple of weeks to live and doesn’t want to worry.
“But… I did hit you pretty hard last night, Brutus,” I said.
“Yeah, but like Harriet pointed out, you weren’t going that fast, Max, so I’m sure everything is fine up there underneath that ivory dome of yours.” And to show us he meant what he said, he gave me a hard rap on the noggin.
“Ouch,” I murmured. “I felt that.”
“I’m sorry, Max,” he said, immediately rueful. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He sighed. “That’s the problem when you’re as strong and muscular as I am: you end up hurting your friends and loved ones, even though you simply can’t help it. The Rock must have the same problem. And Superman, of course.”
“I bumped into Harriet last night,” said Dooley. “Do you think I have brain damage, too?”
Brutus smiled at this.“You need to have a brain before it can get damaged, Dooley.”
“Don’t be mean, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet as she yawned once again.
“I’m not being mean. I’m just pointing out a physical fact: when you don’t have a brain, it can’t get damaged.” He gave up another wistful sigh. “I wish sometimes that I was like Dooley. As it is, I simply can’t stop thinking—can’t turn off the old noodle, you know. Keep thinking about the new mission.”
“What mission?” I asked, giving our humans a keen glance, wondering when they would get up.
“Well, we talked things through last night, while you guys were chasing that blackmailer—unsuccessfully, I might add—and we’ve come up with a sound plan of campaign.”
“Is that so?” I said, not all that interested in Brutus’s plan.
“Yeah, Harriet is going to teach Scarlett to talk to cats, while I start recruiting the Baker Street Cats.”
“Baker Street what?”
“You remember the Baker Street Boys, right?”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “Sherlock Holmes’s youthful helpers.”
“Who are the Baker Street Boys, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Well, Sherlock Holmes had a group of youthful street urchins who helped him tackle his cases and solve crimes. They’d spy the streets of London and report back to him.”
“Homeless kids, mostly,” said Brutus. “Living rough on London’s mean streets. They were called the Baker Street Boys because that’s where Holmes lived: in Baker Street. And that’s what gave me the idea—”
“What gave me the idea,” Harriet interjected.
“What gave us the idea. Neighborhood Cat Watch sounds so boring, and Baker Street Cats has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Shouldn’t it be Harrington Street Cats, since we live in Harrington Street?” asked Dooley.
Brutus decided to ignore him and went on,“So like the Baker Street Boys reported back to Sherlock Holmes, our Baker Street Cats will report to their own brilliant detective: me.”
“You mean me, snickerdoodle,” said Harriet.
“We’re still working out the details,” said Brutus.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“So I’ll be teaching the human operators to talk to cats,” said Harriet, “and Brutus will train a network of cats to patrol the streets of Hampton Cove and bring us anything that might tell us that a crime is being committed or planned. Isn’t that just great?”
It certainly sounded like a plan, I thought.“And how are all those cats going to communicate with you?” I asked.
“Well, Gran wanted us all to wear our smart collars again, but I put my paw down and said no.”
“We told her we hate those smart collars,” said Brutus.
He wasn’t lying. Twice now our humans had tried to outfit us with collars—first the usual kind, and the second time around some snazzy high-tech collars with GPS tracking and the capacity to monitor our vital signs. In both cases the conclusion had been that cats and collars don’t mix, and I was glad the plan had been nipped in the bud this time.
“I’ll go out there and talk to my lieutenants,” said Brutus, “and those lieutenants will talk to the soldiers, and so on down to the lowest echelon. I’m not going to bother you with the details, but it’s a complicated but highly effective structure. Like an army.”
“So you’re building yourself an army now, are you?” I said.
“Yeah, an army of cats, designed to keep our streets safe.” He thrust out his chest. “I think it’s going to be the greatest thing since sliced bread, and Gran thinks so, too. And when all is said and done, and we’re fully operational, Gran will get in touch with potential investors, and we’ll roll out the Baker Street Cats project to neighboring towns, then to the entire county, the state, the country, and finally the whole world.”
“Global domination,” I murmured. “Very James Bond.”
“I know, right?” said Brutus, glowing with pride.
“There are cats everywhere,” said Harriet, pointing out the obvious. “There are cats in China, in Japan, in the Middle-East, in Africa, and even in faraway places like Europe. So there’s no reason the Baker Street Cats app we’re building won’t be a big hit all over the world.” She grinned at her mate, who gave her an affectionate grin in return, and they shared a smooch. “It’s going to be grand, snuggle pooh. Just grand.”
“I know it is, sugar britches,” said Brutus.
Boy, was I glad not having to be a part of this new global army of cats.
“So how about it, Max?” said Brutus.
“How about what?” I asked.
“I need a second-in-command. A loyal lieutenant who I can trust implicitly, and who will carry out my orders unflinchingly and without asking questions. You up for the task?”
“No, thank you, Brutus,” I said. “I’ll pass.”
He frowned.“What do you mean, you’ll pass? Don’t you want the streets of Hampton Cove to be free from crime?”
“Oh, absolutely, but I’m not sure this is the way to do it.”
“What are you talking about? This is a fool-proof plan. In fact it’s the only plan.”
I gave him a gentle pat on the back. “And I’m sure you’re the right cat for the job, Brutus. But frankly I have other things to do.”
“What other things?!”
“Yeah, Max,” Harriet chimed in. “What could possibly be more important than the Baker Street Cats?”
“Protecting Rosa Bond from her blackmailer, for one thing,” I said. “And making sure she gets her five thousand dollars back.”