Dooley appeared on the verge of saying something, but I gave him a kick, and he clamped his mouth shut.
“Look,” Brutus said, “I know that maybe I was a little heavy-handed when I first arrived, my human being a cop and all. What can I say? It’s a hard habit to break. But I see now that Hampton Cove has so much more to offer than your usual rabble that requires policing. You’ve got some great cats out here, and I admit that my methods, which might be appropriate for your crime-ridden big city, are not appropriate down here, where life is lived at a more leisurely pace.”
Harriet rubbed his back encouragingly, and he gave her a grateful nod.
“What I mean to say is this: I’m sorry if I came across a little too strong, and I promise that from now on I’ll try to see things your way.” He gestured at Harriet. “My girlfriend has shown me that policing a town is about more than swinging a big stick. It’s about befriending the locals. Earning their trust.” He held out a paw. “I’m here to tell you that I’m ready to be your friend.”
“If they’ll have you,” whispered Harriet.
He ground his teeth for a moment, then managed, “If you’ll have me.”
It was obvious they’d been rehearsing this shtick, and as I stared at the outstretched paw of my nemesis, I wondered how best to respond to this new nonsense. Walk away? Or deliver a blistering rebuttal? And as I was pondering this, Dooley, that moronic idiot, glanced at Harriet, grinned at her, and covered Brutus’s paw with his own.
“I’m so glad you said that! I just hate having to ignore my best friend.”
“Aw, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You’re my best friend, too.”
The next moment, Dooley was sniffing Harriet’s butt as if he hadn’t seen her in ages, Brutus and I looking on in horror. Brutus because he didn’t like other cats sniffing his girl’s butt, and I because I couldn’t believe Dooley had fallen for this nonsense.
“What about it, Max?” Brutus asked gruffly. “Forgive and forget?”
“I can’t forgive a cat that thinks he can bully me in my own home.”
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t either. I’m a changed cat now, though.”
“A changed cat? In one week?”
He glanced at Harriet. “Love has a way of changing a cat, you know.”
“Oh, please,” I grunted. “You can fool Dooley, but you can’t fool me.”
“Hey, I’m not kidding. This is true love, buddy.”
I very much doubted whether a cat like Brutus was even capable of love. Don’t you have to have a heart to be able to love?
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and moments later Chase walked out onto the terrace, accompanied by Odelia, and as they took a seat, I could see how things were going to be. This Chase guy wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. He was going to keep on coming, and judging from Odelia’s expression as they chatted, at some point in the future they just might become more than mere friends. I’d seen that look before, when she brought Sam the crooked banker home, and again when she had that crooked cop over. Odelia might be a great human, but she had lousy taste in men. Which meant I was going to be saddled with Brutus for the foreseeable future.
Three cats were looking at me anxiously. Dooley, looking goofy now that he was friends again with Harriet. Harriet, who seemed both tense and hopeful, for I was her friend too, until she’d hooked up with Brutus. And the bully himself, who seemed repentant, a look that didn’t become him.
Finally, I relented. “Oh, all right,” I said, slapping Brutus’s paw. “Forgive and forget.” But before the celebration started, I added, “But I’m not going to be bullied in my own home. This is still my home and Odelia is my human.”
“Fair enough,” said Brutus with a grin. Then he leaned in and whispered, “But I’m still the cop around here, buddy, just you remember that. So what I say goes.” He then gave me a fake smile, and I could see that all this nonsense about him being a changed cat had just been posturing for Harriet’s sake.
“Oh, you sly son of a…”
“Max!” cried Harriet.
“It’s all right, gummy bear. Max and I are buds now. Aren’t we, Maxie?”
My eyes darted from Dooley, giving Harriet’s butt another sniff, to Odelia, offering Chase a drink, to Brutus, eyeing me with a warning grin on his smug mug. Two could play this game, I thought, and plastered a smile on my face. “Of course we are. From now on we’re one big, happy family.”
“Oh, yay!” cried Harriet.
“Yay,” snarled Brutus.
“And so three become four,” Dooley said, beaming all over his face.
“The four musketeers!” Harriet yipped.
“Max can be our Porthos,” said Brutus, and gave me a playful punch on the shoulder that hurt a lot more than it looked. “Right, Maxie, baby?”
“Wasn’t he the fat one?” asked Dooley.
“Ha ha,” said Brutus.
“Ha ha ha,” said Harriet.
“Ha ha ha ha,” said Dooley.
Oh, God, I thought. This was hell.
There was more playful ribbing and joking, and I wondered if I was the only one who could see Brutus for what he was: a nasty intruder. And I wondered if his human was anything like him. If he was, Odelia was in for an unpleasant surprise. I gave the paw I’d touched Brutus with a good lick to wash away the foul stench. Yeah, this wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
THE END
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Excerpt from Purrfectly Deadly
Chapter One
Morning had arrived bright and early, and as usual I was having a hard time rousing my human. Odelia was still snoozing, even more reluctant than usual to throw off the blanket of sleep. She’d been stirring for the past hour, ever since her alarm clock had gone off and she’d unceremoniously silenced it with one well-aimed punch. In spite of all my nudging, meowing, and even scratching the closet door, she still showed no signs of getting out of bed.
She’d sat up half the night preparing for her interview today, but if she didn’t get up now she’d miss it entirely. And it wasn’t just any old interview either. For the first time in years, famous eighties pop singer John Paul George, aka JPG, had granted the Hampton Cove Gazette an exclusive.
John, whose star had shone so brightly back in the day, now lived as a recluse in his Hamptons mansion, only rarely venturing out. He was one of those pop deities and eighties icons whose name would go down in history along with Madonna, Michael Jackson, Prince and George Michael.
Originally he hailed from England, where they produce pop stars in a factory just outside London, but had settled in the Hamptons in the nineties, where he could enjoy sun and surf and an endless parade of boy toys.
“Odelia,” I tried again, nudging her armpit with my head. “Oh, Odelia. Rise and shine, my pretty. John Paul George and legend are awaiting.”
But instead of opening her eyes, she merely mumbled something and turned the other cheek, her blond hair fanning across the pillow and her green eyes remaining firmly closed. I stared down at her sleeping form. I could always give her a gentle nibble, of course. Maybe that would do the trick. Somehow I doubted it, though. When Odelia is asleep, only a shot from a cannon can wake her, or perhaps a piper beneath her window, like the Queen of England. I should know. I’ve been Odelia’s constant companion for going on eight years now. My name is Max, by the way, and I’m a cat.