And she was right. Odelia clearly was enjoying this romantic interlude with one who was not her chosen mate.
“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, not taking this well. “I don’t like this at all.”
“I don’t like it either,” I intimated, “but such is life, Dooley. Sometimes the people we think we know best surprise us. And not always in a good way.”
Just then, a third person approached Odelia and the unknown male, and spoke a few words. The effect of these was immediate. Odelia extricated herself from her kissing partner and got up from the picnic blanket on which she’d been sitting. She stood, hands on hips, while this third person, another male, seemed to explain something to her. Possibly giving her pointers on her kissing technique.
The scene, apart from the shock effect it had on those who’d become used to seeing Odelia linked in body and soul to Chase Kingsley, was otherwise a peaceful and idyllic one: there was a picnic basket present, a picnic table, and even a dog lying at the lovers’ feet.
I did a double take. Wait, what? A dog? Where did this mutt come from? Odelia didn’t have a dog. Or did she?
Dooley had spotted the dog, too, for he produced a sound like a kettle boiling.
“Looks like Odelia is moving on,” said Harriet, voicing the thought that had occurred to me as well.
“She’s getting rid of us and getting… a dog?” I said, now shocked to the core.
“Looks like,” Harriet confirmed. “She was petting him before, and he seemed to like it.”
I was speechless. Kissing strange men was one thing, but getting a dog to replace her loyal brace of cats? That was too much. No, really! After everything we’d done for her she was getting a dog? This was treason of the highest order. Worse. This was a travesty.
I decided enough was enough, and set paw for the despicable scene.
“Max, no!” Dooley and Harriet cried out, but I paid them no heed. Odelia had gone too far, and I was going to speak my mind and tell her what was what, even at the price of having to be within twenty yards of a canine, which was the limit I usually set myself.
When I approached the picnic scene, Odelia was frowning, listening intently to the second, non-kissing male, a man with a fashionable red beard that curled up at the end, as was the current trend. Meanwhile the kisser was munching on a sandwich, not a care in the world.
The dog was the first one to become aware of my impending arrival, for he lifted first his head, then his upper lip in a vicious snarl.
I hesitated, but decided this mission was too important to be derailed by the pathetic snarls of a cat’s mortal enemy.
“Odelia!” I said, deciding to come in strong and pitch my sentiments before she had a chance to become distracted by her lover and the bearded hipster dude.
Odelia looked up, that frown still furrowing her forehead.
“A word, please?” I said, keeping a keen eye on the canine, whose upper lip was trembling now, his eyes shooting menace and all manner of mayhem in my direction.
“Max!” said Odelia, clearly surprised to see me. She quickly shut up. It’s not a fact widely known, but Odelia belongs to a long line of women who talk to cats. From generation to generation, this gift is passed, and a good thing, too. For far too long, humans have turned a deaf ear to a cat’s desires. Now, with Odelia and her mother and gran to listen to our plea, our voice is no longer ignored. Who also wasn’t ignoring my voice was the dog.
“What do you want, cat?” he snarled, his hind legs tensing as he got ready to pounce.
“This doesn’t concern you, Lassie,” I said, holding up my paw. “So back off.”
“This is my terrain, cat,” he shot back, tail wagging dangerously. “Get lost or else.”
“Or else what?” I asked, sounding a lot braver than I was feeling. Those fangs did not look appealing. Saliva was dripping from them, and already thoughts of rabies and front-page articles about a blorange cat being mauled to death started popping into my mind.
“You don’t want to find out,” he said with a low growl that seemed to rise up straight from his foul innards.
Odelia, who’d followed the tense interaction, crouched down next to me. “Max,” she said quietly, so the kisser and the hipster couldn’t overhear. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, as haughtily as I could. “I saw you,” I added. “Canoodling with that… that… man.”
Odelia frowned, as if not comprehending what I was saying. Then, suddenly, she laughed! Actually burst out laughing!“Oh, Max,” she said, giving my head a patronizing pet. “That’s just acting!”
“Whatever it is, it’s despicable,” I said. Then I frowned. “What do you mean, acting?”
She gestured with her head to the kisser, who now stood chatting with the weird red beard.“That’s Don Stryker. He’s a New York stage actor. And the man with the beard is Wolf Langdon—he’s our director.”
And then I remembered. Odelia had mentioned something about performing in something called Bard in the Park, and had even mentioned snagging an important role.
I stared her.“You mean this is all… acting?”
“All of it,” she assured me, then took an apple from the picnic basket and took a bite, plunking down next to me. She lowered her voice. “And let me tell you, it’s no picnic so far. This guy’s breath… “She rolled her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hoo-wee.”
In spite of myself I laughed.“Garlic. I can smell it a mile away. I thought you liked it.”
“No, Max. Women don’t like it when men chew a clove of garlic before a big kissing scene. Allegedly that’s how Clark Gable annoyed Vivien Leigh inGone with the Wind.”
I decided to skip the small talk. I hadn’t forgotten about my real beef. “What about that,” I said, pointing at the rabid dog, still snarling and softly growling in my direction.
“Scoochie?” she said. “He’s in the scene. He’s an actor, too.”
“The dog is an actor?”
“Sure. Dogs can be actors. Pretty much any animal can be an actor.”
This was news to me. Slightly mollified, I asked the most important question of alclass="underline" “So… He’s not going to live with us?”
Odelia laughed again and patted my head.“Silly Max. Of course not. He’s going home with his trainer once rehearsals are over. And right now he lives with the rest of the troupe at Whitmore Manor. In his own room. Did you think I’d adopt a dog and not tell you guys?”
“No, of course not,” I said, “Don’t be silly.” But behind her back I gave Harriet and Dooley, who still sat watching from a safe distance, two thumbs up. Or rather, since cats don’t have those nifty and very handy opposable thumbs, two claws up at any rate.
“Hey, what’s wrong with adopting a dog?” growled the dog.
“Nothing,” Odelia was quick to say.
That’s how my human is: kind to animals, children and even dogs.
“I thought so,” grumbled the mutt.
The man Odelia had identified as the director now turned to her.“I liked what you did there, dahling,” he said, “but could you give it a little more—I don’t know—oomph?”
“Oh, sure,” said Odelia, getting up. “What sort of oomph are we talking about here?”
She began discussing the ins and outs of the oomphs of acting in detail, and I soon lost interest. Instead, I glanced around and saw that a small film crew sat hiding behind a nearby tree. They’d filmed the whole thing! Probably to learn from and correct later.
I just hoped they hadn’t filmed Odelia and me chatting. Because that would definitely not be good!
Chapter 3
Odelia watched Max stalk off, his tail in the air, his rear end wagging slightly, and couldn’t help but smile. She could only imagine what he must have thought when he saw her kissing Wolf Langdon like that. In the distance, she saw Dooley and Harriet, anxiously awaiting Max’s return with news from the front line. Cats were sensitive creatures, who hated change. Kissing a strange man must have spooked them a great deal. Just then, her real-life boyfriend appeared, crossing the plain to where she stood. Don, who’d been snacking on the contents of the picnic basket, saw him coming and a dark cloud seemed to descend over him. “Don’t tell me Captain America is going to cause trouble,” he said.