“Well put,” I complimented my friend. “First we need a plan of campaign…”
“I’ll do it,” said Brutus, still sounding morose. “Ducks like me. They know I’m a kindred spirit.”
I highly doubted this, but who was I to rain on Brutus’s parade? He was down in the dumps, and this could buck him up. Besides, he was as much a feline sleuth as the rest of us.
“But only on one condition,” Brutus said, pushing himself up from the spot where he’d dropped after watching Harriet shove off in a huff.
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t my entire week’s supply of Cat Snax. I was willing to do a lot for my human, but I drew the line at sacrificing my favorite snack.
“You’re going to talk to Harriet the first chance you get, and you’re going to make her forgive me for my mistake.”
“I don’t know if I can guarantee the last part,” I said. “But I’m definitely going to talk to Harriet on your behalf.” Once she’d had a minute to simmer down. Or a couple of weeks.
“Deal,” said Brutus, then drew himself up to his full height and walked out of the protective cover provided by the thicket and out into the open.
I have to admit I was curious to find out what he meant by the phrase,‘Ducks know I’m a kindred spirit.’ Cats and ducks don’t have all that much in common. Apart from the fact that we are about the same size—or at least most cats. I’m a little bigger. In fact two ducks can easily fit into my frame. But that’s because I have big bones—something we’vealready discussed—and I’m okay with that. It’s a blessing and a curse, as Mr. Monk would say.
Brutus, meanwhile, was making a beeline for a group of ducks, lazing about on the edge of the pond. The ducks, now aware of the arrival of a feline, were making soft quacking sounds, then, when Brutus made no sign of changing course, they all plunged into the pond as one duck, and quickly paddled to a part where Brutus couldn’t possibly reach them.
“Ducks!” Brutus yelled from the shoreline. “I come in peace!”
But they weren’t having it. They kept darting annoyed and frankly hostile glances at the black cat, and made no attempts to enter into communication with him.
“I know some of my people have in the past behaved atrociously towards some of your people!” he bellowed. “But I’m not like that! I may look like a dangerous predator to you, but I’m also just a cat, standing in front of a duck, asking him to help him!”
Nothing doing, though. As moving as his speech was—with some parts sounding awfully familiar somehow—the ducks weren’t budging.
“Tell them about the kindred spirit thing!” I shouted.
Brutus held up his paw in response.“Ducks. I know I’m a cat, but it may surprise you to know that I’m also an honorary duck. That’s right. I can swim like a duck! Yes, I can!”
Dooley and I exchanged a puzzled glance.“What is he talking about?” I said.
“I think he’s saying he can swim like a duck.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me. Doesn’t he know that cats don’t swim?”
“Maybe nobody ever told him?”
We both looked on, the spectacle taking on the entertainment value of a major car crash. You know how it is. It’s hard to look away.
The ducks were moving about restlessly. They might not have deigned to respond to Brutus’s ramblings, but they’d certainly understood every last word of what he was saying. And the part about being able to swim was clearly causing them considerable concern.
Brutus looked over to where Dooley and I were still officiating the role of his ringside audience, and gave us another paw up. I gave him a paw up back.
“He’s going to drown,” said Dooley.
“Better get ready to call for help,” I said.
Brutus put one paw into the pond, then the next, and soon he was up to his chest in the murky water. A nearby frog gave him a weird look, then hopped off. Probably to get his buddies. This they had to see.
“See?” Brutus shouted to the ducks. “I’m a real duck! I can swim!”
He must have stepped into a hole, though, for suddenly he disappeared, only to return spluttering and sputtering above the surface.
“Help!” he screamed. “I can’t swim!”
“I knew it,” said Dooley. “Are you going to save him or am I?”
Only trouble was, neither of us could swim either.
Meanwhile Brutus was going under for the third time…
Chapter 9
Chase, who was interviewing witnesses, suddenly found his attention snagged by a disturbance taking place near the duck pond. A frown marred his handsome and exceedingly masculine face, and he looked over. The sight that met his eyes surprised him, to say the least. Two cats were seated on the side of the pond, mewling at the top of their lungs. Meanwhile a third cat had stumbled into the water and was in a situation of clear and present danger. Chase, who instantly recognized the cats as—reading from left to right—Max, Dooley and Brutus, wasted no time pondering hows and whys, immediately dropped his notebook, and broke into a 100-meter dash that would have made Usain Bolt proud.
Without a second’s hesitation, he jumped headfirst into the pond and disappeared beneath the water’s surface. With a few powerful strokes of his arms he reached the spot where he’d last seen Brutus, and then he was diving down into the murky depths. This was Odelia’s cat, and if it drowned she’d be devastated. He could not allow that to happen.
He opened his eyes and frantically searched about. But apart from a few reeds and other dwellers of the deep, he saw no sign of a black cat. He rose to the surface, took a big deep gulp of breath, then went under again, this time scanning closer to the edge of the pond. And then he saw the little bugger: Brutus was floating near the sandy bottom.
He grabbed the poor animal and pushed himself off towards the surface, holding him up like that weird painted monkey holding up the lion cub inThe Lion King. Elton John didn’t break into song when he finally emerged, but Max and Dooley did. Or at least they broke into jubilant praise.
Chase carefully placed Brutus on the bank of the pond and to his elation the black cat, who now looked more like a drowned rat than his usual debonair self, coughed up about a gallon of water, then piteously meowed something only cats were equipped to understand. His two little friends were still meowing up a storm, and not for the first time Chase found himself thinking how great it would be if he could actually understand them.
Odelia, who must have been alerted to the drama that was unfolding, came running.“Oh, my sweet, sweet Brutus!” she cried, concern lacing her voice. “What happened?”
“Beats me,” said Chase. “I guess he accidentally fell into the water.”
To his surprise, her words apparently hadn’t been directed at him but at Max and Dooley, who meowed something in response.
Weird. Almost as if they could understand what she was talking about.
Onlookers had arrived, and were all rubbernecking to their heart’s content. It wasn’t murder this time but a cat in peril but that didn’t stop them from taking out their damn smartphones and filming the heck out of the scene.
Chase ground his teeth.“Put those phones away!” he bellowed, getting up.
He hated this habit of people to film any disaster scene they encountered. Used to be that people actually showed up at the scene of an accident to help out. Now they just wanted to film the whole thing so they could post it on their social media.
“I swear to God,” he grumbled. “I’m going to bust some heads.”
But Odelia’s slender fingers enveloped his bicep and she said, “Thank you so much, Chase. You’re my hero.”
His anger melted like snow before a blistering sun and when she hugged him to show her gratitude, his mind went momentarily blank. When she pulled back, he said,“Oh, Christ. I’ve made you all wet.” Her blouse, her jeans… She was almost as soaking wet as he was.