“We didn’t miss anything,” said Marge. “All we missed was you going off and showing your true colors.”
Brutus had returned from his business in the bushes, and was stalking across the lawn with the air of a cat whose bowel movements have just proved a source of great enjoyment. If he’d been a human male he’d have carried a newspaper under his arm, folded to the sports section. When he caught sight of the flea party in progress on the lawn, the smile of contentment faded and he started backtracking in the direction of the bushes again.
Marge’s eagle eyes had spotted the big, black cat, though. “Oh, Brutus, there you are. Come over here a minute, will you? We need to check you for fleas.”
“I ain’t got no fleas,” he said promptly. “No, ma’am. I’m officially flea-free.”
Marge smiled indulgently. “Be that as it may, you still need checking out. Now come over here and I’ll give you your checkup.”
“Does that mean you’re done with me?” asked Harriet with a note of disappointment in her voice. Harriet likes being pampered and groomed. The more pampering the better.
“Yup. All done,” said Marge.
“Oh,” said Harriet, and reluctantly relinquished her spot to her beau Brutus.
“You know?” said Dooley as he directed a fishy look at a floating flea. “I’m not so sure this is an entirely humane way to treat these animals, Max.”
“What animals?” I asked as Odelia lifted my tail and checked my rear end.
“Well, we’re all God’s creatures, Max, so maybe all this poisoning and waterboarding and generally slaughtering these poor fleas isn’t the way to go is what I mean to say.”
We all stared at the cat. Even Grandma momentarily paused her combing efforts. “You’re nuts,” was her opinion. “I’ve got a nut for a cat.”
Odelia, however, seemed prepared to give Dooley the benefit of the doubt. “I thought you didn’t like fleas, Dooley? You couldn’t wait to get rid of them?”
“Oh, I do. Hate the little parasites, I mean. And I do want to get rid of them. But maybe we should go about this the humane way. Treat them with kindness. Humanely.”
“Whatever,” said Harriet with a flick of her tail as she licked those last few droplets of water from her shiny white fur. “As long as they’re gone, it’s fine by me.” She then gave me a censorious look. “So have you found your Patient Zero yet, Max?”
I looked up, distracted by Odelia dragging her comb across my sensitive belly. “Huh?”
“Patient Zero,” Harriet repeated impatiently. “I thought you and Dooley were trying to track down the cat who got us into this mess and deal with him or her properly?”
“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “We’re, um, working on it.”
“Well, work faster,” she said. “I don’t want to go through this ordeal again.”
“Are you really tracking down Patient Zero, Max?” asked Marge.
“Sure, sure,” I said. Actually I’d totally forgotten about this elusive Patient Zero. Like Harriet said, as long as the fleas were gone, who cared about Patient Zero, let alone patients one or two or three or whatever? “We’re looking into it, aren’t we, Dooley?”
But Dooley was still thinking about the fate of those poor fleas. “I mean, if the Humane Society cares so much about horses and the way they’re treated in all those Hollywood movies, shouldn’t they look into fleas, too? We’re all God’s creatures, right?”
Brutus emitted a groan. “Fleas aren’t creatures, Dooley. Fleas are a pest. And pests should be terminated. End of discussion.”
“Fleas deserve our consideration, Brutus,” said Dooley with a pained look as he watched a flea float lifelessly in the tub. “Have you ever stopped to consider that this flea right here has a mother and a father who care about him or her? And brothers and sisters?”
“Lots and lots of brothers and sisters,” said Odelia with a slight grin. “Millions of them. Probably billions or even trillions.”
“We still owe it to them to treat them with kindness and respect,” Dooley insisted.
Odelia held up her comb. “This is being kind, Dooley. This is being respectful.”
“Kind and respectful,” Gran scoffed. “They’re not being kind when they suck your blood, are they? So why should we be kind to them?”
“Kill ‘em all is what I say,” said Brutus, with a decisive motion of his paw. “Carpet bomb the suckers to oblivion.”
“Speaking of carpets, did you take the vacuum bags out to the trash?” asked Marge. “They’re probably full of eggs, larvae and pupae. Best to get rid of them immediately.”
And so the discussion went on for a while. Harriet wasn’t to be deterred, though. She was directing a scathing glance in my direction. I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t going to let this go, I could tell. She was going to hound me until I produced this mysterious Patient Zero.
“Fine,” I said finally. “We’ll find your Patient Zero and we’ll find him today, all right?”
She smiled. “Thanks, Maxie. I knew you’d listen to reason. Brutus and I will join you. And together we’ll search this town until we’ve tracked down the cat who’s responsible for this terrible outbreak and make sure he or she is unflead ASAP.”
“I don’t think unflead is a word, honey,” said Marge.
Harriet flapped her paws. “Deflead, then. Whatever. But mark my words, I won’t rest until the last flea of Hampton Cove has been terminated.” When Dooley gasped, she quickly added, “in the most humane and kindest way possible, of course.”
Chapter Two
The moment we were finally declared flea-free, the four of us set out to start hunting high and low for Patient Zero and ‘take care of him,’ in Harriet’s words. She seemed pretty sure this Patient Zero was a male, as only males could be so dumb as to allow themselves to be infested with a bunch of lowly parasites.
“And it’s not just that the female of the species is smarter than the male, we’re more hygienic, too,” she claimed now as we tracked along the sidewalks of Hampton Cove. “I for one would never allow even a single flea to lay its eggs on my precious fur if I could help it.”
“None of us would allow that,” I countered. “Do you think I like hosting a flea party?”
“You tomcats are simply too insensitive to even feel that you’re being ravaged by a bunch of parasites,” she said, tail high in the air as usual. “You could have thousands of fleas feasting on your bodies and you wouldn’t even know. But put one flea on me and I’ll know instantly that something is wrong. Admit it, Max, females are much more conscious of their bodies than males.”
“Like the princess and the pea,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. When we all looked at him, he shrugged. “She could feel the pea, which showed everyone she was a princess. The same way Harriet can feel the flea, which shows us she’s…” He swallowed, and his cheeks would probably have flushed a bright scarlet if they hadn’t been covered in fur.
“Aw, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You think I’m a princess? That’s so sweet of you.”
Brutus gave Dooley a dirty look. Its meaning was clear: she’s my princess, buddy, so paws off.
We passed along the streets of Hampton Cove, the sleepy little town in the Hamptons where life is lived at a more leisurely pace than in other small towns the world over. This morning was different, however, with the sound of vacuum cleaners working at full tilt audible wherever we pointed our antenna-like ears. Windows had been flung open, with duvets, comforters and mattresses hanging from ledges, soaking up the sun’s rays, carpets being cleaned with a frantic energy that told us the flea infestation had left the good people of Hampton Cove scrambling. Some people were even fogging and fumigating their houses, judging from the clouds of acrid smoke wafting through windows and doors and chimneys.
Dooley shook his head. “Maybe we should call the Humane Society, Max. I think they’d have a field day fighting all this cruelty and this utterly senseless suffering.”