“Looks like we just missed it,” said Mom.
Just then, Odelia’s grandmother waltzed into the kitchen, holding her new iPhone to her ear, and nodding seriously. “Yes, Your Holiness. But there are children dying in Angujistan every day, and we need to get a handle on the situation before things get out of hand.”
Odelia exchanged a puzzled look with her mother, who merely rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Pope Francis,” said Gran as she took a seat at the counter and gestured at her empty cup that read, ‘Greatest Grandma in the World.’ Odelia poured coffee into the cup while Gran continued her curious conversation. “Yeah, I agree we can do more, Your Holiness. Have you thought about getting in touch with the United Nations or UNICEF? I would advise you to get on the horn with Ban Ki-moon pronto, Francis. Just tell him what I just told you.” Her wrinkled face creased into a wide smile. “No, you’re welcome, Your Holiness. Us Catholics have to stick together. Yes, just doing my part for world peace.”
She disconnected, placed her iPhone on the table and took a sip of coffee. Only then did she notice that the rest of her family were intently staring at her.
“What?” she asked. “Never heard a woman chat with the Pope before?”
“You were actually chatting with the pope just now?” asked Odelia. “The pope?”
“The one in Rome?” asked Dad, gratefully using this interruption as an excuse to put down his spoon.
Gran shook her head, causing her tiny white curls to dance around her wrinkly features. “Do you know any other popes? Of course the one in Rome. I told Francis he needs to get a handle on this Angujistan business before more people die and he agreed wholeheartedly. As he should. When a fellow Catholic calls in with an urgent message it’s only natural that he would be thrilled. He told me he’d heed my most excellent advice.”
“Your grandmother has been advising world leaders,” said Mom at Odelia’s unposed question. “She’s already talked to Bong Si-moon.”
“Ban Ki-moon,” Gran was quick to correct her.
“That one. He runs the United Nations.”
“Great guy,” said Gran. “Very happy to chat.”
“And who was that other one you talked to?” asked Mom.
“Try to keep up, Marge. Bill Gates. Sharp dude. We talked about providing housing for the poor. I gave him a few suggestions and he was more than happy to jot them down.”
Dad gave Odelia a knowing look. “We’re in the presence of greatness, Odelia.”
“Yeah, forget about Charlie Dieber,” Mom added. “It’s your grandmother you should be interviewing.”
“But how?” Odelia asked. “How do you get in touch with these people?”
Gran shrugged. “I have my ways.” She hopped from the stool with surprising agility. “Gotta be going. I’m expecting a call from the President. Give him a piece of my mind.”
And with these words, she stalked off, frowning at her phone and very much looking the part of the highly regarded proficient advisor to the world’s political and business elite.
Odelia was going to ask her parents what the heck was going on, but Mom shushed her and turned up the volume on the TV set. As they watched, the host announced with breathless relish that shots had been fired at Charlie Dieber as he exited the studio. Visibly disappointed, the radio jockey clarified that Charlie was unharmed and that his bodyguard had sustained the brunt of the attack and had been pronounced dead at the scene.
“Sweet Jesus!” Mom cried, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. “Thank God Charlie lives!”
“Poor bodyguard, though,” Odelia said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, imagine having to take a bullet for Charlie Dieber,” Dad quipped.
Mom shut him up with a pointed look. “The man died so Charlie could live. He’s a hero and a saint and should be praised for his brave and selfless act.”
Dang. Mom was an even bigger Bedieber than Odelia would have guessed.
She promptly got up. “This is big,” she announced. “I have to get over there and break this story.”
“And while you’re at it don’t forget to ask for Charlie’s autograph, honey,” Mom said as she moved to the door.
“If I get within ten feet of Charlie I’m not going to nag him about autographs, Mom.”
“You promised!” she called out after her.
“That was before someone tried to drill a hole in him!”
Chapter 3
We were seated in Odelia’s backyard, me, Dooley and Brutus, for an emergency meeting. Hidden behind the gardenias, from time to time ducking our heads up to see if the coast was clear and we weren’t being overheard, we conducted our meeting with the stealth and solemnity the situation demanded. We were at war, and it was all paws on deck.
“He ate all your food?” asked Dooley. The gray Ragamuffin looked shocked.
“Everything. Every last morsel,” I confirmed.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Not nice?! It’s downright criminal!”
“You can have some of my food,” Dooley magnanimously offered. “There’s plenty.”
“Yeah, have some of mine, too,” said Brutus, a powerfully built black cat who’d been my mortal enemy until not all that long ago. In fact the arrival of Diego had created a bond between us that had wiped out our former enmity and turned us into unlikely allies instead.
“Will you look at that?” Dooley asked, a somber note in his voice.
We peeked through the gardenias and Brutus drew in a sharp breath when he saw Diego seated on the terrace with Harriet, pressing their paws together in a cloying picture of loved-up cuteness. Any moment Celine Dion could burst into the Titanic theme song.
“Don’t look, Brutus. Just don’t look,” I advised the cat, who’d been Harriet’s beau before Diego’s fateful return.
But Brutus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the train wreck even if he wanted to. Nor could I, actually, or Dooley, who’d also been one of Harriet’s admirers. In fact it was safe to say I was probably the only male feline for miles around who’d never been into the white Persian. No idea why that was. Probably the fact that she was one of those haughty specimens, who enjoyed lording it over other cats, a quality that set my teeth on edge.
“This is too much,” growled Brutus. “Stealing your food. Stealing my girlfriend—”
“Stealing my litter box and my morning cuddle with Odelia,” I said somberly.
They gawked at me. “He uses your litter box?” asked Brutus. “Say it isn’t so, Max!”
I nodded in confirmation. “Sadly, yes. I’ve been forced to do my business in Odelia’s rhododendrons ever since Diego’s return. No way am I going to suffer the indignation of relieving myself in a place that reeks of Diego. Talk about suffering the ultimate humiliation.”
Brutus and Dooley sat in stunned silence, as they imagined having to share a litter box with Diego. This was bad, their silence seemed to indicate. This was extremely bad.
“Did you say he stole your morning cuddle with Odelia?” asked Dooley.
“He did.” I proceeded to describe my shock and dismay when I discovered Diego snuggling up to Odelia that morning. How he didn’t even bat an eye when I confronted him.
“Oh, the horror,” muttered Brutus. “The heartbreak. The infuriating gall of the cat!”
“We have to do something about this, you guys,” I said. “I feel like he’s slowly but surely trying to get rid of me. Before I know it, Odelia will vote Diego Most Valuable Cat.”
“Odelia would never do that,” said Dooley, eyes wide. “Would she?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Diego is trying to poison Odelia’s mind,” said Brutus.
I stared at him. “Poison Odelia? But why?”
“Poison her mind—set her against you.”
“No way,” Dooley gasped. “There’s just no way!”
“Oh, yes, there is,” Brutus assured him. “He’ll feed her all kinds of lies. Start with something innocuous, like the fact that Max left some poop on the floor, for instance.”