“I guess I got lucky again,” I said modestly.
“Or smart,” said Dooley.
“So the Kitchen King is actually a killer king, huh?” said Brutus. “I should have known. He looked like a crook to me.”
“No, he didn’t,” said Harriet. “In fact when you first saw him you said he looked like a great guy—the kind of guy you could imagine yourself being adopted by.”
We all stared at Brutus.“You’re looking for another home, Brutus?” I asked.
“Well, no—or yeah, maybe. Look, this family is lovely and all, but it’s always something, you know. Like with this house falling apart. I mean, it’s all very stressful, you guys. And yesterday I spotted my first gray hair. Can you imagine? Me! A gray hair!”
“It’s only the one gray hair, Brutus,” said Harriet.
“Where is it?” asked Dooley solicitously.
“Here, on my ear,” said Brutus, bending his head to show us.
“Yeah, that’s a gray hair all right,” I confirmed.
“It’s very small,” Dooley said as he studied the hair.
“It’s the beginning of the end, Dooley. Things can only get worse. And I know why this is happening to me. It’s the stress. Murderers and thieves and criminals galore, and now my own home collapsing, practically falling down around me. Imagine if we’d been inside when that thing fell down. We could all have been dead now!”
“Every home has its advantages and disadvantages, Brutus,” I said. “I think all in all we can count ourselves lucky with humans like the Pooles.”
“Yeah, I know, but why do they have to skirt danger all the time? Between Odelia who’s always getting involved with murderers and crooks, and Chase who’s a cop, and then of course Gran with her neighborhood watch?” He shook his head. “It’s all too much for me, and if you’re smart you’ll all join me in looking for another family to live with—a nice and peaceful family. A family like the Trappers, for instance.”
He was referring to Marge and Tex’s neighbors Ted and Marcie Trapper.
“The Trappers have a dog, Brutus,” Harriet pointed out. “I don’t think they’re going to take a bunch of cats.”
“And why not?!” Brutus cried, getting a little worked up. “Rufus is a nice dog. He’s a cat-loving dog. I think I could live very happily side by side with a dog like Rufus.”
“Well, if you want to get yourself adopted by the Trappers, go right ahead,” said Harriet. “But I’m staying right here.”
Brutus frowned, grumbled something, then shut up. He might be willing to get rid of the Pooles, but he wasn’t ready to get rid of his lady love, that much was obvious.
“Max is right,” said Harriet. “Every family has its advantages and disadvantages. I’m sure that the Trappers will have something that’s not so great, too. And it only takes one conversation with Rufus to find out.”
But before we could have that conversation, suddenly there was the loud sound of an explosion, and when we looked up we saw that Tex had managed, through some inexplicable procedure, to blow up the entire grill!
Pieces of fish and meat and veggies had been catapulted in all directions, and the grill itself was now a charred piece of twisted metal!
“That does it!” Brutus declared as he jumped down from the porch swing. “I’m going over to the Trappers and ask if they’re willing to adopt a gorgeous black cat!”
And with these surprising words, he was off at a trot, in the direction of the next-door backyard. Well, the next-door, next-door backyard if we’re being nitpicky, and I am—at least according to Harriet.
“Brutus! Wait!” Harriet yelled, and before we could stop her, she was tripping after her mate.
And then it was just me and Dooley.
After a pause, in which we both tried to imagine life without Harriet and Brutus, Dooley said,“They’ll be back.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I mean, I can’t imagine they’d really move out. You, Max?”
“No, I don’t.”
“So they’ll be back. Right?”
“Well, I certainly hope so.”
But five minutes passed, and then ten, and Brutus and Harriet still hadn’t returned.
The Pooles were picking up pieces of the grill, and collecting the scattered foodstuffs, and so they weren’t paying any attention to us cats. Odelia probably hadn’t even noticed Harriet and Brutus had left, and neither had Gran or Marge, who’d been hit by a sausage, or Uncle Alec, whose practically bald pate had been scalded by a flying piece of steak.
But when another half hour had passed, I had to admit the impossible had happened.
Harriet and Brutus had gone over to the dark side: they’d gone to the dogs!