“If you really want to be a reporter one day,” said Uncle Alec sternly, “you probably should stop causing trouble, young lady.”
“It’s not me that’s causing all the trouble,” said Ellie, turning sullen again. “It’s the teachers. They all hate me for some reason, and so does the principal.”
Uncle Alec cleared his throat.“Now look here, Ellie. Mrs. Doubtfire told me you’ll be suspended from school for the next week while they try to decide what they’re going to do with you.” He cut a quick glance in the direction of his niece. “In the meantime we have to find a way to keep you out of trouble, don’t we? So I was thinking that maybe you would like to spend that week of suspension making yourself useful for a change?”
“I’m not going to wash your car if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Ellie defiantly.
“I was thinking more along the lines of you spending some time with my niece. Help her with her interviews, maybe work on some stories together—see what it means to be a reporter.”
Ellie’s eyes had gone wide and her jaw had dropped. “Are you serious?”
“I am,” said Uncle Alec, a hint of a smile on his round face. “As long as it’s all right with Odelia, of course.” He cast a questioning look at his niece, who smiled and nodded. “Well, looks as if that’s settled then.”
“I’m going to be reporter?” asked Ellie, who clearly hadn’t expected this.
“Now, that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” said the Chief, wagging a finger in Ellie’s direction. “You will still have to face the consequences of your behavior. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ellie dutifully, but her eyes were sparkling, and she looked more alive.
“Do you know where the Gazette offices are located?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, absolutely,” said the girl excitedly.
“Meet you there tomorrow morning at nine?”
“You bet,” said Ellie, and jumped up from her chair to shake Odelia’s hand vigorously. “This is, like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Miss Poole. Like, ever!”
“Well, make sure you don’t blow it,” said Uncle Alec. “Miss Poole will report both to me and to Mrs. Doubtfire, and your behavior this next week will go a long way toward reestablishing your standing in this school.”
“Yes, sir!” said Ellie, and practically jumped to attention as she spoke these words.
11
After the eventful time we’d had at the golf links, then the Hampton Heisters’ latest endeavor and the youthful school arsonist, I was frankly happy to be home again, so I could have a bite to eat and a little nap. But first I wanted to check on our friends Harriet and Brutus and how they were faring with their new humans: Ted and Marcie Trapper.
So Dooley and I headed over to the Trappers’ backyard and were immediately greeted by a sight to remember: Ted Trapper was throwing a ball and seemed to expect Brutus and Harriet to run after this ball and return it to him for some reason. Now I’ve seen dogs perform this kind of trick, but frankly I’ve never seen a cat act this way.
And yet when we arrived Brutus had just picked up the ball between his jaws and was returning it to Ted, who rubbed our friend’s head and said, “Now there’s a good boy.” Then he proceeded to throw the ball again and said, “Fetch, Brutus! Get the ball, buddy!”
And lo and behold: Brutus hurried in the direction Ted had thrown the ball and moments later had found it and was retrieving it, as per his new human’s instructions.
I stared at our friend with growing concern.
“Has he been at this long?” I asked Harriet.
“Ted has been playing fetch with him for the past hour,” said Harriet, looking and sounding a little dispirited, I felt.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “Brutus? Playing fetch?”
“He seems to feel that he should give Ted the opportunity to create a bond, and playing fetch seems to be part and parcel of this whole bonding ritual Ted worked out.”
“But surely fetch is a game only practiced by dogs?”
“I know, but what can I do? If Brutus wants to be adopted by Ted and Marcie, playing fetch is part of the deal—as is going to the dog park, and going for daily walks.”
I watched with openmouthed horror how Brutus dutifully returned the ball for the umpteenth time, not looking very happy as he did. Contrary to dogs, cats don’t get all excited at the prospect of returning an item thrown at some speed in a certain direction. I mean, what’s the point? They throw the ball, you return the ball, only for them to throw it again! Like golf, it all seems pointless and a complete waste of our valuable time.
“I wish he’d stop throwing the ball for Brutus and start throwing the ball for me,” said Rufus, who was lying next to Harriet and looking at the spectacle with dismay.
“This just isn’t right,” I said.
“Oh, I know,” said Rufus. “And I keep telling Brutus it ain’t right, but he keeps ignoring me. He says a cat can be the best dog man has ever known, and he’s going to prove it.”
“But why?” I asked. “I don’t understand!”
“Because Brutus wants to be adopted by a normal family,” said Harriet sadly.
“What’s wrong with his own family?”
“Just that: they’re not normal. They always get into all kinds of trouble.”
“So weird.”
“Max?” asked Dooley.
“Mh?”
“Why is Brutus running after that ball? And why does Ted keep throwing the ball even after Brutus has returned the ball?”
“It’s some kind of game,” I explained. “Brutus hopes it will establish a bond with Ted.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Brutus wants to become like me,” said Rufus. “He doesn’t want to be a cat anymore.”
“But why?”
“I think he’s suffering from what is commonly termed an identity crisis,” I said. “Though if you really want to know what brought this on you’ll have to ask a shrink.”
“Maybe we have to take him to Vena?” Dooley suggested.
“Vena is not a shrink,” I said. “She’s a vet.”
“I tried to reason with him,” said Harriet. “And so did Rufus, but he insists he knows what he’s doing, and doesn’t want to listen to anything I say.”
“Or anything I say,” Rufus added.
“Fetch, Brutus!” Ted called out again, and threw the ball as hard as he could in the direction of the fence. Unfortunately it got stuck there, but instead of ceasing and desisting and telling Ted to fetch his own damn ball, Brutus jumped to the task, and tried to retrieve the ball from where itwas lodged, about five feet high.
“Catch, Brutus!” Ted said encouragingly. “Catch the ball, little buddy!”
But of course there was no way Brutus would ever be able to catch this particular ball. But still our friend wasn’t giving up: he was jumping high, going for the win!
“Oh, Brutus, give it up already!” Harriet yelled.
“Never!” Brutus yelled back. “I’m going to get this ball if it kills me!”
“I can’t watch this, Max,” said Dooley.
“Frankly, neither can I,” I confessed.
“I’ll get that ball for you, Ted,” said Rufus, who’s a lot bigger than Brutus, and started trundling over in the direction of the fence. For him it would be a cinch.
“No, Rufus!” said Ted sharply. “That’s Brutus’s ball, and he’s the one who has to get it back to me!”
“What’s with all the yapping!” suddenly a familiar voice rang out from across the fence, and when we looked over, we saw that Gran’s head had appeared. She was craning her neck and trying to figure out what was going on.
“Ted is training Brutus to be a dog,” I told her. “But he threw the ball so high and hard it got stuck and now Brutus can’t reach it but Ted is still insisting he get it for him.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Gran, and glanced down to where Brutus was trying his darndest to be a ‘good boy.’ She grabbed the ball. “Is this what all the fuss is about?”