Harriet, meanwhile, stood fuming to the side. She had many talents, but singing and dancing were not amongst them. “Let’s go, Brutus,” she said finally. “Brutus? Brutus!”
But Brutus was too busy staring at the dance routine to notice his lady love needed him. Finally, she stalked off alone, and when I looked back I saw that Harriet had left the roof.
Chapter 6
Harriet gracefully made her way from the roof to the street level below, halting halfway down and pausing for a moment to gather her wits. Even though she was loath to admit it, this most recent altercation with the cat troupe had rattled her. And that was probably because they were right. These cats were gorgeous, talented, on their way to the top, and above all, they were well-groomed and obviously flea-free in a way that she wasn’t.
The flea episode had shaken her to the core. A proud cat, and always conscious of the way she looked and acted and the impact her appearance had on other cats, she’d hated the way those fleas had made her feel. Dirty. Soiled. Degraded. The whole incident had lowered her self-esteem and had probably been the most traumatic experience of her young life.
And now these Most Interesting Cats had rubbed her nose in it. Had sprinkled ample supplies of salt in the wound and reminded her that she was merely a small-town cat living in a small-town environment with no future to look forward to and no prospects to speak of.
Like Princess, she wanted to go to shows and win prizes. She wanted to sing and dance and be appreciated by the masses. Go on to perform in front of millions and be on the cover of Time Magazine as Cat of the Year. And why stop there? Why not act in ad campaigns and be hailed Most Beautiful Cat in the World by the pundits—whoever they were?
It was obvious though that her ambitions would never amount to a hill of beans. Never would she leave this small town that now felt more like a prison than the support system she’d always appreciated it for. Her friends? Losers, just like her. Her humans? Small-town people with small-town dreams. She, on the other hand, had big dreams and big hopes for a bright and better future. Hopes and dreams that would never be. And this auspicious meeting with Princess and her Most Interesting Cats had finally made her aware of that.
Just then, Brutus descended from the roof and joined her.
“Hey, baby cakes. You suddenly disappeared. What happened? Didn’t you like the show?”
“No, I didn’t like the show,” she snapped, then turned away from her boyfriend to hide the moisture that had sprung to her eyes. “In fact I hated it,” she said quietly.
“Hey, now,” said Brutus. “Sugar plum. What’s wrong? Are those... tears?” He said it with the note of quiet horror typical for any male suddenly confronted with a teary female.
“No—yes,” she said. “Oh, Brutus, why can’t I be successful like those Interesting Cats? Why can’t I have a career as a show cat and be loved and praised by all? Why can’t I have a show in Vegas like Céline? Why can’t I...” She faltered, well aware that these private yearnings of her heart were utterly pointless. And still she couldn’t help feeling as she did.
“But you are loved and praised,” said Brutus, the sweet dear. He was speaking in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “You’re appreciated by every cat I know. We all think you’re the most beautiful cat in all of Hampton Cove. And I, for one...” He swallowed, not used to expressing these deeper, finer emotions. “I, for one, think you’re the most wonderful cat I’ve ever met, honey muffin. And I...” He coughed, pausing his remarks while he let three scruffy-looking cats pass on their way to the roof, where the show was still in full swing. “I, for one...” Once more, a cavalcade of cats made him swallow his words, the sudden diffidence odd in a cat as blunt as Brutus. When more cats interrupted this sacred moment, he finally growled, “Oh, for Pete’s sakes, can’t you morons leave a cat in peace for one minute?!”
“Sorry, Brutus,” said a cat with a lopsided ear and a grating voice. “But we heard there’s one hell of a show going on up top.” He then leered at Harriet. “What’s wrong with your lady cat? You make her cry or something? You break her heart, tough guy?”
“No, I did not make her cry,” he snarled. “And now get lost before I kick you in the butt!” He then turned back to Harriet and said, softer, “Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I just wanted to say that I, for one, appreciate you very much, sweet peach. In fact I...” He swallowed again, looking as if he were about to lay an egg, then pushed out the fateful words. “I... love you, Harriet.”
In spite of her mood of melancholy, Harriet couldn’t resist a smile. He was such a dear, her Brutus. Other cats might think he was a ruffian, bullyragging his way through life, but she knew better. She’d seen his softer side, his true nature, and she knew that beneath that bristly exterior there lurked a tender heart. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Brutus.”
“You...” He suddenly looked uncertain. “You do like me, too, don’t you, tootsie roll?”
She nodded, once more distracted by the hopelessness of the situation she was in. “Do you ever wonder if there’s another future for you out there somewhere, Brutus? A future that isn’t so... bleak and dismal? So lacking in hope and brightness?”
“Um, not really,” he said.
She gave him a censorious look. He was a dear, and very sweet, but she now saw he was just like the rest of them: lacking in ambition and the wherewithal to reach for the stars. To dream big and act on those dreams. In other words, he wasn’t a Most Interesting Cat in the World. Not by a long stretch. “Oh, Brutus,” she said finally, and the words came out on a sigh. Life suddenly seemed sad. So very, very sad.
And when Max and Dooley came down from the roof, filled with plans and schemes about how to go about finding this Patient Zero, she suddenly found she’d lost all interest. Who cared about a few fleas? She was never going to get out of Hampton Cove, so what did it matter that they were all infested with these terrible, blood-sucking bugs? Life itself was a blood-sucking, soul-sapping bug, and there was nothing she or anyone could do about it.
Chapter 7
“So where are we going?” asked Harriet.
It was obvious she hadn’t been listening to a word I’d said. She looked a little peaked. Not her usual vivacious self. Despondent. “We’re paying a little visit to Shanille,” I told her.
“Shanille?” she asked dully. “Why Shanille? What does she have to do with all of this?”
Patiently, I explained to her once again how a cat had sidled up to me on the roof and, in the middle of the Most Interesting Cat Show, had asked if I’d heard about Shanille. My ears twitching, he’d told me how Shanille had been going around town, asking forgiveness from any cat who would listen. When they asked her why, she refused to say. Only that she was harboring a great secret, one that was burdening her soul and making her seek relief from this heavy load she was carrying on her slightly stooped shoulders.
“So you see what that means, right?” I said. But when my eye met Harriet’s dull gaze, it was obvious she had no clue what I was talking about. “She’s the one I’ve been looking for!” I cried, barely able to contain my excitement.
“That’s great, Max,” said Harriet in the same lifeless tone. “I’m happy for you. Shanille is a great cat and I’m sure you deserve each other. You’ll make each other very, very happy.”