It was something he’d learned through long association with Odelia’s cats: cats always won out in the end.
“So have you seen Alec?” asked Dolores in that croaky, cigarette-smoked voice of hers. She’d probably been smoking a couple of packs a day since the cradle, judging from her wrinkly face and throaty purr.
Chase, who’d already walked past the desk, retraced his steps. “What do you mean? Is the big guy not in yet?”
“Nah,” said Dolores, who’d been filing her nails and now blew on them.
“Didn’t he say anything yesterday when he left?”
“Didn’t say nothing to me. He just left and said he was going to look into that missing kid case, and that’s the last I heard of him. He didn’t get back before my shift was over so I figured he’d gone straight home.”
Chase nodded.“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, hun.”
He walked on, and passed his boss’s office, poking his head in just to be sure Dolores hadn’t missed the chief. It happened. But the office was empty. Huh. Weird. Then again, the chief was probably out and about, checking something or working on a case. He often did that, and even though he usually conferred with his people when he was on a case, often, if the case was too minor to bother his officers, he handled it all by his lonesome. Obviously that was what was going on here. So he moved past the chief’s office and then into his own and turned on his computer to start his day.
Chapter 10
In spite of the fact that my night hadn’t included its usual entertainment—and with entertainment I mean our regular trip to the local park to partake in that age-old ritual of cat choir—I was still feeling like a million bucks. In fact I could hardly believe how great I was feeling, considering the fact that only a day before I’d been stabbed with needles, and jabbed with all manner of surgical instrument, and on top of that had been incarcerated against my will in a jail cell in a dark and dank dungeon.
Well, perhaps the dungeon hadn’t been as dark and dank as some of the more dingy dungeons in existence but I’d still been confined to a jail cell for a considerable period of time, until Odelia, like a minor Kim Kardashian, had sprung me from prison prematurely.
I’d slept like a log, probably because the others had all decided to give me preferential treatment and had allowed me to occupy the prime real estate at the foot of Odelia’s side of the bed, while they battled it out with Chase for a space at the foot of his portion of the conjugal bed—and I use the word conjugal lightly, as Odelia and Chase are not married, even though they are betrothed.
So it was with a spring in my step—well, a relative spring, as it’s hard to put a spring in one’s step when one is as big-boned as I happen to be—big bones can be a curse—that I arrived downstairs and padded into the kitchen in search of some delicious kibble.
To my surprise there was no kibble in my bowl, and the bowls of my friends were all devoid of kibble, too. Instead, some gooey sludge occupied my bowl. I took a tentative sniff and decided that it smelled like meat, but not a type of meat I’d ever eaten before.
And as I settled down, staring dumbly at the gray sludge, suddenly a voice overhead announced,“Oh, you found it. How do you like my latest invention, Max?”
I glanced up into the face of Gran, who apparently was the person I had to thank for the peculiar sludge.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Well, pureed meat, of course. What did you think it was?”
I stared back at the glop and took a lick. It tasted quite… tasteless.
“I made it especially for you,” said Gran. “Following Odelia’s instructions, of course.”
“Odelia told you to make this?” I asked, my love and affection for my human suddenly trading a couple of points lower on the Dow Jones Industrial Average Index.
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re not supposed to eat kibble or anything crunchy for a couple of weeks. It’s the teeth, you see,” she explained, tapping her own dentures to add a visual image to the word picture she was painting. “You need to let those gums heal, buddy.”
“Oh, trust me, I understand,” I said, giving my absent teeth a sad lick. My gums felt weird. Metallic. Probably still healing, like Gran said. “So it’s three weeks of this?”
“Afraid so.”
“Oh, all right,” I said grudgingly. And here I’d thought I’d be spoiled rotten now. Wasn’t that what humans did when babies or kids got sick? Spoil them to within an inch of their lives? Apparently Odelia and Gran and Marge hadn’t gotten the memo on this.
Harriet, Dooley and Brutus had also joined us in the kitchen and as they parked themselves in front of their respective bowls, they all stared at the sludge, their faces mimicking my own surprise at this sudden reversal of fortune.
“Um, so what’s this?” asked Harriet.
“Meat,” said Gran. “And you better eat it, missy, cause it’s all you’re going to get for the next three weeks or so.”
Harriet slowly looked up at Gran.“What did you just say?” she asked, looking shocked.
“No kibble,” said Gran. “Max can’t chew it, because of the teeth thing.”
“I just wish you’d all stop referring to my teeth,” I said, starting to feel annoyed.
“Max lost his teeth and now we all have to eat this… muck?” Harriet demanded.
“I didn’t loseall my teeth,” I said. “Just three.”
“Yes, you do. Max can’t chew anything tougher than Jell-O, so no kibble or fish bones or whatever for you guys. Until Max’s gums are fully healed. Now tuck in, for this is some prime meat we’ve gotten you. It’s got all the proteins your growing little kitty needs.”
Her sales talk did little to convince Harriet to ‘tuck in.’ On the contrary. “This is an outrage,” she said, stomping her paw, even though stomping paws on a stone floor doesn’t really have the impact one hopes to achieve.
“Well, it’s either this or nothing at all,” said Gran, who wasn’t budging. Gran doesn’t have a budgy personality, I should add. On the contrary. She’s very unbudgy, so to speak.
“But it’s not fair!” Harriet cried.
“You’re doing this to help your friend—so don’t give me this fair or not fair crap.”
They all turned to me, and I could sense a distinct coldness in their gazes.“Hey, guys,” I said, holding up my paws in a gesture of defense. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“It was Odelia’s idea,” said Gran. “She said you’re like the three musketeers. All for one and one for all, though technically you’re four musketeers, but whatever.”
“If only you’d taken better care of your teeth,Porthos,” said Harriet, giving me an icy look, “this would never have happened. So this is all your fault.”
“Why are you calling me Porthos? And how am I supposed to take better care of my teeth?”
“Porthos is the fat musketeer,” said Brutus. “He’s also very jolly,” he quickly added when I gasped in shock. “Fat, jolly and cheerful. He’s like Santa Claus. But with a sword.”
“Oh, my God,” I said, shaking my head in dismay. “I’ve never been so insulted…” That wasn’t true, though. I’ve been insulted a lot in my life. The curse of having big bones.
“You do look a little like Santa, Max,” said Dooley now, adding his two cents. “With the red head and the white beard and all.”
“It’s not a beard,” I said haughtily. “It’s my neck.”
“You should have brushed your teeth, Max,” Harriet said, not allowing herself to be distracted by all this Santa talk. “Twice daily, or even three times. Once after breakfast, once after dinner and once before going to bed. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”