Chapter 22
Dooley wasn’t your typical volunteer. Even though he’d been all in favor of Max’s brilliant idea of a cat pyramid, he hadn’t envisioned himself in the role of escape artist. And if he’d known his friend would be at the bottom of the pyramid and he at the top, he’d have politely turned down the job. Besides, he was no hero. And even though he’d pointed this out to Clarice, who’d taken charge of the proceedings, she hadn’t paid his protestations any mind. She’d simply told him he was the smallest, the lightest, and the only one in his weight class able to communicate with his human, and able to get a message across enemy lines.
So he’d reluctantly agreed in principle, but then the pyramid had been formed and he’d been given a shove in the patootie by Clarice, and before he knew what was happening he was crawling through that opening and now here he was, crawling through this dark and creepy house, in search of the exit.
He was on the ground floor, or so he thought, but as luck would have it he was in a closed room, with no way out. So he’d only gone from one prison to another, and while down below he was with his friends, up here he was all alone. He’d looked down through the hole and could see Max down there. He’d even hollered, but of course they were all chattering so loudly nobody could hear him.
So he’d heaved a deep sigh and had decided that if he was chosen for the part of the hero, he might as well try and play the hero. And so he’d gone in search of the exit. It had taken him several attempts to open the door before he finally discovered a fatal flaw the architect who’d built this place had made: next to the door was a small hole, presumably having served a purpose at some moment in the distant past—possibly a power plug had been placed there, before being stripped by treasure hunters—and so he’d simply clawed away at the thing until the hole was big enough for him to crawl through.
And he’d just managed this daring feat when he smelled sweet victory: a window was open in this next room. So he jumped up onto a rickety old chair, then onto the windowsill, and he was just about to jump through the broken window when he saw that the drop to the ground was a lot longer than he’d anticipated so he balked. No way was he going to make that drop. Plus, there were only brambles down there, and pieces of brick. So even if he survived the drop, his fall wouldn’t be a gentle one.
Then again, his friends were in danger, so shouldn’t he take the chance? What mattered a few brambles compared to the horrors that awaited his dear friends in that dungeon down below? So he took a deep breath, carefully navigated the broken glass and… took the plunge.
He actually landed pretty well, narrowly missing the brambles. His paws hurt a little, but he was still in one piece, and that’s what counted. He raced to a nearby bush, and saw that the van that had brought them was there, just returning with possibly another load of cats, and was now backing up against what he assumed was the hole that led into the scary and smelly dungeon—or cellar.
He slowly backed away from the van, making sure the driver didn’t see him, when suddenly someone pinched him and he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.
“And what do we have here?” a rumbling voice said with audible glee.
He protested up a storm, but to no avail. He tried using his claws, but the man held him at some distance, and seemed to enjoy seeing him dangle and claw.
“You’re a little fighter, aren’t you?” said the man, who was bearded and very big. “Well, let’s get you back to where you came from, little buddy.”
Just then, though, the man suddenly uttered a loud yelp of pain, and dropped Dooley. And as he was dancing on one leg, grabbing for the other, Dooley heard a sweet, sweet sound: it was Max, and he was screaming,“Let’s go, Dooley—run!”
And then he ran, closely followed by Max, right on his tail. In the distance, they could hear the man’s dog yapping up a storm, probably unhappy he’d missed this chance.
And they’d been running for what felt like an hour when they finally stopped, hiding by the side of the road. Max was panting heavily, not really built for this kind of strenuous activity, and Dooley cried, “How did you get out?!”
“Clarice scratched the guard,” he said between two gasps of breath. “Someone opened the hatch that leads into the basement, and she jumped up and scratched whoever was up there. He vanished from view long enough for me to make my getaway.”
“Yeah, I saw that. He arrived to dump a fresh load of cats down the hatch.”
“Clarice should have scratched him much, much harder.”
“So where is she? And where are the others?”
“He caught her and threw her back into the hole. She sacrificed herself, Dooley, distracting the guy long enough for me to escape. She’s a real hero. Just like you.”
“Me? You’re the hero! You bit that guy, even though you don’t have all your teeth!”
“I have to confess it hurts a little,” said Max, tentatively moving his jaw. “But I’m not the hero, Dooley. You are. You volunteered to save all of us.”
“Actually, Clarice volunteered me.”
“Can one cat volunteer another cat? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”
“I don’t know what it is, but that’s what she did.”
“Whoever volunteered whom, we’re out of the dungeon now,” he said, patting Dooley on the shoulder. “So let’s find Odelia and tell her what’s going on before it’s too late.”
And thus began Max and Dooley’s long way home…
Chapter 23
Odelia and Chase had decided to team up to try and get to the bottom of this missing person business. Three people had gone missing so far, and still they were none the wiser. As far as the missing cat issue was concerned, Odelia was sufficiently satisfied with Gran’s explanation about the hunger strike. It sounded exactly like what her cats would do when they didn’t get their way. And the fact that a bunch of other people had called in and reported their cats missing didn’t necessarily have to mean anything either. Cats were independent creatures, and liked to roam around, wild and free, until they got hungry and returned to the safety of home, hearth, and food bowl.
Joining them for their investigation was Gran, of course, who felt she needed to make a contribution, and who was feeling on top of her game after her tussle with Scarlett.
“Slow the car, Chase,” said Gran suddenly, and cranked down her window. “Hey!” she yelled. “Hey, you! Yeah, I’m talking to you, cats!”
Two cats were walking down the sidewalk, surprised that a human would address them.
“Have you by any chance seen my cats?” Gran asked. “Their names are Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus. Max is big and orange, Dooley small and gray, Harriet is a white Persian and Brutus is butch and black. No? Okay, carry on, fellas.”
She retracted her head, allowing the cats to continue their journey, but then changed her mind and stuck her head out once more.“Hey! cats!”
The cats halted once again.
“A bunch of cats seem to have gone missing. Any idea where they might have gone off to? No? Ok, fine. Be that way.”
“Come on, Gran,” said Odelia with light reproach. “They can’t help it that they haven’t seen Max and the others.”
“Well, they should. If cats don’t look out for each other, who will?”
They continued their journey, and Chase said,“I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Oh, sure,” said Gran. “Just thought I’d ask, just to be on the safe side.”