Dear Bob and Linda, Never saw water so blue! Hope you’re having fun at Chateau Bow-Wow. We miss you like crazy but need the space. Love, T&T.
“Tom and Tracy,” Linda explained. “The kids.” Chester leaned over and whispered in my ear, “If these two are the normal ones, I can’t wait to meet the others.”
Linda gasped. “Don’t look now,” she said, staring at something behind us. Naturally, we all turned to look. Two—what you might call if you were in a forgiving mood—cats were heading in our direction. One, a skinny, striped gray with matted fur, strutted so smoothly her shoulders must have been on ball bearings. Her piercing eyes were stuck on us
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like hungry fleas. Her blank-faced companion was fat, long-haired, and tabby. As she waddled toward us, I noticed she was chewing something, and I couldn’t help wondering how she kept from getting whatever it was stuck in all the long hairs around her mouth.
“Well, well,” the gray one snarled as she approached, “and whom have we here, hmm?”
The tabby circled Chester, giving him the once over. “Nice whiskers,” she said in a husky voice when she came full circle. For the first time since I’d known him, Chester appeared to be at a loss for words. The tabby stared him in the eyes and asked, “Did you bring any rations?”
Chester took his time before answering. “Are you talking to me?”
The scrawny gray cat snorted. “Well, she ain’t talkin’ to yer mother,” she cracked, breaking into a snorty sort of laugh. The fat one chortled huskily.
Chester, Howie, and I exchanged nervous glances. Bob and Linda just shook their heads sadly, no doubt wondering what “the kids” would think if only they knew.
The gray cat stopped laughing abruptly. “I’m Felony,” she said, spitting out the words. It was less an introduction than a threat. “And this here’s my sister, Miss Demeanor.”
“You’re sisters?” Howie said.
“Sisters in crime,” Felony snapped. “Cat burglars. Wanta make somethin’ of it?”
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[Image: All dogs and cat warm]
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There was a long silence during which no one chose to make somethin’ of it.
“What were you saying about rations?” Chester asked at last.
Felony sneered. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said, glancing around. “The glop they serve here is enough to send yer taste buds out on strike.”
“They say it’s good fer ya,” Miss Demeanor chimed in, “but I say so’s a flea collar, doesn’t mean I want to eat it.”
“So we was just wondering if you brought anything widja,” Felony went on. “Somethin’ besides mosquito-flavored crackers.” She snapped a look at Bob and Linda.
“That’s Wsquite,’ ” Bob said softly.
“Whatever,” said Felony, turning back to Chester.
“I’m afraid not,” Chester said.
“Pity,” said Felony. “You’re gonna wish you had.”
“The food’s that bad?” I asked.
“Like nothin’ you ever ate,” Felony replied.
“Like nothin’ you deserve,” said Miss Demeanor.
“Gee,” said Howie, “it sounds like gruel and unusual punishment.”
Miss Demeanor nodded her head. “However, once Felony and I have found the—,” she started to say, but the other cat gave her a sharp look that stopped her cold. Her mouth snapped shut and she resumed chewing.
Chester eyed the two cats suspiciously.
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Suddenly, the air was filled with a distant high-pitched voice singing what sounded for all the world like a hymn. The only words I could make out were, “While on the path of righteousness I slither.” Felony shook her head in disgust.
“That’s The Weasel,” she snarled. “A disgrace to his race.”
“A shame to his name,” said Miss Demeanor.
Howie, who hates being left out, said, “A wart to his sort.” We all turned slowly. He smiled up at us and said weakly, “A blot to his lot? A blister to his sister? A bother to his father?”
“Oh, dear,” I heard Linda whisper to Bob, “perhaps you and I are the only normal ones here, after all.”
I wasn’t the only one who heard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Felony said, turning her eyes into tiny slits.
Linda laughed nervously. “Oh, nothing.”
“Yeah, well, it better mean nothing. Else, watch out fer yer doggie biscuits.”
“Surely,” said Bob, arching a superior eyebrow, “stealing dog biscuits is beneath you.”
Miss Demeanor arched a superior eyebrow of her own. “Nothing is beneath us,” she said with pride.
I caught the little smile behind her eyes and began to wonder if Chester might have been right. Perhaps something terrible was going to happen.
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CHAPTERTHREE
“Things That Go ‘Bark in the Night
CHESTER was thinking the same way I was. “Didn’t I tell you?” he muttered, as Jill and Daisy escorted us to our bungalows. The two of us trailed behind Jill, while Howie rode first class in Daisy’s arms. “Those two spell trouble.”
“I don’t know if they’re that bright,” I said. Personally, I wasn’t sure they were the biggest of our worries. After all, we hadn’t met the hymn-singing weasel yet.
As it turned out, we didn’t have long to wait. He was staying in the bungalow next to mine.
“Harold,” Jill said, “this is The Weasel. Don’t let his name fool you. He’s a sweetie, isn’t he, Daisy?”
Daisy looked up from where she had her head
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buried in Howie’s tummy. “I call him Little Darlin’,” she said, as if that proved something other than her own inability to call animals by their rightful name.
After she and Jill returned to the office, The Weasel weaseled out of his bungalow and into mine. I retreated to a corner, not sure how eager I was for the company of this slinky, not exactly aromatic creature with the beady eyes and pointy nose.
“Hello, friend,” he said in a velvety, soothing tone. I suspect he sensed my discomfort. The fact that the floor was covered with the hair I’d shed immediately on his arrival might have been a tip-off.
“I’ve just come to spread a little sunshine,” he went on.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“I just want you to know, since we’re going to be neighbors and all, that you can call on me anytime. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be here as quick as a mink.”
“That’s very—”
“Weasels get a bum rap, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, well—”
“Look at me, do I seem mean, sneaky, homicidal?”
“Gee, I—”
“Of course I don’t. Judge not, lest ye be judged, that’s what I always say. Take yourself, for instance.” I wanted to take myself right out of there,
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but The Weasel was blocking the way. “You’re not dumb and lazy and covered with fleas.”
“Well, he got one out of three right,” I heard Chester crack from the bungalow to my left. I glowered in his direction.
“Would you like to take a stroll with me?” The Weasel asked. “Get acquainted?”
I noticed that he never stopped smiling. I began thinking what a great game-show host he would make.
“Well?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry.” I wanted to say no, but fearing that he’d think me lazy if I did, I said, without much conviction, “Sure.”
There’s one thing I should tell you about Chateau Bow-Wow. For all the fancy security, the bungalows are a snap to open from the inside. We were out in the compound in a flash.
Chester hissed at me as we passed, “Watch your wallet.”
“May I come too?” Howie yipped.
“Of course,” I said.
It took Howie a minute to maneuver the latch with his nose, and then the three of us set off on our stroll.
After a moment, Howie said, “Wow, to think this is where I was born. I wish my mom and dad were here. What were their names again, Uncle Harold?”
“Howard and Heather.”
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Howie sighed. “Where was I born, Uncle Harold? I mean, show me the place.”