by Nic Saint
34
“So is this what the neighborhood watch is all about?” asked Dooley. He was lying next to me, neatly hidden underneath a rhododendron bush.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “It’s called a stakeout, and basically it means you just stick around until something happens.”
“Which might be never,” said Harriet from her position underneath the next bush.
“So do you guys do this often?” asked Kingman. He was even further down the line, and had found Shanille next to him as his stakeout-mate.
“Actually, no,” I said.
“Oh, but I thought you and Odelia did this kind of thing all the time?”
“Mostly she talks to people,” I said. “And we talk to those same people’s pets. Staking out a place is not something we do on a daily basis.”
“I like it,” Shanille announced. “It think it’s soothing. Just lying here in this cool grass. The stars… the moon… the silence of the night. I think it’s very… romantic.”
“Is that a fact?” said Kingman, and I could hear the grin in his voice.
“I thought you had cat choir,” said Harriet. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll miss you?”
“Not really,” said Shanille. “I asked Buster to take over. Aren’t you afraid they’re going to miss your solo?”
“Not really,” said Harriet. “I could be mistaken, but sometimes I have the impression no one appreciates my solos. And it’s at moments like that that I wonder what I’m doing it for, you know?”
Dooley and I shared a look of concern. I’d never heard Harriet turn philosophical like this. Must be the stars… the moon… the silence of the night.
Or it could be the silent stares of the gnomes, their beady little eyes boring into ours. They looked like they were alive, which was ridiculous, of course.
“I think I speak for every member of cat choir when I tell you that we all like your solos, Harriet,” said Shanille. “Isn’t that right, Kingman?”
“Mh? What? Oh, yeah, sure. Absolutely. Lovely solos. Just lovely.”
“You have a wonderful singing voice,” said Shanille. “And you should be proud of it.”
“Thanks, Shanille,” said Harriet, sounding surprised. “That’s… very nice of you to say.”
“I mean it. Have you tried the stage?”
“Yes, I have,” said Harriet. “It wasn’t a great success.”
“You should try again. I think you’ll find that with practice you’ll do great.”
“Thanks,” said Harriet, clearly moved.
“That gnome is staring at me, Max,” said Dooley, pointing to a fat gnome in front of us.
“That gnome is just a piece of painted plaster, Dooley,” I said. Though my friend was right. The gnome was, indeed, staring at us. With a flicker of malice in its eyes. Creepy!
“I heard Dan Goory is still in jail?” said Kingman.
“Yeah, it looks like he just might be the killer after all,” I said.
“Odelia isn’t happy about it,” Brutus grunted. “It probably will cost her her job.”
“It’s not because of her job that she’s unhappy,” said Harriet. “It’s because Dan is a friend, and she finds it hard to believe one of her friends could be a killer.”
“I find it hard to believe, too,” said Shanille. “Father Reilly was saying just the other day how Dan is one of the most upstanding citizens in this town, and now this. It’s terrible—simply terrible.”
“Wilbur said just the opposite,” said Kingman. “I heard him tell several of his customers how he’s always thought there was something fishy about Dan. Something evil.”
“You shouldn’t listen to Wilbur, Kingman,” said Shanille. “He is what Father Reilly likes to call a fallible human.”
“All humans are fallible, though,” said Harriet. “Well, they are,” she insisted when Kingman groaned. “They all make mistakes, but most of them try to learn from their mistakes, which makes them admirable in my book.”
See? What did I tell you? These stakeouts bring out the philosopher in all of us.
“I hope Elsa has managed to get rid of the mice,” said Brutus. “Otherwise this night will have been a complete waste of time.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that Elsa will keep her promise,” I said. “She’s an absolute marvel.”
“Who’s this Elsa?” asked Shanille.
“She’s a mouse Max met,” Brutus grunted. “She’s going to get rid of the mice in the basement.”
Kingman laughed at this. “You got a mouse to get rid of your mice? That’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“It’s not ridiculous,” I said, feeling slightly offended by this slight. “In fact I think it’s brilliant. Who else but a mouse knows how to get under another mouse’s skin? It’s all about psychology, Kingman.”
“Yeah, it’s all about psychology,” Dooley echoed. “And speaking about psychology, did you hear the one about the priest, the rabbi and the shrink?”
Unfortunately the punchline of Dooley’s joke would have to wait for a more opportune time, as suddenly there was a loud crashing sound nearby, and two people jumped the hedge and landed right in front of Dooley and me. They were both clad in black from head to toe, and were carrying black plastic bags, and before I knew what was happening, they were tearing gnomes out of the ground and dumping them into the bags.
“Max! What do we do?!” Dooley cried.
“Um… we attack!” I said, though I wasn’t exactly sure if this was the right strategy. Humans, you see, are a lot bigger than cats, and on top of that I didn’t know if these blackguards were armed or not.
Still, we’d been recruited to the neighborhood watch to serve and protect, so serve and protect we were going to do to the best of our limited abilities!
I jumped on top of one of the thieves, while Dooley dug his claws into the thief’s ankles. Harriet and Brutus applied the same technique to the second sneak thief, while Kingman and Shanille followed suit, dividing their labor equally amongst the two men—for that was what they were.
So the state of affairs was thus: I was on the back of one of the men, my claws dug in nice and deep, Dooley had his claws into the man’s left calf, and Shanille had climbed the man like a tree and was now on top of his head, holding on for dear life as he screamed at the top of his lungs and thrashed about like a crazy person.
Next to us, the same picture held true, only there both Kingman and Harriet had selected the man’s shoulders as their point of attack, while Brutus had found nothing better than to dig his teeth and claws into the man’s buttocks.
Yikes. Not a pleasant prospect, either for the man, or for poor Brutus!
Soon, though, reinforcements appeared on the scene, in the form of Gran, Scarlett, Father Reilly and Wilbur Vickery. With some effort they managed to subdue both men, and pin them to the ground, effectively rendering our efforts superfluous.
Brutus, who was spitting out a piece of pantaloon, and Dooley, who was shaking his paw to get rid of some of the fabric he’d torn loose, were all right and accounted for, and so was Kingman. Shanille, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.
Until, at long last, she came teetering up. Apparently her thief had managed to eject her from his head, and she’d found herself ejected into the bushes.
“Remove their masks,” said Gran now.
Wilbur and Father Reilly, seated on the men’s backs, did as they were told, and imagine my surprise when the two men turned out to be two boys instead!
“Flint Dibbert and Bart Stupes!” cried Father Reilly. “I should have known.”
Flint and Bart are what you might call troubled youth, in that they are young and they keep troubling people with their antics. They once spray-painted some very offensive slurs on Uncle Alec’s house—and badly spelled, to boot. And now they’d graduated to a more serious level of criminal activities: gnome-lifting.
“Why?” asked Gran. “Why did you steal all those gnomes?”
>
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Bart, who was nursing a nasty cut on his cheek, where Shanille had probably grazed him before he’d thrown her off. “That idiot called us names.”
“What idiot?” asked Gran. She was right to ask the question, as there are a great many idiots to choose from at any given occasion.
“Ted Trapper, of course,” said Bart, who was by way of being the spokesperson of the pair. “So we decided to pay him a lesson.” He grinned. “We knew how much he likes the gnomes, so we decided to set him up with all the gnomes in Hampton Cove.”
“All of the gnomes!” said his brother in crime.
“So they’d all get angry with him,” Bart continued, laying out his evil scheme in all its poignant starkness. Or is it stark poignance?
“All of them angry with poor old Ted!” cried Flint.
“You wanted to get the gnomes angry?” asked Scarlett, confused.
“All the gnome owners, you stupid old bat!” Bart cried, earning himself a scowl from Scarlett.
“This is not the way, boys,” said father Reilly. “Violence begets violence. Instead of retaliating, you should try to find it in your hearts to forgive.”
“Oh, shut up, you old coot,” said Flint.
Father Reilly, instead of turning the other cheek, simply hauled off and gave the young thug a slap across the cheek. It echoed through the deserted street, as did the muttered ‘Ow!’ from the offended youth.
By the time the police finally showed up to take the two youthful criminal masterminds into custody, I could tell that the members of the neighborhood watch, in spite of their first success, were all eager to head home to their respective beds.
And frankly I was eager to get home, too. Not to hit the hay, though, but to find out if the house was now pleasantly devoid of mice!
Tonight might have seen Hampton Cove’s gnome population get rid of a clear and present danger to its continued existence, now it was time for us cats to get rid of our murine menace.
35
I arrived home feeling on top of the world. Not only had we been instrumental in snatching a pair of gnome snatchers, but I was absolutely sure we’d now find our house mouse-free for the first time in a long while.
So it was with a faint sense of alarm that I walked in through the pet flap and saw the disaster area that was our kitchen: the cupboards were open, and so was the fridge and the door to the pantry, and food was strewn about liberally all over the place. The living room was a mess, and so was the small family room where we like to watch TV. All in all, it looked as if someone had thrown a party and neglected to clean up after themselves. It didn’t take me long to pin down the culprits, as I saw tiny mice feet all over the place.
Seated on the couch were a haggard-looking Odelia and an equally haggard-looking Chase. Both of them clearly hadn’t had much sleep.
“The mice,” said Odelia when she caught sight of me and Dooley. “They’ve been at it again.”
“Did you tell them about the mice?” asked Chase.
“Yeah, I just did,” said Odelia.
“But… Elsa?” I asked, fearing the worst now.
“I can’t really tell one mouse from another,” said Odelia, rubbing her eyes tiredly, “but it looks to me as if your friend Elsa was the worst of the bunch.”
“Did you tell him about his friend the mouse?” asked Chase.
“Yes, Chase, I just did,” said Odelia through gritted teeth.
“I better go and have a chat,” I said, a little subdued. So I tripped in the direction of the basement, and headed down the stairs. What I saw shook me to my foundations: the mice were clearly having a feast. They were eating and dancing and laughing and partying, and in the center of it all was… Elsa!
“Elsa!” I cried. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, hi, Max,” said my friend.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Oh, I wanted to thank you, Max,” she said, dancing up to me with a definite swing in her step. “Before I met you I had a miserable life. I mean, Boomer was nice, but a dog isn’t the kind of company a mouse likes to keep. And now look at this.” She gestured generously in the direction of Hector and Helga and their family, two hundred strong. “This is what I call living. These are the kind of friends I’ve been hoping to find for a long time.”
“Not friends—family!” Helga cried. “Thanks, Max, for introducing us to such a wonderful new friend.”
I slapped a paw to my brow. “Oh, God,” I said.
“I think it’s wonderful what you’ve done here, Max,” said Elsa. “Create such an amazing home for us. Keep up the good work, and don’t hesitate to drop by any time.”
“Yeah, drop by any time, Max,” said Hector, and raised a thick piece of kibble—my kibble—in a salute.
And as I staggered back up the stairs, and into the family room, the blush that crept up my cheeks was one of both shame and indignation.
“No dice?” asked Odelia when she saw me emerge from the basement—or I should probably say the party zone.
“No dice,” I said. “They like to party, and they’re very grateful for introducing them to a new friend.”
Odelia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I should have known.” She swiftly got up. “Well, there’s only one thing left to do.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
But she held up a hand. “I’ll take care of this from now on, Max. You don’t need to concern yourself anymore.”
And with these words, which I experienced like a verbal slap across the face, she disappeared up the stairs, then slammed the bedroom door.
Chase, still sitting on the couch, yelled, “What’s going on?”
Tough to be a non-cat speaker in a cat-speaking house, I guess.
36
After running a quick errand in town, Odelia headed straight to the Riviera Country Club where the social event of the season was taking place. She’d opted not to bring her cats along this time, as she was still a little upset that they’d allowed her house to be turned into a pigsty—or a mouse-sty, to be more precise.
She understood why they were reluctant to deal with the mice forcefully and effectively. Max and the others were simply too kind. And she appreciated that kindness, absolutely she did. But right now she was a little upset, and didn’t want to see her cats.
So she arrived at the country club all by her lonesome, having decided to accept the invitation by Jacqueline Goossens for this first-ever joint meeting of the Gnomeos and the Maria Power Society.
The meeting took place in one of the larger conference rooms, and Odelia was surprised to find that there were so many participants in attendance. When she’d first heard of the respective clubs she hadn’t thought so many people were involved.
Even though Maria Power had retired a decade ago, clearly she was still popular.
Jacqueline greeted her at the entrance, and gave her a badge to pin to her blouse.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Jacqueline, beaming with delight. “This is a happy, happy day. Even though the circumstances could have been different—should have been different.” A mournful look passed across her face, but then she was brave again. “I hope you’ll join us. The Gnomeos is a happy club, and a celebration of all that Maria Power represents: talent, beauty, class, style, and of course an infectious positivity.”
“Thanks,” said Odelia. “I’ll think about it.”
She wasn’t exactly a fan of fan clubs, but didn’t want to insult the woman, who’d clearly put a lot of effort into this unique meeting.
She strolled through the room, glanced at the different stalls showcasing everything from DVDs to posters and pictures—signed or otherwise—and took a seat near the back. Soon a new board would be chosen, and new bylaws for the newly formed fan club.
It was a pity, she felt, that Dan couldn’t be there. He would have loved it, she was sure. And as she glanced around, she thought there were at least two hundred people there, many that she recognized, and
smiled or waved to several of them in greeting.
And so for the next two hours she did what she did best: she listened and took notes, talked to some people, and shot a couple of pictures, and constructed a potential story in her mind. All the while, though, she couldn’t help but think that maybe this was all simply an exercise in futility: very soon now the Gazette would have to close its doors, and she would be a reporter no more.
Dan had once promised her that when he retired she’d be able to take over, but he’d never actually finalized anything, figuring he still had a long way to go before he decided to enjoy a well-earned retirement.
Instead, he was going to enjoy a well-earned stretch in prison, and she had no legal right, or financial means, to continue the paper. She was, after all, merely an employee.
Finally, the morning wound down, and she joined the line as people filed out of the conference room. There would be drinks served, and even a light lunch for those who’d signed up on the website, but Odelia frankly had had enough and wanted to leave.
She waved to Jacqueline, and then she was briskly walking to her car, and moments later was on her way back to Hampton Cove.
She was already back at the office when she realized she’d lost her phone.
I was feeling a little down in the dumps, and I think you probably don’t have to guess why. My human was upset with me, and my home wasn’t really my home anymore.
And so it was with a weary sigh and a very dark mood indeed that I’d taken refuge next door. At least in Marge and Tex’s house things were still the way they’d always been.
And I was sleeping peacefully on a chair when a sort of ruckus or brouhaha suddenly broke out.
The sound of loud screams rent the air, and I thought the noise was coming from next door. I hopped down from the chair and went in search of answers.
Dooley, who’d been sleeping upstairs, on Tex and Marge’s bed—he likes to sleep there of a morning, as the bed is nice and comfy and, most importantly, devoid of people taking up valuable space—came trotting down the stairs with a questioning look on his face.