Purrfect Sparkle

by Nic Saint

  “Okay, you twisted my paw. I’ll tell you what’s going on,” suddenly Kingman said. “Wilbur’s found himself a girlfriend, okay? And so now I don’t know what to do. I mean, on the one hand I’m happy for the guy, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I echoed, still savoring the taste of that fine kibble.

  “But on the other hand… What if she’s not a friend of cats? And what if this becomes serious and she decides to move in and kick me out?”

  It was the eternal dilemma of a cat: some people like cats, such as there are the Pooles, and of course Wilbur Vickery. But others hate cats with a vengeance. And there doesn’t seem to be a position in between. Either it’s a full-blown love affair between man and beast, or it’s an unreasonable hatred that can’t be remedied.

  “Who is she?” I asked, much surprised that Wilbur had found himself a girlfriend. The man is like the anti-catnip for women. He repels them, if you see what I mean.

  “Oh, some writer he met,” said Kingman.

  “A writer?” said Dooley. “I didn’t know Wilbur could read.”

  “He can read,” said Kingman, “but he doesn’t believe in books. He feels they’re a waste of time.”

  “So how did he land himself a writer girlfriend,” I asked, “if he doesn’t even like reading books?”

  “I’m betting he probably lied his ass off and told her he’s some kind of latter-day Shakespeare.”

  “He lies to get dates?”

  “Always. It only takes one date for them to catch on, though. So it surprised me when he went on his second date last night.” He made a face. “So you understand I wasn’t in the mood to go and listen to Fido’s crazy ramblings, entertaining though they must have been. I was too busy worrying about Wilbur’s date trying to convince him that all cats are evil and need to be chucked out and driven back to hell whence they came. Wilbur had invited her back to our place, you see, and had actually cooked a meal, so that told me things were getting serious. And it wasn’t a disaster either. The man had lit candles, and had cooked a nice lobster dinner for the lady. And I was on my best behavior, of course, hoping to make a good impression and not get kicked out when she moves in.”

  “Well, that’s great, Kingman,” I said. “Sounds like a really exciting time for your human, and for you, of course.”

  “And it was, until it all went south.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “She began by telling Wilbur that she really liked where their relationship was going, and how she thought he was just great, and yadda yadda yadda. And so then they’re on the couch, after dinner, you know, and things start heating up.”

  “How did they heat up?” asked Dooley with interest. “Did Wilbur forget to turn down the thermostat?”

  “He means they started kissing,” I explained.

  “Oh, kissing,” said Dooley, his eyes wide with excitement. “Well, that must have been exciting for you, Kingman, to watch your human kissing!”

  “Not so much,” said Kingman dryly. “In fact the moment they started getting hot and heavy I left the room. I just couldn’t watch. And so I decided to jump on the bed and take a nap, figuring at some point the lady would leave. Only suddenly they come barging into the room, and they’re on the bed, and they’re still kissing and breathing heavy and all, and so at this point I’m getting panicky, so I jump off the bed and I’m trying to figure out a spot that’s safe from these crazy kids, but then she pushes Wilbur away, collects herself and says, ‘I’m sorry, Wilbur, but I can’t do this.’”

  “Can’t do this?” I asked.

  “‘Can’t do this.’ So ‘Huh?’ pretty much sums up Wilbur’s entire reaction, and mine, too, I guess. ‘No, I can’t go through with this,’ she says and abruptly starts buttoning up her blouse, gets up and walks out. Moments later the door slams and Wilbur turns to me and says, ‘What just happened?’ So I gave him a shrug and told him, ‘You struck out, my man.’”

  “Maybe she had second thoughts,” I said. “It happens, you know. She thought she liked where things were going, until suddenly she didn’t.”

  “Wilbur did mention that the only topic of conversation that seemed to interest her was that Pink Lady. And since he figured she was into diamonds, he’d embellished things a little and had told her during their first date the day before yesterday that he knew all about the Pink Lady. That in fact he was the godfather of the girl that had found the stone on the beach.”

  “And is he? Her godfather?”

  “Of course not. And I think she got hip to the fact when she mentioned the girl’s name and it didn’t ring a bell with good old Wilbur.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So how did they meet?”

  “She came into the store the day before yesterday to buy shampoo, and so they got to talking, and one thing led to another…”

  “So has Wilbur heard from her since last night?”

  “Nope. He tried calling, he tried texting, but nada. She froze him out.”

  “Poor Wilbur,” said Dooley with feeling.

  “So look, Max,” said Kingman, giving me a serious look. “I feel for the guy, you know. He’s going a little nuts right now. He’s sent her like a hundred texts already, and he’s left about a thousand messages, and if he keeps this up she’ll probably go to the cops and have him arrested for stalking or harassment or something. So maybe you could ask Vesta to sit down and talk to him?”

  “I don’t know about that, Kingman,” I said. “Gran and Wilbur went out on a date once, too, and it didn’t end well. So she’s probably not the best person to give him advice about his love life.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So maybe Odelia? Or Marge? Marge is a book person. Maybe she can give him some hot tip that will turn this thing around.”

  “But I thought you’d be happy to be rid of the woman?” I said. “There’s a fifty-percent chance that she hates cats, and that means you’re out, Kingman.”

  “I know, but look at the guy.”

  We all looked at the guy. He was sitting slumped behind his conveyor belt, listlessly scanning items, and looking like something Kingman had dragged in.

  “He’s lovesick,” I said.

  “How sweet,” said Dooley with a smile.

  “So talk to Odelia or Marge, will you? Tell them to give Wilbur some advice. Cause if this keeps up, life with him will be a living hell.” He shook his head. “And to think it all looked so promising.”

  “I’ll talk to Odelia,” I said. “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”

  “Um, Loretta something,” he said. “Loretta… Gray?”

  I frowned. Somehow the name sounded familiar.

  18

  Our next stop was the doctor’s office. But since we didn’t want to announce our visit, we decided to sneak around the back, and to this end we snuck down the blind alley that leads to the houses that face the back of Tex’s place of business. You see, Tex has one of those nice little city gardens, which isn’t really much of a garden at all, but a couple of paving stones and grass surrounded from all sides by buildings. The only way to reach it is through the door of Tex’s little kitchen, or at least that’s the only way for humans to reach it. But as you may or may not know, cats are more agile than your garden-variety biped, so we jumped the dumpster that usually lines the back wall of that blind alley, then hopped up onto the wall, made our way over to the low roof of the next house, and then it was simply a matter of following along until we’d reached that small patch where Tex likes to sit with a cup of coffee and a newspaper on any given day, at least when he’s run out of patients to see.

  He wasn’t sitting there now, though, which told us that he was probably busy inside, offering medical advice to some human in need, and as we hopped down, and then stealthily snuck up to the window, we soon found ourselves in the position that we could look into that small kitchen.

  “The bottles will probably be in his office,” Dooley said. “He wouldn’t keep them in the
kitchen where everyone can see them.”

  “So how do we get into his office?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t we ask Gran to spy on her son-in-law? She could sneak in when Tex is out and search his office.”

  I stared at my friend. This was an avenue of thought I hadn’t pursued, and it sounded a lot easier and less stressful than what we were doing.

  Then again, it was too late now. We were there, and I was adamant to find out what was going on before Tex accidentally cut out someone’s spleen or liver or, God forbid, their heart or lungs.

  And as we sat there, glancing into the kitchen window, and seeing no sign of liquor anywhere, suddenly a large pigeon landed in the little tree in Tex’s city garden and regarded us censoriously.

  “Hey, cats,” the pigeon said. “Looking for food, huh?”

  Why is it that the first thing anyone thinks when they see a cat is that we’re looking for food?

  “For your information, we’re not looking for food,” I told the large pigeon. “In fact I could probably tell you the same thing. Aren’t pigeons always looking for something to eat?”

  “I resent that, cat,” said the pigeon. Then it made that cooing sound that pigeons are so famous for, flew down to the ground and pecked at a piece of bread that was lying there.

  “We have a strong suspicion that one of our humans is an alcoholic,” Dooley said. “So we’re trying to collect evidence, so his wife and daughter can stage an intervention.”

  “Not Doc Poole?” said the bird, for the first time giving the impression that he might be useful and not just a nuisance.

  “Do you know Tex?” I asked.

  “Oh, sure. He’s the reason I’m here right now. He saved my life, you know.”

  “Saved your life?”

  “Absolutely. I owe that man a big debt of gratitude. In fact I tell anyone who will listen that Doc Poole is by far the greatest human of his kind. A true hero to any pet facing a medical issue.”

  “How did he save your life, Mr. Pigeon?” asked Dooley.

  “Just call me Sam,” said the bird, his frosty demeanor a thing of the past now that he’d discovered we had a mutual friend in Tex. “Well, I recently hurt my left wing, see. I accidentally flew into a window and it hurt like hell. In fact it hurt so much I couldn’t fly anymore, and so I just figured that was that, you know. It’s hard for a pigeon to go through life without the capacity to fly. So I just sat here one day, feeling sorry for myself and generally figuring the end was near, when suddenly the Doc saw me, and picked me up and inspected me and said, ‘What seems to be the trouble, little fella?’ Those were his exact words,” said Sam, a smile on his face at the recollection of that magical moment. “So I told him my wing was hurting and I couldn’t fly, and you know what he did?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, not wanting to spoil Sam’s story by giving away the ending, which I figured was probably a given, since he’d just proven to us that he could, indeed, fly.

  “He inspected my wing, said it was probably broken, then took me inside, put me under some kind of machine, and said that my wing was broken. And so he put my wing in what he called a splint, and then kept me in that small space next to his office for the next two weeks, hand-fed me, fetched me worms and other delicious grub, and nursed me back to health, if you please! And the upshot was that when he took off that splint, I could fly again!”

  “Amazing!” said Dooley, who’d been so engrossed in the story that he’d practically forgotten to breathe.

  “Yeah, and so I told a couple of my friends, and then they told their friends, and now whenever one of us is in some kind of trouble, we all come here, and Doc Poole treats us and makes us well again. The man is a miracle worker, I can tell you that, and he does all this out of the goodness of his own heart, and without asking for anything in return.”

  “Did you hear that, Max?” said Dooley. “Tex is a miracle man.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, Dooley,” I said. “But what I don’t understand is why we’re only hearing about this now.”

  “Well, anyway, I gotta fly,” said Sam. “But if you see Doc Poole, tell him I said hi, and that I’m sending over a badger tonight who got something in his eye. Toodle-oo.”

  “Toodle-oo,” I said as we watched Sam take flight and disappear from view with a few powerful strokes of his now fully healed wings.

  “Amazing, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley. “And here we thought that Tex is a closet alcoholic, and all this time he’s actually a closet Dr. Dolittle!”

  “Yeah, that is pretty amazing,” I agreed. Just then, the sound of a loud argument came from inside the kitchen, and when we looked through the window, we saw that its participants were none other than Tex and Gran, and from the sound of things, their discussion was more than a little heated!

  19

  “Tex, you have got to stop doing this to yourself!” Vesta was saying. She didn’t like raising her voice, but sometimes that’s what it took to get through to her stubborn son-in-law.

  “I know,” said Tex, looking miserable. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of hot java in his hand and taking an occasional disconsolate sip. “But how can I?”

  “Look, if you don’t stop, someone is bound to find out sooner or later, and then what?”

  “I’ll think of something,” said the doctor as a pained expression crept up his face.

  “Think of what? How will you ever be able to face your patients again? If you’ll even have any patients left, that is. Which I’m pretty sure you won’t.”

  “No one can know, Vesta,” said Tex, a pleading note creeping into his voice. “Why can’t this simply be our little secret, huh? I’m not doing anyone any harm, am I?”

  “You’re making promises you can’t keep.” Tex’s mother-in-law shook her head and a sound of exasperation escaped her lips. “Why I ever agreed to keep this a secret, I don’t know. I should have told Marge the day I walked in on you and caught you red-handed.”

  Tex looked up in alarm. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t, though by all rights I should. Don’t you think your wife is entitled to the truth? Or your daughter?”

  “I can’t tell them,” said Tex stubbornly. “At least not yet.”

  “If not now, when? You’ve gotta give me something, Tex. It’s hard for me to sit out there in that office and keep a straight face while basically telling your patients a bunch of lies.”

  Tex groaned. “I know, I know. Do you think it’s easy for me? I have to sit there and listen to all of their… stuff.”

  They were both quiet for a moment, then Tex just happened to glance out the kitchen window and suddenly cried, “Oh, no!”

  Vesta looked up at this, and when she saw that two cats were seated outside on the windowsill, and had presumably heard everything with their very keen ears, she arranged her features into an expression of grim determination. “Looks like you’re in for it, buddy boy. If they know, the whole town knows—or at least the cat contingent.” She opened the window to let her cats in. “How long have you two been sitting there and how much have you heard?”

  “We’ve been sitting here since you two started arguing,” said Max, “and we heard every word you said.” He directed a curious glance at Tex. “So what’s going on?”

  Both cats looked up at her, eager to find out more, but since Vesta had sworn a solemn oath not to divulge her son-in-law’s secret, and she intended to keep her promise, she said, “I’m sorry, fellas. But I’m afraid my lips are sealed.”

  Dooley directed a keen look at her lips. “They look fine to me,” he said.

  “I promised Tex I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I’m not going to break that promise now.”

  “But… you have to tell us, Gran,” said Dooley, who clearly couldn’t imagine a world in which Vesta didn’t tell her cats all.

  “I’m sorry.” She glanced up at Tex, who was looking like death warmed over now.

  “What do they say?” asked
the doctor in a small voice.

  “They’ve heard everything, but they have no clue what we were talking about,” she said and watched as relief vied with worry on the man’s face.

  “Maybe we should tell them,” he said finally. “After all, they’re bound to find out sooner or later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He bit his lip for a moment, then nodded. “Maybe it’s for the best. But ask them to keep it to themselves for now. I’m not ready to tell the world yet.”

  “All right,” she said, and placed a comforting hand on the man’s back. “If you say so.” So she took a deep breath, and turned to her cats, who were staring at her with wild anticipation in their eyes. “You probably already know that Odelia’s dad is facing a huge problem.”

  “We know,” said Dooley, with appropriate solemnity in his voice. “He’s an alcoholic.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yes, we’ve seen how much he drinks, and we know he’s in line for an intervention,” Dooley continued. “Only question is, where are we going to send him?”

  “Exactly,” Max agreed. “The Betty Ford clinic must be very expensive, and after the whole house remodel I don’t think we’ve got that kind of money left in the family coffers. So maybe we’re going to have to settle for one of the less established but also less expensive places.”

  Vesta shook her head and pressed her eyes closed for a moment. “Who have you told about this… alcoholism business?”

  “Well, um… everybody,” said Max.

  “No, we didn’t tell…” Dooley thought for a moment, then smiled. “No, Max is right. We told everyone.”

  “In other words, the whole town now thinks that Tex has a drinking problem.”

  Tex looked up at these words. “What?”

  She turned to her son-in-law. “The cats think you are an alcoholic, and they’ve told everybody.”

  “Oh, no!” said Tex, slapping a hand to his brow.

  “It’s all right, Tex,” said Dooley, placing a comforting paw on the man’s arm. “We’re here for you. You’re going to get through this, with a little help from your family.”