Howliday Inn

by James Howe

  “Excuse me,” Chester said to me, “it’s time for my exit.” And so saying, he made a mad dash for the nearest lilac bush.

  Unfortunately for him, Toby and Pete were on to his favorite hiding places. And Pete, who had taken up jogging with his dad, was fast on Chester’s heels. Grabbing him by the tail (not the best place to grab anyone, let alone a cat), Pete yanked him back and into his arms before Chester could do much more than let out a yelp of disapproval. Pete then attempted to force Chester into the waiting carrier, but Chester spread out all four of his legs so that his paws tightly clamped the edges of the box. With his legs held rigidly in place, he screamed and he hissed and he generally let it be known in no uncertain terms that he had no intention of going anywhere. All, however, was to no avail, for he was quickly surrounded by the entire Monroe family, and before he knew what had happened, he was squashed into the carrier and plopped into the car.

  I, on the other hand, went with quiet dignity, allowing myself to be lured into the back of the station wagon by a chocolate cupcake and Mr. Monroe’s calm affirmation that adventure was good for the soul.

  Chester and I had a few moments alone before the rest of the family joined us. Licking the last traces of chocolate frosting from the tip of my nose, I turned to the beast growling inside the cat carrier. I was intrigued by Mr. Monroe’s statement about the effect of adventure on the soul and thought perhaps I could pass the time engaging Chester in a deep philosophical conversation.

  “Well, Chester,” I began, “what do you think?”

  “I think you made a fool of yourself over that cupcake,” he said.

  Then again, I thought, perhaps not. I decided to try another tack.

  “You know, Chester,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “maybe there’s nothing for us to worry about. The way Mr. Monroe tells it, Chateau Bow-Wow sounds like a really nice place.”

  Chester, who had been grumbling under his breath all this time, was suddenly silent.

  “What did you say?” he asked after a moment.

  “I said, ‘Chateau Bow-Wow sounds like a really nice place.’”

  “Chateau Bow-Wow?”

  “Chateau Bow-Wow.”

  Chester’s face appeared in the window. His eyes were gleaming.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s no problem, Harold. No problem at all. Just because I’m being forced to spend a week of my life in a place obviously run by dog chauvinists who are totally insensitive to my feline feelings! Why should that bother me? No, I don’t have a problem, Harold. It’s the rest of the world who have the problems!”

  “Gee, you know, Chester,” I said to him, “you look just like a guest on a talk show.”

  “Harold, have you heard one word I’ve said?”

  “Chester, could you pretend you’re on a talk show? You know—just say, ‘Gee, it’s swell to be here today, Merv,’ or ‘Well, you know, Mike, it’s funny you should ask about that. . . .’ Okay, Chester? Huh? Sing ‘Feelings,’ okay? Chester? Chester?”

  Chester glared at me and dropped out of sight. I heard him muttering something about dogs, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I stopped trying after the Monroes had gotten into the car and I noticed we were pulling out of the driveway.

  There was a rumble of thunder in the distance as the car went over a bump and my stomach lurched. Why, I asked myself, had I eaten that chocolate cupcake? I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.

  Toby and Pete were fighting about who had the best window. Mrs. Monroe was trying to quiet them down, at the same time pointing out to Mr. Monroe that he had just taken a wrong turn. Chester, meanwhile, was grumbling and hissing inside his carrier. “Mark my words, Harold,” I heard him say at one point, “there’s trouble ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  As I was thinking back on the feelings of peace and contentment with which I’d started the day, Mr. Monroe turned up the volume on the radio. “. . . so the outlook for the rest of the week,” the announcer was saying, “is heavy rain and thunderstorms.”

  Everyone groaned. The car hit another bump, and my stomach began to feel like a washing machine on the spin cycle. This adventure, I thought, may be terrific for my soul, but it’s going to wreak havoc on my digestive system.

  [ TWO ]

  Welcome to Howliday Inn

  THERE was something about Chateau Bow-Wow that made me uncomfortable from the moment I saw it. Sitting alone on the top of a hill, it inspired a feeling of desolation. Of course, the bumpy ride up the long, winding country road that led to it inspired a feeling of upset tummy, but that’s another story.

  “Where are we?” I asked in a hushed whisper. I had never seen this part of town before.

  “No man’s land,” Chester growled reassuringly from the bottom of his box.

  A second low rumble of thunder resounded in the distance, and then as we pulled into the driveway, I became aware of another sound.

  “Do you hear all that barking?” I asked Chester. A chill went through me.

  Together, we listened for a moment. Then Chester spoke. “No doubt the victims of some fiendish laboratory experiment,” he said.

  I gulped.

  “Well, this is the place,” Mr. Monroe called back cheerily from the front seat as he brought the car to a halt. “You two stay put. We’ll be right back.” And all the Monroes went off through a door marked “Office” to do whatever it is people do in offices.

  Not to mince words, I was petrified. Where were the Monroes leaving us, anyway? Boy, I thought, you trust some people, you give them the best years of your life, and what does it get you? Abandonment and despair. A fine kettle of fish, that’s what I had to say.

  I looked around after a moment. The place didn’t seem quite so bad close up. I suppose it was the sign that helped most. It was on the gate of a wall behind the house, and when I saw it, I began to feel better. It read:

  CHATEAU BOW-WOW

  A Special Boarding House

  For Special Cats and Dogs

  “Look, Chester,” I said to the box sitting beside me, “there’s a sign on the gate over there. You know what it says?”

  “I give up,” Chester replied. “‘Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here’?”

  I squinted my eyes to see if I could make out any fine print. “No,” I answered after looking carefully, “but it says we’re special.”

  “Hmmph,” Chester grunted.

  “And here’s something you’ll appreciate,” I added, hoping this might cheer him up a little, “it also says ‘cats and dogs.’ You see, this place is for cats, too. And the sign even puts cats first. Isn’t that nice, Chester?”

  Chester raised his head to window-level and looked out at the sign. He didn’t change his grumpy expression a bit as he said to me, “They probably did it alphabetically.” And he dropped out of sight again.

  Just then the front door of the office opened and Toby came running out. “Here they are,” he called to the strange-looking chap who loped along slowly behind him. This fellow, whoever he was, was older than Toby and Pete but not as old as Mr. and Mrs. Monroe. Having seen some of Mr. Monroe’s college students when they’d come to the house to beg for mercy, I estimated that this new chap was roughly their age. He had a shag of brown hair that kept falling into his eyes and a T-shirt that spilled out over the top of his pants. His sneakers were untied, and as he was coming toward us, he stepped on one of the laces and almost fell on his face.

  Toby opened Chester’s carrier and pulled the reluctant cat out. Chester hung from Toby’s arms like Spanish moss and wore an expression that would have soured milk chocolate.

  “This is Chester,” Toby said, by way of introduction. “Chester, this is Harrison.”

  Chester turned to me with a smirk. “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked. “Curtsy?”

  Harrison, I thought. What a weird name for a person.

  “Hey there, kitty,” Harrison said, instantly not endearing himself to Ch
ester.

  “And this,” Toby went on, “is Harold.”

  “Wow,” Harrison said. “What a weird name for a dog.”

  I looked at Harrison. Harrison looked at me. I thought to myself, this Harrison fellow really has a knack for putting the wrong foot forward.

  “Well,” Harrison said, “you guys are the last of the arrivals for this week. Now we’ve got a full house.”

  The door to the office popped open, and a girl with red hair and a lot of freckles stuck her head out. She seemed to be about the same age as Harrison, but she looked more tucked in.

  “Harrison,” she called, “do you know where Chester’s file is? Dr. Greenbriar wants to look at it while the Monroes are here, and I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “But you were looking at it this morning, Jill,” Harrison answered.

  “I know, I know,” the girl named Jill said, shaking her head. “I just can’t remember where I put it. I was hoping you’d seen it.”

  Harrison shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Jill. “Wish I could help you out,” he said, “but I don’t pay much attention to the files. That’s your territory.”

  Jill sighed. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me lately. I’m so tired from all this work I can’t remember where I put anything anymore.”

  “I guess old age is setting in,” Harrison said with a laugh.

  “Ha ha,” Jill answered without one. And she went back inside, letting the door slam behind her.

  Chester gave me a look that said he was clearly unimpressed with the staff.

  The door opened a third time, and Dr. Greenbriar stepped outside with the rest of the Monroes. I became nervous at once. There’s nothing like the sight of a white jacket with creepy little stains all over the front of it to get the old heart pumping.

  Dr. Greenbriar walked in our direction, his movements steady and unwavering. The light reflected strangely off his glasses so that it was hard to see what was going on under his thick, bushy eyebrows. When he spoke, his words came as slowly and evenly as his steps.

  “Hello, Chester. Hello, Harold,” he said to us both as if he were not sure which of us was which.

  Chester was apparently as delighted to see Dr. Greenbriar as I was, since his response to the doctor’s hello was to begin hissing and shedding hair frantically all over Toby. Dr. Greenbriar just smiled.

  “Now, now, Chester, what’s the matter, hmmm? You’re not afraid, are you?” I suppose his words should have been comforting, but I could feel myself beginning to shake. “You’re both going to have a wonderful time here at Chateau Bow-Wow while your family is away. Aren’t they, Harrison?” Harrison looked at Dr. Greenbriar as if he were crazy. The doctor turned back to us. “Harrison and Jill are going to take good care of you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Mrs. Monroe seemed a little uneasy. “Are you sure everything will be all right, doctor?” she asked. “I don’t mean to question you, but—”

  “Everything will be just fine, Mrs. Monroe,” he answered her sharply. “Surely you don’t question my staff?”

  Mrs. Monroe’s eyes grew wide. “N ... no, of course not,” she answered, taken aback.

  “Harrison has worked for me for three summers now, and Jill is studying to be a veterinarian. I trust them both completely. As should you.”

  “But we thought you’d—” Mr. Monroe started to speak, but was cut off by the doctor.

  “Yes, yes, I know. But I simply must take some time off. No one appreciates just how hard I work.” His face took on a pained expression as he continued. “This has been a difficult summer. I’ll work myself into a collapse if I don’t get away.” With furrowed brow, he looked into Mrs. Monroe’s eyes. Then his features relaxed. “Anyway,” he went on, “it isn’t as if I were going to the other side of the world. I’ll be right here in town, just a phone call away, should any problems come up. I know you have two very special pets here, and believe me, nothing is going to happen to them.”

  Harrison snorted. “This is a special pet?” he asked, pointing to Chester. Chester, who had calmed down a bit, began hissing at Harrison.

  “Oh yes,” Dr. Greenbriar replied seriously, “Chester is a very special cat. Most . . . unusual. Isn’t that so, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe?”

  “Unusual, hmmm,” Mr. Monroe said, reflecting, “I’d say that’s just the word for Chester. Wouldn’t you, dear?”

  “That’s the word all right,” Mrs. Monroe agreed.

  At that moment, Jill came through the gate marked “Chateau Bow-Bow.” She tripped on a tree stump as she moved toward us. Chester dropped his head sadly. I heard him sigh, I assumed in resignation to his fate.

  “Okay, their bungalows are all ready,” she said as she approached. She took Chester from Toby and carried him off. He didn’t even resist as they disappeared into the world beyond the gate.

  “Bungalows are what we call cages here at Chateau Bow-Wow,” Dr. Greenbriar was saying to the Monroes. “We think it has more class.”

  “Oh yes,” Mrs. Monroe answered. “Class. Yes.” She and Mr. Monroe exchanged a look.

  “Well, we should be going,” Mr. Monroe said then. “Come on, boys, let’s leave Harold to his new home.”

  Suddenly, Toby threw himself around my neck.

  “Goodbye, Harold,” he cried. “I’m going to miss you. Be a good dog, okay?” I felt a tear come to my eye.

  Pete snickered. “Yeah, Harold,” he said sarcastically, “try not to stink up the joint.” I felt a bite coming to my teeth.

  “Bye, Harold,” Mr. Monroe said, leaning down to pat me on the head. “Remember,” he added in a whisper, “it’s good for the soul.”

  “Harold,” Mrs. Monroe said firmly, “be of good cheer. And keep your eye on Chester, will you? Try to keep him out of trouble.” Mrs. Monroe often left me with instructions, but rarely so impossible a task as this. Still, I vowed inside myself to do my best.

  Toby was holding me tightly. His tears flowed freely now. “I don’t want to leave Harold, Mom,” he was saying between sniffs. A lump formed in my throat.

  Gently, Mrs. Monroe separated Toby from my neck. As she led him by the hand to the car, Harrison took me by the collar to the waiting gate. Just as I was about to enter, I looked back at Toby who was waving to me sadly. A tear at last escaped my eye, and I turned to step through the gate.

  Harrison pulled the door shut, and Chester’s words popped into my head. “Abandon all hope,” he had said, “ye who enter here.”

  ONCE inside the gate, I got my first real look at my new home, as Mr. Monroe had called it. Chateau Bow-Wow consisted of nine bungalows. (Whatever they were called, they looked like cages to me.) These stood on three sides of a big grassy play area, which Harrison referred to as the compound. The fourth side of the compound was the back wall of the house. A door in this wall led directly into Dr. Greenbriar’s office. This door and the main gate seemed to be the only ways to get in or out of the place. A high wooden fence stood behind all the bungalows. It was impossible to see over it, and the only relief from the drabness within was the presence of a few trees here and there.

  Oh well, I thought, I had been right about one thing. The Waldorf-Astoria it wasn’t.

  Harrison led me to the first bungalow we came to after entering the compound. I was relieved to see that Chester was being housed next door. After Harrison left me, I whispered to Chester through the wall.

  “What’s it like where you are?” I asked. “This isn’t so bad. I’ve got a nice carpet on the floor and a couple of rubber bones for chewing. It’s not home, but at least they’ve tried to give it a personal touch.”

  “Oh really?” Chester snapped back. “Like what? Aside from a disgusting looking lump of cloth hanging from a string in here, there isn’t much in the way of interior decoration.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Chester.”

  “It looks as if it’s been hanging here since they built the place,” he went on. “Probably supposed to be some sort of cat pl
aything. To tell you the truth, it looks like a mouse with a serious medical condition.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  “Probably got that way from eating the food here,” he muttered.

  “Oh, this is nice,” I said, noticing my food dish for the first time. “It says ‘Doggie’s Din-Din’ on the side. Does your dinner bowl say anything?”

  There was a long silence from the other side of the wall.

  “Chester? Chester?”

  “I hear you, Harold.”

  “Does your food dish say anything?”

  “Yes, Harold. It says, Tuna Tonite! Kitty’s Delite!’”

  “Oh, that’s cute, Chester. Don’t you think so?”

  “I may throw up.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind, Harold.”

  After a pause, Chester spoke again.

  “Harold?”

  “Yes, Chester?”

  “This place is a loony bin, Harold. Any place that has a dead mouse hanging on a string as guest room decor is a loony bin.”

  “Oh, Chester, I think you’re exaggerating—” I started to say, but I was cut off by a sudden burst of barking from the two dogs in the bungalows directly across from ours. Straight ahead of me was a bulldog in a white turtleneck sweater. Next to him was a French poodle. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument, and it was the poodle who spoke first.

  “Oh, yes, yes!” she was saying. “Over and over you say the same thing. But don’t think I am so easily fooled, Monsieur Max. You cannot pull the—how you say—wool over these eyes so easily.”

  “Louise, lower your voice,” the bulldog replied. “Everyone can hear you.”

  “Let them! I do not care! Why should I? After what you’ve done to me? Humph!”

  Even at a distance, I could see that Max was embarrassed. He tried to pull his head further back into the turtleneck sweater, which already threatened to engulf him. He kept pacing back and forth as they spoke.