by Nic Saint
“It’s a rule. I didn’t invent it.”
“There’s no rule about that. There’s no rule that says only males can give other males The Talk,” Brutus protested. “In fact I think it’s much better coming from you.”
“Guys!” Dooley cried. “What is The Talk?!”
“Look,” I said, deciding to get this over with. Like a band-aid, you just had to rip it off. “You know how a male cat and a female cat get together and a couple of months later lots of kittens come out?”
“Uh-huh.”
“With humans it’s the exact same thing. The male of the species and the female of the species, um, lie together, as they do, and then a couple of months later babies pop out.”
“How many babies?” he asked, darting curious glances at Odelia, as if expecting a litter of babies to suddenly emerge from our human.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said vaguely. “A few, probably.”
“One,” said Brutus. “Usually humans have the one baby.”
“That’s it?” I asked, frowning. “That can’t be true.”
“It’s true. Humans are stingy. They just have the one baby.”
“Sometimes they have two,” Harriet said. “Or three or four. But it’s rare. So rare that when humans have, like, eight babies in a single litter, they get their own TV show. It’s true.”
“Humans are weird,” Brutus agreed.
“So… how long before these babies arrive?” asked Dooley, still staring at Odelia, who was still having trouble keeping a straight face.
“Oh, maybe like three months?” I said. “Two?”
“You guys!” Dooley said. “Odelia and Chase have been lying together for weeks now, so these babies might pop out any moment now!” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, no.”
“Relax, Dooley,” I said. “Humans don’t always have babies when they lie together. They have to… do stuff.”
“Yeah, and then sometimes they take a pill and then they don’t have the babies,” Harriet explained. She seemed to know an awful lot about this stuff. Then again, at her house they watched the Discovery Channel all the time, which was probably where she got her information.
“They take a pill?” asked Dooley, looking up. “What pill?”
“Yeah, what pill?” I asked. This was news to me, too.
Harriet shrugged, studying her fingernails. “I dunno. Some pill.”
Dooley turned to me, and I could see the question in his eyes before he formulated it. “Does Odelia have this magic anti-baby pill, Max?”
Ugh. “How should I know?”
His face took on a determined look. “We need to find out. This is life or death, Max.”
I was afraid to ask. “Why is this life or death, Dooley?”
“Because the moment Odelia has her babies she’ll get rid of us!”
And there it was. The crux of the matter. I had to admit I’d given the matter some thought myself. Our mailwoman Bambi Wiggins recently had a baby, and her cat Ellen had told us that there are three rules for cats when in the presence of a human baby: don’t scratch the baby. Don’t sit on the baby. Don’t bite the baby. But I could tell Ellen wasn’t entirely sanguine about her position in the Wiggins household herself now that this baby was born. She tried to put on a brave face, but there’s a long-held rumor amongst cats that the moment humans have babies those same humans’ cats get offered a one-way ride to the pound. And if there’s one place us cats fear even more than the vet, it’s the pound.
“We have to stop her,” Dooley whispered, loud enough for the entire waiting room to hear. “Odelia can never have babies, Max. We need to stall her until she’s too old! Which is only…” He made a few quick calculations in his head. “Two more years!”
“Ten,” Harriet corrected him. “She’s ten now, which makes her twenty in ten.”
“Fifteen at the outside,” Brutus repeated. “Which gives you a window of five years.”
He cut me an urgent look. I knew what that look meant: have you thought of some remedy or cure for my very delicate issue, Max? I gave him a look back that said: no, Brutus. I haven’t. But I was adamant to bring it up with Vena when I had the chance, whether he liked it or not.
What? I’m not an expert on tomcat anatomy. Vena is. Which is why she gets paid the big bucks.
Chapter 11
Dooley, Brutus and Harriet were still discussing the baby thing, so I pawed Odelia’s leg until she picked me up. I had an important message to deliver and now was the time to do it.
“Brutus has issues, Odelia,” I told her quietly, making sure the other members of our cat menagerie couldn’t overhear us.
“I’ll say,” she said between unmoving lips. “You guys are so funny.”
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I went on, “He’s having pee-pee issues.”
This time a frown appeared on her brow. “Pee-pee issues?”
I cut a quick glance down to the floor, but Brutus was still engrossed in the entire pill discussion so the coast was clear. “You need to ask Vena to take a look at his pee-pee,” I said. “But don’t tell her I told you, cause this is a very sensitive matter for Brutus and he’ll probably kill me if he found out I told you to tell Vena.”
Odelia smiled. Cat drama. She knew all about it. “Fine,” she said, her lips still not moving, her eyes darting about the room to make sure nobody saw she was talking to her cat. I didn’t know how she did it. Each time I meow or mewl my lips have a tendency to part. Hard to keep them pressed together and still hold a well-enunciated conversation.
I made to jump back down but Odelia held onto me. “Wait. Tell me more about this pee-pee thing.”
“What more is there to tell?”
“Does he have pain when he urinates?”
Ugh. I so didn’t want to discuss this topic. “He urinates just fine. It’s the other thing that doesn’t work.”
She frowned, confused. “What other thing?”
I cocked a knowing whisker at her. And then she got it.
“Oh!”
“Yeah.”
“The… Brutus and… Harriet.”
“Yup.”
“You mean his soldier refuses to salute.”
Gah. “I think I’ve heard enough,” I said, and gracefully jumped down to resume my position at her feet. And it was then that the conversation really turned weird.
“Did you hear about that explosion this morning?” asked Shanille.
“Yeah, some old guy got blown up, right?” said Tom, the butcher’s cat.
“Not just some old guy,” said Tigger, the plumber’s cat. “The Most Fascinating Man in the World. My human loves those commercials. My human loves beer,” he clarified.
“Your human is a raging alcoholic,” said Shanille disapprovingly.
“He is not. He loves beer, that’s all. And Scotch. And vodka. And—”
“Kingman told me the guy’s cat is missing,” said Misty, the electrician’s cat.
“The Most Fascinating Man in the World had a cat?” I asked.
“Sure he did. The Most Fascinating Cat in the World. She was in some of those commercials. What’s her name again?” Misty clicked her nails annoyedly, then her face cleared. “That’s right. Shadow. Great name for a cat, huh?”
Shadow, who belongs to Franklin Beaver, the guy who runs the hardware store, grinned. “I like it.”
“I think he likes gin, too,” said Tigger, frowning, “though I’m not sure. He definitely likes his Martinis. Neat, not stirred or shaken. Poured straight from the bottle.”
“Maybe we should talk to this Shadow, Max,” Dooley suggested. “Find out what he knows.”
“Shadow is a she,” said Misty. “Not a he. At least that’s what Kingman told me.”
“I’m not a she,” said Shadow, a shadow passing over his face. “I’m a he.”
“Well, she’s a she,” said Misty decidedly. “So there.”
“And he likes his brandy, too,” said Tigger musingly. “Pear brandy, if I’m not mistak
en. And apple.” He shrugged. “He’s not picky. Very happy-go-lucky guy, my human. Very easy.”
I held up my paws. “Where can we find this Shadow—he or she?”
Misty frowned. “Like I said, Kingman thinks Shadow went missing. Right after the explosion.”
“Must have scared the living daylights out of her,” Shanille agreed. “I know I wouldn’t enjoy my human being blown up.” She darted a quick look at Father Reilly, ascertaining he was still there, and had not been blown up while she wasn’t looking.
“None of us would enjoy our humans being blown up,” I said.
“Speak for yourself,” a ratty little cat piped up. I recognized her as the landscaper’s tabby. “Wanna know what my human did? Accidentally stuck me in the washer. The washer! I wanted to have a look-see and the doofus closed the door on me! It’s a miracle I survived!”
We all stared at the cat. She looked a little worse for wear but very much alive.
She sighed. “At least I don’t got fleas, like you lot do.” She scratched a floppy left ear. “It’s this damn water in my ears that bugs me, though. Can’t get it out! Soapy water. Ugh.”
“And then there’s wine, of course,” said Tigger, his face clearing. “Oh, he loves his wines. He loves his red wines, he loves his white wines, he loves his rosés—”
“Will you shut up already?” asked Shanille plaintively. “I don’t care about your alcoholic human’s addictions and disgusting predilections.”
“Practice some kindness, Shanille,” Tigger said, stung. “Isn’t that what your human teaches? Kindness and your basic Christian compassion?”
Shanille tilted her chin. “I’ll have you know I don’t go in for all that religious stuff.”
“Your human runs a church for a living!”
“So? Your human unclogs toilets for a living. That doesn’t mean you have to.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”
Pretty soon the whole thing erupted into a war of words, as it often does when a bunch of cats get together. I decided to do the smart thing and stay out of it. Instead, I turned to my compatriots, who sat following the back-and-forth with glittering eyes and clicking claws. Oh, cats do love a good cat fight. “You guys, we have to find this cat Shadow. Maybe she saw what happened to her human.” I looked up at Odelia who gave me a wink.
“Sure, sure,” said Brutus, who seemed eager to jump into the fray.
I sighed. “Harriet?”
“Shush, Max,” the Persian said. “I think Shanille is about to implode.”
I turned to my wingman. “Dooley?”
“I’ll help you, Max,” he said. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“That you’ll help me find Odelia’s magic pills.”
And we were right back where we started.
Moments later we were finally called into Vena’s consultation room for our big inspection. I’ll spare you the details, but none of us came out unscathed that day. She applied some kind of weird-smelling gel to our necks, then handed Odelia an equally weird-looking comb with the advice to use it at least twice daily with a little soapy water, and finally gave our human the option to apply the dreadful collar or not.
“Quite frankly I’m using them less and less,” said Vena. “I find that they produce a horrible rash or allergic reaction in some cats, while others get them snagged on tree branches and such, which is potentially dangerous, as you can imagine. Still others lick them and end up with a severe reaction from the poison. So what shall it be? You decide, Odelia.”
All four of us looked up at Odelia, begging her to say no to the collar.
She gave us her sweetest smile, then proceeded to say yes to the collar.
Chapter 12
Odelia stepped into her dad’s office. As usual, the outer office was filled with people waiting for their doctor’s appointment. The one thing missing, though, was Grandma, who usually sat at her perch behind the reception desk, directing traffic, taking calls, jotting down appointments and gossiping with her son-in-law’s patients.
Odelia nodded hello to the familiar faces, then glanced at the empty counter. No Gran. Odd. She’d wanted to have another word with her relative about this whole Burt Goldsmith business. Talk some sense into her. And now she hadn’t even shown up for work. Not that she needed the job. She’d practically begged Dad to give it to her. Said she’d go crazy sitting at home doing nothing. Said she’d be the best receptionist he’d ever wished for.
Dad had relented and she’d been the worst receptionist he’d ever wished for.
And Odelia was just about to turn away when the door to the inner office opened and her dad appeared, along with Mrs. Baumgartner, one of his regulars. The bluff middle-aged woman thanked him and went on her way. Dad’s eyes scanned the waiting room, then the empty desk, and he sighed. When he caught sight of his daughter, he visibly perked up. “Odelia, honey. Come on in.” He turned to the other patients. “We’ll just be a moment.”
“Take your time, Doctor Tex,” said an elderly man with beetling brows and a stoop. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Speak for yourself, you old fool,” said his neighbor, a squat ruddy-faced woman.
“One minute,” Tex promised, and ushered Odelia into his exam room.
“You don’t look so hot, Dad,” she said, noticing his pale and sweaty brow and his unkempt mop of white hair. Even his doctor’s coat had been buttoned askance. She set about to remedy this and her father took the opportunity to wipe his forehead with a napkin.
“It’s been hell all morning,” he confessed. “Between the patients and the phone calls I don’t know what to do first. Where the hell is your grandmother? I’ve tried calling but she keeps blocking me. I didn’t even know she could do that on that crappy phone I gave her.”
Grandma used to have a snazzy iPhone, but kept buying expensive apps in the App Store. And then she broke her phone by dropping it in the toilet. So now Dad had bought her a cheaper model. Some unknown Chinese brand. And Gran hadn’t answered his calls since.
“She thinks she gave birth to the son of the Most Fascinating Man in the World,” Odelia said, patting her dad on the chest, his doctor’s coat nice and neat once more.
“Come again?” he said.
In a few brief words she explained what had happened at the Hampton Cove Star that morning. Tex plunked himself down on the edge of his desk, looking stunned. “She thinks she gave birth to a third child but she’s not entirely sure? That’s crazy!”
“That’s not all. Scarlett Canyon claims she is the mother of Burt’s child. Though her memory is equally fuzzy.”
“Crazy town,” muttered Tex, wiping his brow once more. “Is that why she didn’t show up for work this morning?”
“Yeah, she had a hot date with Burt.”
“She could have told me.”
“You haven’t exactly been on speaking terms, Dad.”
“That’s true,” he admitted.
Ever since Tex took her credit cards away—or his credit cards, actually—Gran had been ghosting him. Tough to do when you work together, but Gran had managed. Slipping him little pieces of paper and talking to the wall whenever she needed to address him.
“You think she’s going to quit working here?”
“If she can get Philippe Goldsmith to believe her claim she might,” Odelia said. “Burt’s ‘widow’ stands to come into a nice chunk of change, if Philippe is to be believed.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Dad, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe this Philippe is taking your grandmother off our hands and she’ll live with the guy in Vegas from now on.”
“Colorado.”
“Colorado is fine. I can live with Colorado. Mexico would have been better. Or Africa.”
“I’m not sure Mom will like her mother moving away.”
Dad humorously slapped the desk. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there?”
“She’ll be back, Dad.”
�
��Not what I wanted to hear,” he said with a grin, then pressed a kiss to her brow. “And now you better scoot, young lady. Before my patients chase you out of here, feathered and tarred.”
“Maybe you should call the temp agency. At least until Gran comes to her senses.”
“Maybe I should,” he conceded, and walked her out.
Next stop was the library, where Odelia’s mother was stacking books in neat rows onto a library cart. “Oh, hey, honey,” Mom said. “Have you seen your grandmother? She was supposed to arrive early today. Help me prepare for the lecture tonight.” Mom, who was the spitting image of her daughter, pressed her hands into her lower back and arched backwards, grimacing. “Ooph. My back is killing me today.”
“Lecture? What lecture?”
“The Most Interesting Men in the World are in town. They’re doing some type of conference thing at the Seabreeze Music Center. I managed to snag them for an Evening with the Most Interesting Men in the World. Only it looks as if it might get canceled.”
“Of course. The explosion.”
“Explosion? What explosion?”
For the second time she told the story of the explosion that had taken the life of the Most Fascinating Man in the World.
“Bummer,” said Mom. “He was supposed to be the star of the evening. Not to mention the emcee.” She bit her lip. “Maybe the others will still show up?”
“They’re all being questioned as we speak, and it looks like the Most Compelling Man might be a suspect in the whole thing.”
Mom nodded knowingly. “Jealousy. Figures. They don’t seem to be able to agree on anything. Not the topics of conversation, not the seating arrangements or the order of introductions—not even the name of the evening. I wanted to call it ‘An Evening with Some Very Interesting Men,’ but they said that would favor the Most Interesting Man in the World, who, coincidentally, couldn’t make it. Apparently there’s a pecking order of Most Interesting Men with the Most Interesting Man numero uno and Burt Goldsmith a close second. Maybe I should call the whole thing off now. Quite frankly it’s not worth the aggravation.”
“You haven’t heard the worst part yet,” Odelia told her. “You have a second brother.”