The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 40

“We have to warn them!” said Harriet.

“But how?” I said. “They’ll never believe us. They think Dudley is the greatest thing since apple pie.”

“Then we go on a hunger strike,” said Harriet decidedly. “They’ll have to listen to us if we simply stop eating.”

“A hunger strike!” said Brutus, who likes his three square meals a day.

“It’s the only way, twinkle toes. People don’t like it when their cats stop eating. It makes them go nuts.”

“I’ll go nuts if I can’t eat.”

“It’s a small sacrifice to make, sweet cheeks.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Rambo. “You go on your hunger strike, and in the meantime I’ll make sure this Dudley character doesn’t come anywhere near you.” And as he said this, I saw he was eyeing our respective bowls eagerly.

“Oh, no,” I said. “If we’re going on a hunger strike you’re going on a hunger strike, too.”

“But I’m not even part of the family!” said Rambo.

“You’re part of this family now, Rambo. So you’re striking right along with the rest of us.”

“So how do we do this?” asked Brutus reluctantly.

“Simple,” said Harriet. “We stop eating.”

“But aren’t we going to die if we stop eating?” asked Dooley. “Cats need to take regular nourishment or else they die,” he explained.

“We can do without food for a couple of days,” said Harriet. “Besides, I’m sure that our humans will cave pretty quickly. They wouldn’t want to have our deaths on their conscience.”

“So maybe we should stop drinking, too?” said Dooley. “I already did it once, and it was fine.”

“You only stopped drinking for a couple of hours,” I pointed out. “Now we’d stop drinking for possibly days, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. No food for a couple of days is fine, but no water? That’s bad.”

“You mean we’d die?”

“Yes, Dooley. If we don’t drink, we’ll die for sure, from dehydration.”

“But I don’t want to die, you guys.”

“Look, we’re not going to die, all right?” said Harriet, who wasn’t a big fan of all this backtalk. “We’re simply going to tell them that we’re on a hunger strike, and that’s it.”

Brutus’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it! So we tell them we’re not eating, but secretly we’ll keep on eating right along!”

“No, Brutus,” said Harriet primly. “We’re not going to touch our bowls.”

“But… for how long?”

She threw up her paws. “How should I know? For as long as it takes!”

“Gandhi used to go on hunger strikes,” said Dooley, clearly having done some research into the guy since Brutus had mentioned him. “Gandhi liked to go on hunger strikes all the time. And he never died.”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet with a heavy sigh.

Brutus swallowed away a lump. He still seemed uncomfortable with the whole prospect. “Dooley?” he asked quietly, nudging my friend. “Is there nourishment in pee? I mean, you said this Gandhi fellow doesn’t eat, and I know for a fact he likes to drink his own pee, so the guy must be onto something, right? Does he live around here? Maybe we should go talk to him?”

“Oh, Brutus,” said Harriet with an expressive eyeroll.

And just when we’d finally decided on our next course of action, suddenly a car pulled over outside, and we all hurried into Marge and Tex’s front room to see if our humans had arrived home already.

Much to our surprise, though, it wasn’t our humans but… Dudley, arriving in a cab.

He seemed in a hurry, too, for he came stalking up the little footpath to the house, and let himself in with the latchkey Tex had proudly given this newly acquired son of his.

“What do we do!” Brutus said as we heard the key turn in the lock.

“I don’t know!” I said, and then we all turned to Rambo, our resident police dog, but the latter simply shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, fellas. I’m retired.”

“Oh, Rambo!” said Harriet with a loud groan.

But then Dudley was already entering the house, and running up the stairs.

“What is going on?” asked Brutus as we listened to the kid stomping around upstairs. “What is he up to?”

It didn’t take long for us to realize what was going on, for moments later Dudley reappeared, this time carrying a duffel bag, and making for the front door again. And he probably would have left if he hadn’t changed his mind at the sight of the small, slightly dilapidated goatherd figurine Tex and Marge like to keep in the front room.

Dudley glanced at the thing, then up at the painting of a gnome Tex has got hanging over the mantel, and changed course.

He stepped into the room, grabbed the figurine and dumped it into his suitcase. Then he took the painting from the wall and was about to abscond with it when Rambo sneezed.

Yes, dogs can sneeze, and so can cats.

Dudley looked up, startled, and it didn’t take him long to discover our presence behind the couch.

“Well, look at you,” he said, and I saw he had a very nasty expression on his face as he said it. “Four cats and one stupid old dog.” And as he stared down at us, suddenly he got a certain gleam in his eyes that I didn’t like to see there. It was the kind of gleam that spells doom. Probably the same kind of gleam that often comes into Dracula’s eyes just before he decides to sink his teeth into the neck of another innocent young maiden.

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“I don’t like the way Dudley is looking at us!”

“Me, neither!”

“You know what?” said the floppy-eared young man, “I think it’s time for me to finish what I started.” And he kicked the door to the room closed with his foot. He then expertly picked me up by the scruff of the neck, the procedure giving me a distinct sense of déjà-vu, and dumped me into the couch. I probably should explain that Marge and Tex’s couch is one of those couches with a hidden compartment inside, where they like to store stuff they don’t need, such as: doilies, old curtains… And now yours truly, too!

In short order, he rounded up Harriet, Dooley and Brutus, and dumped us all in the couch, then slammed the thing shut, the couch springs and hinges squeaking creepily!

“You know? This reminds me of something,” said Brutus suddenly.

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

And when suddenly I smelled smoke, I knew exactly what it reminded me of. Yesterday morning in the attic, when Motorcycle Man had tried to set us on fire!