The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 41

“I’d dump you in there, too, but you’re too big and stupid, you old mutt,” we heard Dudley say, presumably addressing our mighty guard dog.

“Max! Why did you let him catch you?” said Harriet, indignation clear in her voice.

“Why did you let him catch you!” I returned.

“Because it all happened so fast! And besides, he’s Tex’s son.”

“But we already decided he’s up to no good,” I said. “So why did we let ourselves be duped like this?”

“I think because deep down we find it hard to believe that Tex’s son would do a thing like this,” said Dooley. “I think deep down we all want to believe that Dudley is a good person. That deep down he loves us just like the others do, and that deep down he means well. I think deep down—”

“Oh, will you stop it with your ‘deep down’ already!” Harriet cried. “We’re in deep doo-doo right now, if you hadn’t noticed!”

She was right. The flames were licking at the couch that was our new home, and if I know anything about couches it is that they are not flame-resistant. In fact you could probably argue that the modern couch is a fire accelerant, with all the synthetic materials it’s made of.

“Let’s put our backs into it, you guys,” I said. “On the count of three, and push!”

And push we did, but the couch wasn’t budging—not a single inch!

“Again! Push!” I said, feeling like a football coach leading his team to victory.

But no dice. Obviously Dudley had put some heavy object on top of the couch, preventing our escape.

“Maybe we can scratch our way out?” Brutus suggested.

And so we hurriedly started looking for the couch’s weak spots. Unfortunately a couch, in case you didn’t know, consists of particleboard, covered with polyurethane foam, covered with upholstery. Polyurethane and upholstery are no match for four highly motivated cats with very sharp claws and teeth, but particleboard is. So we could scratch all we wanted to, but we’d never manage to make it through. At least not in time to save our lives.

“So we just wait,” said Harriet. “We wait until the fire does the work for us, and then we escape.”

It sounded a lot like her plan from the day before, when we were locked inside that old chest in the attic. If her idea had sounded too good to be true then, it certainly sounded like the lousiest idea I’d ever heard now. But since I didn’t want to undermine morale, I kept quiet. After all, what was the alternative: to announce to my friends that we would all soon be burnt to a crisp?

The smoke was coming in through the cracks already, and that orange glow was intensifying, as was the heat surrounding us.

“Max?” said Dooley.

“Mh?”

“I just want to say that you’re the best friend a cat could ever hope to find. And if we don’t make it—”

“Don’t talk like that, Dooley.”

“If we don’t make it, I just want to say that it was an honor to be your friend.”

“It was an honor for me, too, buddy.”

“I have a confession to make,” suddenly said Harriet.

Oh, no—not again with the confessions!

“I peed in all of your bowls last night,” she said, sounding contrite.

“Peed in our bowls?” asked Brutus. “But why?”

“Because you peed in mine, okay?! So I peed in yours. And now I realize it was childish of me, and petty, and I’m sorry.”

“I accidentally peed in your bowl,” said Brutus. “And so did Dooley.”

“And I did it on purpose, so there. Now can we put this whole peeing episode behind us already and move on?”

“You mean to say I actually drank your—”

“I said let’s move on!”

“Look, if it’s good enough for Gandhi,” Dooley began, but the rest of his words were lost when suddenly the entire couch seemed to explode in a roar of fire and smoke!

On closer inspection, the roar hadn’t been produced by the couch but by… Rambo!

And as we all stared into the face of the old bulldog, suddenly another familiar face hove into view: Clarice!

“What are you waiting for?” she said. “The bus? Get out of there already, will you? Move it!”

We didn’t need to be told twice, and jumped out of the burning couch as fast as our legs could carry us!

And as we looked back, we saw that it wasn’t just the couch that was on fire, but the carpet, too, and even one of those nice piecrust tables Marge is so fond of.

“Now let’s put out this fire,” said Clarice, proving herself a great fire chief.

“And how are we supposed to do that?” asked Harriet.

“Just follow my lead,” said Clarice, and started to pee on the flames!

“I can do that,” said Brutus, and took up position next to Clarice and started relieving himself.

Now I can tell you that cats are smallish animals, and our bladders are equally limited in size, as is the contents they can hold. So our urinary contributions didn’t do much to fight those flames. It actually took that big bulldog Rambo to really make a difference. Whereas our little trickles had merely made that fire laugh in our faces, once Rambo opened the floodgates, those same belligerent flames didn’t stand a chance!

And so by the time a car pulled up outside, and moments later the entire family Poole came charging in, what they found were the smoldering remnants of a couch, a carpet and a piecrust table and five cats and a dog performing a victory lap.

“What’s that smell?” asked Gran. “Like a combination of smoke and… cat pee.”

“And dog pee!” I cried. “Don’t forget about all that beautiful, beautiful dog pee!”

And I reciprocated Rambo’s high five with an even higher five of my own.