Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

Chapter 9

Long after Marge had left, along with her contraption of doom, we all stayed safely hidden in Odelia’s bed. Finally I decided to brave all and venture out into the world again. Much to my delight, of Marge there was no trace, and neither of her Hoover.

“You can come out now, you guys,” I said therefore. “The coast is clear.”

Harriet, who was the first to follow my lead, blew out a sigh of intense relief. “When I talked to Marge and implored her to do something about the lack of hygiene in this place I didn’t think she’d be this quick to give service,” she said, looking slightly mussed. She immediately started rectifying the situation by applying raspy tongue to fur.

Brutus, who was next to emerge from under the bed covers, glanced left and right, then lifted his head and walked out into our midst as if nothing had happened. He stretched and yawned. “Nice nap, you guys,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t as afraid as the rest of us of that vacuum cleaner,” I said.

“Afraid? Moi?” he asked, assuming a careless stance. He laughed a light little laugh. “What a silly idea. Me, afraid of a vacuum cleaner. Of course I’m not afraid. I simply saw that you were afraid and decided you needed a strong paw to guide you through this dark time, that’s all.”

“You’re as afraid of vacuum cleaners as the rest of us, Brutus,” I said. “Just admit it.”

“I will do no such thing,” he grunted, and lifted a paw as if to strike me, then used it to smooth his ruffled brow instead. I flinched and he flashed me a triumphant grin.

Even though Brutus has mellowed out a lot in the time he’s been with us, he can still be his old obnoxious self if he wants to be.

The final cat to emerge from the safety of the makeshift burrow was Dooley. “Are you sure she’s gone?” he asked, giving me a piteous look.

“Yeah, she’s gone. She said the coast was clear, and then the doorbell rang and then I heard her talking up a storm with whoever was at the door, so we’re perfectly safe.”

“For now,” Harriet muttered as she inspected herself in the mirror Odelia likes to use when getting ready to go out and Chase likes to use to see if his left bicep is the exact same size as his right bicep.

“At least there are no more health hazards lurking around every corner,” I said. “No more bacteria, fungi or germs in evidence.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” said Harriet with the sigh of a long-suffering health fanatic.

“I wonder who was at the door just now,” I said, my natural curiosity asserting itself once again.

“Probably the mailwoman,” said Brutus as he licked his paw then applied it to his brow, smoothing out a few errant hairs located there.

“So did Max tell you about my great idea?” asked Dooley now.

“What great idea?” asked Harriet, striking a pose in front of the mirror.

“Max! You didn’t tell them?”

“When would I have told them? You only told me an hour ago or so.”

“I’ll tell you now,” said Dooley, “shall I?”

Harriet didn’t seem particularly excited by the prospect, and neither did Brutus, but that didn’t bother Dooley, for he launched into his pitch for his cat quiz show with marked glee. When it was all over, Harriet was frowning, and so was Brutus.

“So you want Gran to reveal her big cat-talking secret to the world so you can win a house, while you already have a perfectly nice set of houses to live in?” asked Harriet. “I’m sorry, Dooley, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. None whatsoever.”

Of course Dooley had neglected to add one crucial detail: that he wanted the new house so he could get away from Harriet’s overbearing ways. I wasn’t going to supply this information either, so Harriet naturally remained mystified.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “Cats from all over the world will love it. Humans won’t, though, unless you provide subtitles.”

“Subtitles! What a great idea, Brutus!” Dooley cried. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I think it’s a disastrously ill-conceived idea, but who listens to me? No one,” said Harriet as she studied her paw with interest. “Is it just me or did my paw pads look pinker yesterday?”

“You probably shouldn’t involve Gran, though,” said Brutus. “She might get in trouble. What you need is a seasoned show host. A cat who exudes natural charm and that air of debonair flair you want to see.” He tapped his chest. “And as it so happens I’m between engagements right now so I’ll gladly pick up the baton and fill the position.”

Dooley, who’d been listening intently to this speech, seemed to have missed the point. “So you want to win a house, too, Brutus?”

“I want to host your show,” Brutus corrected him. “But only if you call it something appropriate. Like The Brutus Show.”

“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “If anyone is going to host Dooley’s new show it’s me. I’ll be a regular ratings hit.”

“It’s a YouTube show,” I pointed out, “so there won’t be any ratings, only views.”

“Well, rack up the views for here I come,” said Harriet, tilting her head and looking every bit the quiz show queen of the new era.

“I don’t know,” said Dooley, taken aback a little.

“Of course you don’t. A quiz of this caliber needs a firm paw to navigate the rocky cliffs of the interwebs,” said Brutus, and tapped his chest again. “Me, myself and I will do the job. And no one else.” But when Harriet gave him one of her trademark icy looks, his self-assurance wavered, and soon he mumbled, “Or it could be you, sweet pea.”

“Of course it’s me,” said Harriet. “But you can hold the camera,” she allowed.

Dooley cast me a look of confusion, and I shot him back a look of commiseration. With Brutus and Harriet on board his little quiz show had just entered a new, more challenging era. That’s what you get when you hire talent as capricious and prone to temper tantrums and diva behavior as Harriet and Brutus.

Things get complicated. Very complicated indeed.