The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 26

Cat choir had been a smashing success as usual, and it was with uplifted spirits that the four of us returned home.

Harriet, especially, was feeling on top of the world. She’d sung her solo performance, and it had earned her a spontaneous round of applause. The fact that the applause was muted—it’s those darn paw pads, you see—hadn’t detracted from the warm sense of accomplishment Harriet had experienced, and it wasn’t too much to say she was walking on air.

“Once we get started with our quiz show,” she said now as we wended our way home along deserted streets, “I think I’ll sing a couple of songs in between the rounds. It will motivate and inspire the candidates, don’t you think, doodle bug?”

“Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “The candidates will be over the moon, and so will the millions of viewers at home.”

“Do you really think we’ll attract millions of viewers?” asked Harriet, her eyes shining at the thought of becoming a global superstar.

“Did I say millions? I meant hundreds of millions, of course. Seeing as there are a hundred million cats in the United States alone, I think it’s safe to say this show of ours is going to go viral and hit the stratosphere.”

“It’s going to leave Ed Sheeran and that Despacito guy in the dust,” said Harriet.

And as Harriet and Brutus shared their roseate dreams of global stardom, I saw that Dooley didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t seem excited about the new quiz show for cats?”

“Harriet took it over,” he said quietly. “It was my idea and Harriet and Brutus took it and now they’re saying it was their idea all along. But it was my idea, wasn’t it, Max?”

“Of course it was your idea, Dooley,” I said. “And Harriet and Brutus know this.”

“You think so?” He didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Of course they do. Besides, don’t tell them I said this, but I think their ambitions just might be slightly overoptimistic. Since cats don’t own smartphones, or tablets, and only very rarely have access to computers or laptops, I think the chances of a show made by cats for cats being a huge success are slim.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “So maybe we should bring the show to television?”

I shook my head. “Apart from the four of us, do you know any other cats that have a certain measure of control over the remote?”

“You mean cats don’t have any say in what they get to watch on television?”

“No say whatsoever, buddy. None.”

“Poor creatures.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Always having to watch whatever their humans like to watch.”

“Can you imagine?”

“Having to watch things like Game of Thrones.”

“Or NFL, MLB, NBA or NHL. Or even NASCAR!”

He shivered at the thought. “We really are very lucky cats, Max.”

“I know, Dooley. We have the best humans. Who let us watch whatever we like to watch.”

“Like cat food commercials.”

“And the Cartoon Network.”

“And the Discovery Channel.”

I grimaced. “I’ll leave that to you.” Dooley is a big fan of the Discovery Channel, and likes to watch it with Gran of an evening. Of course he also watches soap operas and other daytime television with Gran, too, but that can’t be helped. At least the Discovery Channel gives him some food for thought, and a paw up for his general education.

We’d arrived on Harrington Street and were about to enter the house when I became aware of some strange goings-on at the house next door. Two dark-clad individuals came sneaking out along the narrow strip that divides Odelia’s house from Kurt Mayfield’s.

“Kurt has some late-night visitors,” said Dooley.

“Visitors? Or burglars?” I said with a worried glance in the direction of the odd pair. One was big and tall, the other thin and short, though I couldn’t tell who they were because they were both wearing some type of face coverings. They were also carrying some large and bulky object, and making haste as they picked their way along the hedge.

“Maybe we should tell Odelia,” Dooley suggested. I glanced back at the house. Brutus and Harriet had already disappeared inside, and both Odelia’s and Marge and Tex’s houses were dark and quiet.

“By the time Odelia is out here they’ll be long gone,” I said. “Better to follow them and see what they’re up to instead.”

And so Dooley and I snuck behind the sneaky twosome and followed them as they hit the sidewalk, then hurried along toward a black van. One of the pair opened the side door and placed the bulky package inside, then both got in and soon the engine roared to life.

“Let’s take a closer look at the license plate,” I suggested.

Unfortunately, before we could, a large cloud of black smoke blasted from the exhaust, obscuring said license plate. All I could see as the van peeled away from the curb in a haze of diesel fumes were the letter A and the number 5.

“A5,” I said. “What did you get, Dooley?”

“I got nothing,” he said, coughing. “Except a lungful of smoke.”

“If nothing else, Uncle Alec will probably be able to arrest them for nocturnal pollution,” I said. At least if a law existed against pollution, nocturnal or otherwise.

Coughing, we both returned to the house, and vowed to tell Odelia about these suspicious marauders in the morning.

So we passed along the strip of lawn between Odelia’s house and Marge and Tex’s, and got in through the pet flap, then had a bite to eat and a sip of water before heading upstairs to enjoy a nice nap.

We hopped onto the bed, Chase automatically retracting his long limbs to provide Dooley some space at the foot of the bed while I made myself comfortable at the foot of Odelia’s side of the bed, and very soon we were both snoring along with Odelia and Chase’s snores, the picture of familial bliss.