She tore around the corner and I could tell we were heading for the park, the very place I’d been dreaming about only moments before. Oh, how long ago this now seemed.
“I don’t like this, Max,” Dooley intimated.
Well, I didn’t like it either, but at that point I was too winded to respond. Into the park Harriet zipped, and Dooley and I followed, still going full tilt. We almost bumped into her when she abruptly stopped, and then we just stood there, me panting, she squinting.
“There,” she said finally, pointing with her fluffy white tail.
I looked there. And I didn’t see a thing.
“What are we looking at?” I asked therefore, scanning the horizon for a sign of a bleeding and grievously harmed Odelia, most probably on the verge of expiration.
“There!” she repeated, this time pointing with her paw.
And that’s when I saw it. Dooley must have seen it too, for he drew in a sharp breath.
It was Odelia, only she wasn’t bleeding. Worse, she was locking lips with a man.
And this man was not—I repeat this man was NOT… her boyfriend Chase Kingsley.
Chapter Two
“Max?” asked Dooley, his voice croaky and weird. “What’s going on?”
“Can’t you see what’s going on!” Harriet replied in my stead. “That’s our human down there, being treacherous!”
Treacherous was not the word I would have used. As far as I know humans are not a monogamous species. Not unlike cats—though some cats have been known to be loyal to their mate until their dying day. Harriet is not one of those cats, so I found her indignation highly hypocritical. I didn’t mention this, though, for Harriet’s claws are as sharp as her tongue, and I wasn’t looking for a lashing of either. Still, I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Odelia to cheat on her boyfriend. I’m not an expert on human love, but I’d had the impression true love was involved in this particular pairing of a reporter and a local copper.
“Max! What’s going on?!” Dooley practically wailed.
“I think what’s going is that Odelia, being human and therefore flawed, is making an error of judgment,”’ I said carefully. Dooley is not one of your tough cats. He’s sensitive, and situations like these are something he should be shielded from, not encouraged to witness.
I directed a reproachful glance at Harriet, who should have known better than to subject Dooley to this kind of sordid scene. Of course my glance went right over her head.
“She’s enjoying it,” said Harriet now.
And she was right. Odelia clearly was enjoying this romantic interlude with one who was not her chosen mate.
“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, not taking this well. “I don’t like this at all.”
“I don’t like it either,” I intimated, “but such is life, Dooley. Sometimes the people we think we know best surprise us. And not always in a good way.”
Just then, a third person approached Odelia and the unknown male, and spoke a few words. The effect of these was immediate. Odelia extricated herself from her kissing partner and got up from the picnic blanket on which she’d been sitting. She stood, hands on hips, while this third person, another male, seemed to explain something to her. Possibly giving her pointers on her kissing technique.
The scene, apart from the shock effect it had on those who’d become used to seeing Odelia linked in body and soul to Chase Kingsley, was otherwise a peaceful and idyllic one: there was a picnic basket present, a picnic table, and even a dog lying at the lovers’ feet.
I did a double take. Wait, what? A dog? Where did this mutt come from? Odelia didn’t have a dog. Or did she?
Dooley had spotted the dog, too, for he produced a sound like a kettle boiling.
“Looks like Odelia is moving on,” said Harriet, voicing the thought that had occurred to me as well.
“She’s getting rid of us and getting... a dog?” I said, now shocked to the core.
“Looks like,” Harriet confirmed. “She was petting him before, and he seemed to like it.”
I was speechless. Kissing strange men was one thing, but getting a dog to replace her loyal brace of cats? That was too much. No, really! After everything we’d done for her she was getting a dog? This was treason of the highest order. Worse. This was a travesty.
I decided enough was enough, and set paw for the despicable scene.
“Max, no!” Dooley and Harriet cried out, but I paid them no heed. Odelia had gone too far, and I was going to speak my mind and tell her what was what, even at the price of having to be within twenty yards of a canine, which was the limit I usually set myself.
When I approached the picnic scene, Odelia was frowning, listening intently to the second, non-kissing male, a man with a fashionable red beard that curled up at the end, as was the current trend. Meanwhile the kisser was munching on a sandwich, not a care in the world.
The dog was the first one to become aware of my impending arrival, for he lifted first his head, then his upper lip in a vicious snarl.
I hesitated, but decided this mission was too important to be derailed by the pathetic snarls of a cat’s mortal enemy.
“Odelia!” I said, deciding to come in strong and pitch my sentiments before she had a chance to become distracted by her lover and the bearded hipster dude.
Odelia looked up, that frown still furrowing her forehead.
“A word, please?” I said, keeping a keen eye on the canine, whose upper lip was trembling now, his eyes shooting menace and all manner of mayhem in my direction.
“Max!” said Odelia, clearly surprised to see me. She quickly shut up. It’s not a fact widely known, but Odelia belongs to a long line of women who talk to cats. From generation to generation, this gift is passed, and a good thing, too. For far too long, humans have turned a deaf ear to a cat’s desires. Now, with Odelia and her mother and gran to listen to our plea, our voice is no longer ignored. Who also wasn’t ignoring my voice was the dog.
“What do you want, cat?” he snarled, his hind legs tensing as he got ready to pounce.
“This doesn’t concern you, Lassie,” I said, holding up my paw. “So back off.”
“This is my terrain, cat,” he shot back, tail wagging dangerously. “Get lost or else.”
“Or else what?” I asked, sounding a lot braver than I was feeling. Those fangs did not look appealing. Saliva was dripping from them, and already thoughts of rabies and front-page articles about a blorange cat being mauled to death started popping into my mind.
“You don’t want to find out,” he said with a low growl that seemed to rise up straight from his foul innards.
Odelia, who’d followed the tense interaction, crouched down next to me. “Max,” she said quietly, so the kisser and the hipster couldn’t overhear. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, as haughtily as I could. “I saw you,” I added. “Canoodling with that... that... man.”
Odelia frowned, as if not comprehending what I was saying. Then, suddenly, she laughed! Actually burst out laughing! “Oh, Max,” she said, giving my head a patronizing pet. “That’s just acting!”
“Whatever it is, it’s despicable,” I said. Then I frowned. “What do you mean, acting?”
She gestured with her head to the kisser, who now stood chatting with the weird red beard. “That’s Don Stryker. He’s a New York stage actor. And the man with the beard is Wolf Langdon—he’s our director.”
And then I remembered. Odelia had mentioned something about performing in something called Bard in the Park, and had even mentioned snagging an important role.
I stared her. “You mean this is all... acting?”
“All of it,” she assured me, then took an apple from the picnic basket and took a bite, plunking down next to me. She lowered her voice. “And let me tell you, it’s no picnic so far. This guy’s breath... “She rolled her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hoo-wee.”