“A house!” I said, properly impressed. “That must be some quiz show, if they’re giving away a whole house.” What with property prices the way they are, winning a house is not a small deal. But I still wasn’t fully satisfied with my friend’s answers. “So… why do you want to win a car? Or a house, for that matter?”
Dooley shrugged. “I just think it would be great if you and I could have our own place, you know. Far away from certain… pets.”
And there it was. And I understood all. Lately Harriet had been throwing her weight around to some extent. Used to be she more or less accepted that as a family of felines we were all equal under the sun. As of late, though, she’d started assuming the role of leader of the pack—telling us what to do, where to go, and, even more importantly, whom to associate with. I could see how this would create the kind of environment that would cause a sensitive cat like Dooley to bridle, and to look for a route of escape.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Dooley,” I said, as gently as I knew how, “but I don’t think they allow cats to participate in game shows. Not the ones I know of, anyway.”
“They don’t?” asked Dooley, with not a little bit of disappointment. “But that’s not fair.”
“Well, seeing as there aren’t a lot of humans out there that can understand what we say, it wouldn’t make for very interesting viewing,” I explained.
This gave my friend some food for thought, and as he mulled this over, I placed my chin on my paws again, and took up my refreshing morning nap where I had left off.
After a while, though, animation returned to Dooley’s form, and he said, “So why don’t we suggest to Gran that she organize a quiz show? She could be the show host and ask all the questions, and all the candidates would be cats. I’m sure it would be a big hit.”
“I’m not so sure,” I muttered. I’d just been dreaming about a fine feline who’d been giving me a look that said she liked what she saw, and I was reluctant to throw off the blanket of sleep just to listen to my friend’s ongoing ramblings about quiz shows.
“Of course!” he said, his excitement building as he thought more about his latest brainwave. “With all the cats in the world, it would be huge. How many cats are there?”
“Not sure,” I said, yawning. “A lot, I guess.”
“Millions, maybe even billions! And since there are no other shows for cats to watch, they’d all tune into our quiz show, wouldn’t they? It would be the biggest hit in history.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Dooley,” I said, once again being forced to play the party pooper, a role I did not enjoy, I can tell you. “Cats don’t own televisions, and they don’t always control the remote controls. In fact I’d hazard a guess that in most cases they don’t have control over what they can and cannot watch at all. The humans are the gatekeepers to whatever is on offer on the television, and humans would be bored to tears within five seconds at having to watch a bunch of caterwauling cats on display.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”
And once again he fell into a deep reverie as he contemplated ways and means of dealing with this new obstacle I’d put on his path to a successful career in television.
This time it took him a little while longer to work out the details of his new proposal, but when finally he woke me again from my slumber, I could tell from the tremor in his voice and the feverish gleam in his eye that he’d managed to come up with a real gem.
“I have one word for you, Max,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked, sighing a little, as that formidable female feline hadn’t returned in my latest dream. Instead I’d dreamt of a rabbit popping out of a hat and playing hide and seek. You’ll agree with me that rabbits aren’t as fascinating as formidable felines giving you that look. Rabbits simply don’t have that je ne sais quoi.
“The internet,” he said, thrusting out his chest with an air of accomplishment.
“That’s two words,” I pointed out.
“Oh, right,” he said, deflating only a smidgen before swelling again and practically caroling, “We’ll make it an internet quiz show. Cats can access their humans’ smartphones, can’t they? And sometimes they even have their own personal tablets they can use to watch whatever they like. So we’ll create a YouTube show with Gran as the host, and turn it into the best-watched program on the entire internet!”
I yawned. Not because his idea bored me, but because sometimes Dooley’s ramblings simply have that effect on me. “Mh,” I said noncommittally.
“Don’t you see what a great idea this is, Max?” he tooted. “Cats across the globe will tune in and all of those advertising dollars will start pouring in and soon Gran will be able to give away a house as the first prize and we’ll win it and then we’ll finally be free!”
“Mh,” I repeated. I recognize a pipe dream when I see one, and even though I didn’t want to rain on my friend’s parade—not too much, anyway—I still felt it incumbent upon me, as Dooley’s best friend, to point out another fatal flaw in his scheme. “I’m not sure advertisers are going to pay top dollar to advertise on a show aimed solely at cats,” I said. Once again it was the gatekeeper story. It’s not cats who spend the money on food and other cat paraphernalia but their owners, and since said owners wouldn’t tune into a show with a bunch of cats meowing all over the place, I didn’t see the potential, to be honest.
I explained all this to Dooley in great detail, but failed to put a dent in his excitement.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s just like with parents, you see. When they go shopping the supermarkets put the kinds of things kids love on the lower shelves so kids will see it and grab it and put it in mom and dad’s shopping cart. People will do the same with cats. When they see a commercial for a particular brand of cat food they’ll whine and beg until their humans will click and buy the stuff.” He spread his paws. “It’s a sure-fire blockbuster, Max. And all we need is Gran to say yes and we’re off and running.”
I gave him my trademark look of skepticism but this time his spirits wouldn’t be dampened even if I threw him all the skeptical looks in the universe. He was convinced he was onto something big and he was going to see it through no matter what.
“Let’s ask Gran,” I said therefore. “See what she has to say.”
“Oh, Max, thank you!” he cried, and threw his paws around my neck and moved in for a hug.
“Yeah, yeah, all right, all right,” I said. I’m not one of those cats who go in for all the hugging and other displays of affection, but I like to make an exception for Dooley because he simply is the cuddly kind of cat. And because he’s my friend, of course.
He clasped his paws together and sighed happily. “We’re going to win this quiz show and then we’re going to get a house and then we’re going to live happily ever after, Max. Just you wait and see.”
“Sure,” I said, and promptly dozed off again.
Chapter 2
“Max. Max!”
I think I could be forgiven for thinking ‘Now what?’ when this new intrusion upon my peace and quiet came upon me.
Of course I’d immediately recognized Harriet’s voice, and for a split second I wondered about Dooley’s plan to win a house so we could both get away from the slightly annoying feline. A plan borne of desperation, granted, but a plan nonetheless. But then I cast the silly notion aside and opened my eyes to address this new emergency.
“What?” I asked as I watched the prissy white Persian stalk in my general direction.
“This simply cannot go on any longer,” said Harriet with all the forcefulness of her personality.
I would have asked at this point what exactly could not go on any longer, but I had the distinct impression I would soon be placed in possession of all the facts pertaining to the case, whether I wanted to or not.