“That must be it,” Dooley agreed as he finished circling a favored spot and finally deigned it with his presence. “Odd thatwe never get a pain in the neck, isn’t it, Max? I mean, we never use ergonomic pillows and we’re always fine.”
“That’s because the human anatomy is vastly inferior to the feline anatomy,” I said. “When God created man he made a few mistakes, which he decided to rectify when he created the feline, which is why cats ended up being a superior species.”
“What mistakes?” asked Dooley, curious now.
“Well, the human head weighs about eleven pounds, and all of that weight has to be supported by seven vertebrae and around twenty muscles. That’s a lot of weight being brought to bear on the poor neck. Add to that the fact that most people now go through life glancing at their mobile phones on a practically continuous basis, and the pressure increases manyfold.” I was warming to my subject now, and felt like a professor standing in front of an auditorium of eager pupils soaking up his wisdom. “When a human holds their head at a forty-five-degree angle the weight on the neck increases to almost fifty pounds.”
“That’s a lot of weight,” Dooley marveled.
“Yeah, it’s a miracle humans can still function.”
“It’s all because of gravity, though, isn’t it, Max?”
“Possibly,” I said, yawning cavernously.
“If gravity wasn’t pulling on them so much they wouldn’t need ergonomic pillows or walking sticks or even walkers.”
When we were out and about in Hampton Cove the day before, we’d come across an old lady with a walker, which had caused Dooley to marvel at this curious invention.
“True,” I admitted.
“I mean, I’ve never seen a cat with a walker before—have you?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” I agreed.
“Must be because we’re so much smaller than humans, and we don’t walk upright. And so the forces of gravity affect us a lot less than they do humans.”
“Mh,” I said, my eyes drooping closed as sleep got ready to envelop me.
“So the obvious solution would be to dial down this gravity thing, Max.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?”
“I don’t know. But there must be a way. Scientists are clever.”
“Not that clever.”
“Well, anyway,” Dooley insisted stubbornly. “They need to fix this thing, Max. And then Chase wouldn’t need this silly pillow of his, with all these funny bumps.”
“You can have Odelia’s pillow tomorrow,” I murmured, correctly surmising that this might be the real issue at stake here, not gravity or the essential frailty of the human neck. I opened one eye to regard my friend. He was smiling at me.
“Thanks, Max,” he said with a touch of emotion.
“You’re very welcome, buddy.”
“We could create a schedule. I could take Odelia’s pillow on the even days of the month, and then you could take it on the odd days. What do you say?”
“I say it’s a deal,” I said sleepily.
This matter laid to rest to our mutual satisfaction, we settled in for the duration. And I’d just descended into the land of dreams, where life is grand and the scent of fried chicken is theparfum du jour, when the sound of stomping feet on the stairs told me the house wasn’t as fully devoid of life as we’d surmised.
Moments later Gran burst into the room, glanced around with a feverish sort of look on her face, and said,“Have you seen Grace? Where is Grace? Tell me!”
“I have absolutely no idea,” I said truthfully. After all, I’m not my human’s daughter’s keeper. Gran is Grace’s designated babysitter on those days when the daycare center is closed—which fortunately for Gran—and Grace—rarely happens. “Isn’t she at the daycare center?”
A sort of pensive look stole over Gran’s face, then finally a smile spread across those same craggy dales and valleys and she pointed a stubby finger in my direction. “Max, you’re absolutely right. Thank God! I thought I lost her!”
And with these words, she stomped out again.
Dooley and I exchanged a puzzled glance.
“Gravity seems to affect Gran’s head as much as it affects Chase’s neck,” Dooley commented.
“You might well be correct, Dooley,” I said.
Though it might not be gravity causing Gran to become confused about Grace’s whereabouts. At any rate, it was something we clearly needed to bring to Odelia’s attention. It’s one thing to forget where you put your keys, but quite another when you can’t remember where you’ve put your great-granddaughter.
CHAPTER 6
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My peaceful date with Odelia’s pillow was once again interrupted when Brutus came sidling into the room. Our butch black friend was acting furtive, and kept looking over his shoulder. Lowering his voice, he said, “Max! I need a word!”
“Grace is at the daycare center,” Dooley said. “So you didn’t lose her, Brutus.”
Brutus gave Dooley an odd look, then hopped onto the bed and whispered,“It’s Harriet. She’s been acting strange lately!”
I would have told him that he was no stranger in the acting strange department, but decided to hold my tongue. Instead, I said,“What do you mean?”
“Yes, strange how, Brutus?” Dooley asked, intrigued by this news.
“Furtive, if you know what I mean,” said Brutus. “Sneaking out of the house at all hours of the day and night, and not telling me where she’s going. Giving me weird glances when she thinks I’m not looking.”
“What kind of weird glances?” asked Dooley, resting his head on his front paws. “Can you give us an example?”
Brutus looked uncomfortable. It’s one thing to describe a glance, but quite another to attempt to recreate it. He now rearranged his features into a sort of constipated look, as if he was having a bowel movement but it hadn’t decided yet whether it was coming or going.
“Please don’t do doo-doo on the duvet,” Dooley said, who’d interpreted the look the same way I had. “Chase might kick us out and get a dog instead.”
“I’m not going to doo-doo on the duvet!” said Brutus, dropping the whispery voice he’d been employing. “This is how Harriet has been looking at me.”
“Mh,” I said, finding it hard to imagine that Harriet, who’s a real Persian in every sense of the word, would ever lower herself to looking like this.
“I’m telling you she’s harboring some kind of secret,” said Brutus. “And I want you guys to find out what it is. Cause she’s not telling me, and it’s driving me nuts!”
“I think Harriet’s secret is probably that she needs to do doo-doo but is unable to,” Dooley surmised. “In which case she needs to go and see Vena.”
“Can’t,” I said. “Vena is at that same tennis do with Marge and Tex.”
“Tennis doo-doo?” asked Dooley.
“Tennis do, not doo-doo,” I clarified.
Dooley laughed.“I thought so! I can’t even imagine what a tennis doo-doo would look like! Probably a doo-doo with a yellow streak and fuzz on top!”
I let him enjoy his little joke, then got down to brass tacks.“To be honest I haven’t noticed anything strange in Harriet’s behavior, Brutus,” I said. “But if you want I’ll have a word with her. Try and find out what’s going on?”
“Oh, would you, Max?” said Brutus, gratitude making his voice wobbly. “I’m going absolutely crazy with this thing. I keep thinking she’s having an affair.”
“Now why would Harriet be having an affair?” I said, giving our friend a reassuring pat on the back. “We all know she’s crazy about you, buddy.”
“I don’t know about that. Lately she’s been acting very cold. You know, unaffectionate.”
“You mean…” I produced a delicate cough. It’s one thing to pour your heart out to a friend, but quite another to discuss the intimate details of one’s relationship.