“Eww, Dooley! I do not want you to chew my food for me! All I’m asking—and if it’s too much to ask, just tell me—is that you keep an eye on my caloric intake.”
“Your colic…”
“Caloric.”
“Um…”
“Just make sure she doesn’t eat junk food,” Brutus clarified.
Dooley gave me a look of surprise. If ever there was a cat who doesn’t allow anyone to come between her and a nice bowl of junk food, it was Harriet. The more additives and colorants and artificial flavoring her wet food contains, the better she likes it. Then again, I guess all cats love the tasty stuff. I know I do. But that doesn’t mean I’d attack the person denying it to me with tooth and claw.
“Okay,” said Dooley finally, but I could tell that his excitement had waned.
“So Max,” said Harriet, “first thing every morning, I want a status report.”
“Gotcha,” I said.
“And Dooley, you make sure I stick to a healthy and nutritious diet.”
“Oh, all right,” my friend murmured.
“And me?” asked Brutus. “What do you want me to do, honey blossom?”
Harriet offered her mate a bright smile.“You are my motivation coach, sugar plum. You make sure my energy levels are at an all-time high, all the time. Make sure I’m happy, happy, happy, and keep anything that might upset me away from me. Because we all know that what really matters isn’t what’s down here,” she said, making a circular motion encompassing her face, but what’s up here.” She tapped her noggin. “It’s all about the psychology, baby!”
“Yes, baby!” Brutus echoed, but judging from the look of anguish that I could read in his eyes, his own psychology was in need of a high-energy boost, too!
CHAPTER 4
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
Harriet had finally left, summoning Dooley to join her in the kitchen so they could go over her dietary plan for the next couple of days—until the photoshoot that would immortalize her as a cover model for the iconic magazineCat Life. Brutus turned to me with a distraught sort of look in his eyes.“Tell me the truth, Max. This is pretty much a mission impossible, isn’t it?”
“What is?” I asked, fluffing up that nice new comforter. It had to be said: Chase has great taste when it comes to selecting bedding. I liked the man’s style.
“Making sure nothing upsets Harriet,” he said.
I noticed now for the first time that a gray hair had inserted itself amongst my friend’s black fur. Now I know that one gray hair does not an old cat make, but it was a definite sign that being Harriet’s mate was wearing my friend out.
I decided not to draw Brutus’s attention to the gray hair. And besides, it might simply be something he picked up from lying on the floor. Or even cuddling with his mate, whose fur is as pure and white as the driven snow.
“It is tough to make sure nothing upsets one who’s so easily upset,” I admitted. “Which is why I don’t think you should have accepted the assignment in the first place.”
“See? What did I tell you? A mission impossible. Not even Ethan Hunt could keep Harriet happy and energized all the time.”
“And nor should you,” I pointed out. “It’s not your job to keep Harriet happy, Brutus. And besides, happiness is overrated. Cats are simply not designed to be happy all the time. Sometimes we’re up and sometimes we’re down, and that’s just the way it is. Nothing you or me can do aboutit. Such is life, after all.”
“Too true,” he said as he jumped up on the bed and had a lie-down.
“And besides, what does it matter if she’s happy or sad? As long as she’s shining on the day, that’s the important thing. And trust me when I tell you that whoeverCat Life has on their payroll to take these pictures is going to be someone who knows what they’re doing. A cat whisperer, if you will, who can tease the perfect pose out of whatever cat they plunk underneath those bright lights.”
My little pep talk didn’t miss its effect, for I could see him perk up. “So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest you do exactly what you always do: be a loving partner to Harriet. And I think you’ll find that’s pretty much all you can do. The rest is up to her.”
He sighed contentedly.“When did you become such a clever kitty, Max?”
I shrugged.“Just common sense, I guess. And now let’s enjoy this nice new comforter, before the newness wears off.”
“Before you leave your orange fluff all over it, you mean.”
“Blorange, Brutus,” I murmured. “Blorange, not orange.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]
As we all know, the task of clearing out one’s attic is a humongous one, which is why most people put it off for as long as there is space to cram just one more item up there. Then, and only then, do they cross off a date on their calendar to venture into this heroic undertaking.
Lucky for Tex, he wasn’t alone in having to tackle such an important job. His son-in-law, stalwart cop Chase Kingsley, had kindly volunteered to give him a helping hand. The fact that Marge had told Odelia to tell Chase to pitch in was neither here nor there, and not an aspect of the matter Chase had bothered to mention to his father-in-law.
And so it was that both men lugged old carpets down the stairs, an ancient roll-top desk that had belonged to Vesta’s grandfather, and even a couple of bulky typewriters that dated back to the time when Tex’s grandad had had ambitions to become the next Harold Robbins, back when Mr. Robbins was still thene plus ultra of bestselling authors.
All this routing around a dusty old attic and carrying stuff here and there makes a person thirsty, and so in between all this physical activity, they took regular breaks in the kitchen, to sip down some cooling lemonade.
“Dad?” asked Chase as he first wiped his brow then his lips. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Shoot, son,” said Tex. Once upon a time he had shivered violently when being addressed by this young whippersnapper as ‘Dad,’ but the fever had long since passed. Nowadays he enjoyed having a son, and not having had to pay for his upbringing, or struggle through those awful teenage years, when boys grow a mullet or a mohawk, and announce they want to be the next Bieber or Dave Grohl.
“How did you ever become such a great dad, Dad?”
Tex, who’d been in the process of biting down on an apple, paused and adopted a weary look. Parental advice. Always a tough proposition.
“I mean, now that I have a kid of my own, I find myself wondering what constitutes a great dad, you know? And I know you did such a great job with Odelia, that I’ll bet you’ve got some amazing tips to share with a new dad like me.”
Tex nodded, chewing his apple meditatively, and stalling for time.
“Because to be honest? Half the time I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.”
Nor did Tex, but he wasn’t going to admit that and fall off the pedestal Chase had just put him on. Since people rarely put him on a pedestal, he quite enjoyed the experience. “Well…” he said. “First off, thanks for calling me a great dad.”
“Well, you obviously are,” said Chase. “Just look at Odelia, and what a wonderful person she turned out to be.”
“Odelia is a wonderful person, that’s true,” said Tex.
“She’s the best.”
“Like you say, she’s the best.”
“So what’s the secret, Dad? What’s the secret to being a good dad?”
“I’ll tell you what the secret is,” said Tex finally, having given the matter some thought—the first time in his life he had, in fact. “It’s being a role model, son.”
“Uh-huh. Makes sense.”
“Setting a good example.”
“Okay.”
“And most importantly: by always being positive and upbeat.” He wagged a finger in his son-in-law’s face. “Never let them see you sad, kid. That’s the secret.”
“Never let them see you sad,” Chase repeated, clearly in awe of these wise words. “I like it, Dad. I really do. Never let them see you sad. Simple but brilliant.”