“Do you think Johnny and Jerry can be trusted, Max?” asked Dooley as we sauntered along the sidewalk, passing the paperboy who was aiming newspapers at every porch he passed with unerring accuracy. It was a skill that must have taken him years to develop. Until one of the papers sailed through an open kitchen window and must have landed in a pot of steaming soup, for mere moments later a very irate-looking lady appeared, her face splattered with tomato soup and shaking a very angry fist at the kid, who made sure he pedaled out of reach as fast as he could.
“I’m not sure, Dooley,” I said. “They are two crooks, after all, and being crooks seems to be in their blood at this point, and it must be very hard for them to reform now, after all those years of following the criminal path.”
“I hope they can reform, because Scarlett really seems to like Johnny.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked, surprised. I’d seen firsthand how Johnny had taken a liking to Scarlett, which wasn’t so hard to imagine since most men of a certain age took a liking to her, falling frequently and fast for her allure. But it was only very rarely that Scarlett reciprocated that liking.
Dooley pointed in the direction of the corner of the street, where a cozy little patch of green had been fashioned by placing a bench underneath an old tree. On that bench Johnny and Scarlett were now sitting, and they were gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, clearly discussing something other than the interest rate policy of the Federal Reserve.
“I think it’s sweet,” said Dooley. “It proves that there is someone out there for everyone—even Johnny.”
“Do you think there’s someone out there for Jerry?” I asked. It was hard to imagine that anyone could fall for a man with the face of a rodent.
“I’m sure there is,” said Dooley, that eternal optimist.
We’d reached Main Street, and as we passed by Fido’s hair salon, we saw to our dismay that a sign was hanging on the door that announced that the shop was closed.
“Apparently Fido’s speech didn’t provide his business with a boost,” I said.
“I hope Buster is all right,” said Dooley.
We gazed at the storefront for a few wistful moments, mentally saying goodbye to a business that had gone bust, and then moved on.
Our next stop was the General Store, where our friend Kingman holds sway, and since so much had been happening lately, I felt it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to schmooze a little with the voluminous feline who always seems to know what’s going on in town, sometimes before the people involved themselves.
“Hey there, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting. The large cat was taking up a large swath of public real estate by occupying a prime spot on the pavement, and didn’t even lift his head in greeting when we walked up to him.
“Fellas,” he said lazily. The sun was out in full force, as it often is in our corner of the world, and obviously Kingman didn’t mind working on his tan a little.
“Did you hear what happened last night?” I asked, referring, of course, to the disastrous speech Fido had given to the people of his town.
“Yeah, I heard all about it,” said Kingman. “Sorry I couldn’t be there, guys, or cat choir. I had some important business to attend to.”
“What business?” I asked. I’d wondered why Kingman would skip cat choir. Usually he’s one of its fixtures, along with Shanille, the director, and all of our other friends and acquaintances.
“Oh, this and that,” he said vaguely. “Looks like Fido has finally burnt his final bridge, huh? He closed his shop this morning, after having been open one hour, and then he took off for a destination or destinations unknown, I’m afraid.”
“Where did he go?”
Kingman smiled.“I can’t fool you, can I, Max? Okay, so Buster dropped by to say goodbye. He says they’re off to California. To a place called Mount Shasta. According to Fido it’s a very spiritual place, full of his kind of people, whatever that means.”
“Fido moved to California? That was quick.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after last night’s disaster I suggested to Odelia she talk to Fido, and suggest a trip to Mount Shasta. It’s the Flat Earth Society’s headquarters.”
“Now why would you go and do a thing like that, Max?”
“I didn’t think he’d pick up on it so quickly. Actually Dooley gave me the idea.”
“Me?” asked Dooley, much surprised.
“Yes, you. With your idea about a rich family that swaps places with a poor family. In Hampton Cove Fido is just one guy calling in the desert, making him feel special, and having the effect of strengthening his convictions. Over there he’ll be one of many—just another cog in the machine.” I shrugged. “I just hope it’ll make him put things in perspective.”
“And I hope you know what you’re doing,” Kingman said. “Cause after the cold reception his little speech received, Fido clearly felt that he was no longer welcome here, so I doubt whether he’ll ever come back.” He sighed. “And of course he took Buster with him. I’m really going to miss that fella.”
We spared a moment for Buster, and I had to admit I felt a pang of regret. Buster had been a part of our lives for such a long time. I just hoped my gamble was successful.
“Look, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry,” said Kingman, as he made a concerted effort to raise himself up from the sidewalk and move inside the store and into the cooling shade. Once there, he proceeded to gobble down a couple of nuggets from his bowl, then sat back, produced a tiny burp and said, “Dig in, fellas. I feel generous.”
We could hardly believe our luck, since Kingman isn’t always so forthcoming with his kibble, and so we didn’t need to be told twice and dug in with relish.
“Great stuff,” said Dooley. “We should tell Odelia to buy some of this for us, Max.”
“It’s something new. Wilbur got it in last week. Tastes great, doesn’t it?”
I had my mouth full of kibble, so I couldn’t immediately respond, so I simply nodded my agreement. It was, indeed, some pretty good stuff.
“Okay, you twisted my paw. I’ll tell you what’s going on,” suddenly Kingman said. “Wilbur’s found himself a girlfriend, okay? And so now I don’t know what to do. I mean, on the one hand I’m happy for the guy, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echoed, still savoring the taste of that fine kibble.
“But on the other hand… What if she’s not a friend of cats? And what if this becomes serious and she decides to move in and kick me out?”
It was the eternal dilemma of a cat: some people like cats, such as there are the Pooles, and of course Wilbur Vickery. But others hate cats with a vengeance. And there doesn’t seem to be a position in between. Either it’s a full-blown love affair between man and beast, or it’s an unreasonable hatred that can’t be remedied.
“Who is she?” I asked, much surprised that Wilbur had found himself a girlfriend. The man is like the anti-catnip for women. He repels them, if you see what I mean.
“Oh, some writer he met,” said Kingman.
“A writer?” said Dooley. “I didn’t know Wilbur could read.”
“He can read,” said Kingman, “but he doesn’t believe in books. He feels they’re a waste of time.”
“So how did he land himself a writer girlfriend,” I asked, “if he doesn’t even like reading books?”
“I’m betting he probably lied his ass off and told her he’s some kind of latter-day Shakespeare.”
“He lies to get dates?”
“Always. It only takes one date for them to catch on, though. So it surprised me when he went on his second date last night.” He made a face. “So you understand I wasn’t in the mood to go and listen to Fido’s crazy ramblings, entertaining though they must have been. I was too busy worrying about Wilbur’s date trying to convince him that all cats are evil and need to be chucked out and driven back to hell whence they came. Wilbur had invited her back to our place, you see, and had actually cooked a meal, so that told me things were getting serious. And it wasn’t a disaster either. The man had lit candles, and had cooked a nice lobster dinner for the lady. And I was on my best behavior, of course, hoping to make a good impression and not get kicked out when she moves in.”