“You’re in downtown Hampton Cove,” I told him. “There’re humans everywhere.”
“Just like there are killer fleas everywhere,” said Dooley somberly.
“For the hundredth time, there are no killer fleas,” I said emphatically.
“Only there are.”
“Not.”
“Kingman knows!”
“Kingman is nuts!”
“Look, if you’re going to keep yapping like this I’m gonna go ahead and move to the next gutter,” said the opossum. “How can I play dead with all this yapping going on?”
“Tell him there are no killer fleas,” I told the opossum.
“There are no killer fleas,” said the opossum. “There. Happy now?”
“You’re just saying that to get rid of me,” said Dooley.
“You’re right. He’s right,” he told me. “I do want to get rid of him. Both of youse, actually. Then again, every idiot knows killer fleas don’t exist. Who put that crazy idea in your noggin?”
“Kingman,” we both said in unison.
“Kingman as in the fat cat that squats in front of the General Store?”
I nodded. “He seems to think the Deep State sent a limo to Hampton Cove that contains a cat that infests the local cat population with killer fleas as a test case for a national pandemic to occur at some point in the near future that will kill all cats everywhere.”
The opossum, contrary to its desire to remain inconspicuous, emitted a raucous laugh. “And you morons believe that load of crap? Cats are even dumber than I thought!”
“Dooley believes that load of crap—I don’t,” I clarified.
“I’m starting to have my doubts,” Dooley said now. It’s never fun to be insulted by an opossum, and it appeared this particular opossum was having better luck convincing Dooley Kingman was an idiot than I was.
“Mind you, getting rid of all cats nationwide is something I can only applaud. Then again, since it’s a bogus notion, there’s not much sense yapping about it. So why don’t you both move right along and I can go back to doing what I do best: playing dead opossum.”
“But what about the limo?” asked Dooley. “It sounds so… specific.”
“Oh, there is a limo out there, all right,” said the opossum. “I’ve seen it. But no killer fleas, unfortunately.”
“You’ve seen the limo?” I asked.
The opossum sighed. “If I tell you will you finally go away?”
“I promise we’ll go away and you can do what you do best,” I said.
“Every night, a limo passes through town. Its windows are tinted, its lights are dimmed, and inside is a lustful roving animal, hunting the streets of Hampton Cove in search of females. Once he’s set his eyes on a particular prey, the limo driver pulls over, the door opens, and Limo Cat invites his clueless victim into the limo. And since all cats are idiots, all cats accept the offer, step into the limo, and are never seen or heard from again.” When he saw the horrified looks on our faces, he laughed. “That last part’s not true. I made that up. But I did see that limo pull over a couple of nights ago, and I did see a cat get in and the limo take off. What I didn’t see were killer fleas or government spooks or any other crazy stuff.”
“So… where did you see that limo, exactly?” I asked.
But I was talking to a dead opossum. Or a method actor playing a dead opossum.
Chapter 5
We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the roof of The Hungry Pipe, one of Hampton Cove’s cat population’s favorite hangouts, mainly because the owner likes to store his restaurant’s trash on the roof before transferring it to the alley below for collection.
“Nothing!” Brutus said when we’d finally navigated the fire escape and arrived up top. “We talked to everyone we know up and down the street and they all told us the same thing: whoever or whatever caused this infestation will always remain a secret.”
“No, it won’t,” I told him, and proceeded to clue him and Harriet in on the little secret Kingman had shared.
“The opossum said that,” said Harriet, not concealing her disbelief. “A dead opossum. Seriously.”
“It wasn’t dead,” said Dooley. “It was just pretending to be dead, like opossums do.”
“So a dead opossum and Kingman, the biggest con cat in all of Hampton Cove, think a cat in a limo caused all this.” She rolled her eyes, and very expressively so, too. “Puh-lease. That is just ridiculous.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” said Dooley. “The opossum wasn’t really dead. It was just pretending to be dead. And he said he actually saw that Limo Cat with his own eyes and…” Harriet gave him a look of such hauteur he stopped mid-sentence.
“Limo Cat. Huh,” said Brutus, though judging from the smirk he was displaying he had a hard time giving credence to the story as well.
“Look, I don’t care if you believe us or not,” I said, “but the fact remains that two witnesses so far told us about this limo and I, for one, would like to try and find Kingman’s friend—the one who got into the limo and when she got out was infested with the bugs.”
“Will you look at that?” said Harriet, and I had the impression she wasn’t referring to me or the bugs or even the fake-dead opossum. When I turned to look, I saw she was actually talking about a small troupe of cats who had just arrived on the rooftop, and who were now going through a series of highly vigorous warm-up routines.
“It’s the Most Interesting Cats in the World,” said Brutus, fascinated by the sight.
“I know who they are, Brutus,” snapped Harriet. “And if you ask me they’re not as interesting as they make themselves out to be.”
“Oh, for sure,” said Brutus, his eyes riveted on the cats. “Not interesting at all. Absolutely uninteresting, in fact.”
The cats had spotted us, and trotted up limberly. “Hey, cats of Hampton Cove,” said the leader, a butch cat called Princess. “Are you here to spy on the competition?”
Harriet frowned. “Competition?”
“Yeah, the contest? You are going to Vegas, right? For the Ultimate Cat Show?”
“Um, no,” said Harriet, as if Vegas was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
“Oh, too bad,” said Princess. “Always fun to demolish the other teams, especially when they’re as weak and pathetic as you guys obviously are.” She laughed a very unpleasant laugh. “At least if that performance at the park was any indication.”
“We’re not show cats,” Dooley explained. “We’re cat sleuths, actually.”
“Cat sleuths!” cried Princess, almost choking. “Of course you are.” She gave us a look of disdain, only matched by the one her teammates gave us. “And what have you been sleuthing lately? How to get rid of your silly little flea infestation? Oh, yes, we’ve heard all about that, haven’t we, ladies?”
The other cats nodded, producing scornful sounds.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Harriet.
“Show cats like us don’t get infested with fleas,” said Princess. “Gorgeous cats like us are too well-groomed to attract common vermin.” At the mention of the word vermin she cut an up-and-down glance at Harriet that made the latter’s blood boil, if the steam flowing from her ears was any indication. “Because as you know, vermin attracts vermin, girl.”
“Are you calling me vermin?” demanded Harriet, eyes glittering dangerously.
“If the shoe fits…”
“Why, you horrible little—”
“Ooh, I think we’ve got ourselves a challenger, sisters,” said Princess.
“Bring it,” said Beca, the Most Attractive Cat in the World.
“Let’s do this,” said Chloe, the Most Intriguing Cat in the World.
“We’ve got this, sisters!” exclaimed Aubrey, the Most Iconic Cat in the World.
“Hit it!” hollered Fat Amy, the Sexiest Cat Alive.
And before we could stop them, the quintet were shaking and quaking their booties as they moved into some sort of convulsive dance routine. I’d seen them in action before, and they were pretty amazing. The show they now provided was equally entertaining, with snatches from several hit songs. Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack sounded familiar, as did Uptown Funk and even Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You. Before long, the roof was filled with cats of all shapes and sizes, cheering on the Most Interesting Cats troupe and whooping it up.