The Spy Who Killed Me

They say that all good things come in threes, but also that misfortunes never come singly, so I’ll let you decide which of these proverbs applies to the following situation: first we discovered that a thief had been stealing our litter, thereby preventing us from doing our business the way we like to do it. And then one of our country’s most beloved actors was found murdered aboard his private yacht, with plenty of suspects likely to have done the deed. And if that wasn’t enough, Gran and Scarlett decided to reform the Neighborhood Watch Committee and actively insert themselves into the investigation, wreaking havoc and mayhem at every turn. In other words: troubled times lay ahead in Hampton Cove, that peaceful little town on the East Coast that always seems to teeter on the verge of disaster.

Jane Collins was walking along the quay and gazing out at the pretty boats and yachts that were moored in the Hampton Cove marina. It was a nice change of pace from being cooped up inside her home, where she had been hunched over her latest sewing pattern design. As a fashion designer, Jane had made quite a name for herself on sites like Etsy, selling her patterns to a great number of happy customers.

She wouldn’t have minded boarding one of these yachts now, she thought as she looked upon their owners and passengers with a certain measure of envy. What she wouldn’t give to be far away from Hampton Cove and to lie on deck, her hand trailing in the warm azure waters of some tropical paradise, cloud gazing and generally letting the world go by. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from what she was used to. As a mother of four, she knew what responsibility was, and had been taking care of her offspring and her husband Bert for so long now that she often forgot that she also existed and also had a right to lead an exciting, wonderful and fulfilling life. Not that her patterns didn’t give her a certain measure of satisfaction, and she certainly had received plenty of acclaim. Only not from the people who really mattered to her.

Which was why she was now walking along the marina and wondering about the choices she’d made. If she hadn’t married Bert, for instance, but decided to somehow hang on to the other man in her life—in many respects the only man she had ever loved. She hadn’t seen Robert in years, which hadn’t stopped her from wondering if her life would have been different if they had stayed together. The man had certainly done very well for himself. So much so that he was being presented with an award by the Hampton Cove Chamber of Commerce. Ever since she had heard the news that her ex-boyfriend would be in town, she had felt unusually restless and wondered if she shouldn’t leave town while he was there, almost as if she wanted to avoid him. On the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to clap eyes on the man who had broken her heart twenty-five years ago.

She paused for a moment in front of a particularly huge yacht that lay at anchor. Called the Aurora, she was sleek and gorgeous, and as Jane stood admiring her graceful lines, suddenly a person emerged on deck who looked vaguely familiar. But as she looked closer, she realized it was none other than Robert himself. He looked older, of course, but still as handsome as ever. He must have recognized her, too, for he did a double take, then slowly removed his sunglasses as he took her in. For a moment, the two ex-lovers simply stared at each other, then Jane saw that a single tear glistened in the man’s eye, which is when she decided that maybe second chances existed after all, and she set her foot onto the gangway and stepped aboard.

Dooley had been snoring softly and was generally lost to the world when a strange sound made him prick up his ears and immediately return to full wakefulness. The sound seemed to come from somewhere nearby, and even though his first thought was that Max had produced the sound, upon further inspection he discovered that his friend was still sleeping peacefully by his side and hadn’t moved an inch since they had fallen asleep together on the couch.

Dooley now lifted his head to take in the rest of the living room, turning his ears like antennae to scan his surroundings for a bead on the source of the sound, but try as he might, his ultra-sensitive ears could not pick up the sound again. Almost as if its design had been to bring him out of his peaceful slumber and then down tools, knowing its work was done and nothing more was required.

He yawned and stretched and decided to have a bite to eat, take a trip to his litter box, and generally do what cats do when they wake up and before they go right back to sleep. It wasn’t too much to say that today was a day like most other days, with the marked difference that he didn’t think the sun had been out in such splendor in quite a while. Hampton Cove had been blessed with plenty of rain lately, but now nature had apparently decided that enough was enough and had turned off the tap, bathing the world in a sunny glow for the first time in about a week. Nature was celebrating, for the birds were tweeting up a storm outside, the bushes and trees in the backyard all looked green and lush, and even the lawn looked as if it was in urgent need of a trim.

As he walked to the kitchen to see if his bowls were still filled to his satisfaction, Dooley noticed that the pet flap was gently swinging, as if someone had recently passed through there and had quickly left again when they became aware of his presence. He didn’t pay any mind to the strange phenomenon, figuring it was probably either Brutus or Harriet, the other two cats in their household. In due course he reached his bowls, and saw they still contained sufficient amounts of the good stuff, then made a beeline for his litter box for a tinkle. And that’s when things turned a little weird. For when he arrived there, he saw that all the litter was gone, and not just in his personal litter box but also in Max’s!

For a moment he simply stared at his empty box, scratching his head in wonder. That someone would have entered the house through the pet door to steal food from his bowl or drink his water was something he could have wrapped his head around, but why would anyone decide to steal his litter? As far as he knew, litter wasn’t one of the major food groups. It wasn’t nutritious, and possibly might even be harmful when ingested. And as he sat staring at his empty litter box, the front door of the house opened and closed, and moments later Odelia entered the kitchen, Grace on her arm, and he shared with her the gist of his complaint. Namely, that as a healthy grown-up kitty, he wasn’t merely in regular need of sustenance but also of a receptacle to deposit the end result of his mastication and digestive processes.

Odelia, who clearly was as surprised as he was, promised she would look into the matter post-haste. At which point she simply walked out of the kitchen and left Dooley to his own devices, making him wonder if maybe he had failed to impress upon her the urgency of his request. Then again, he now realized she had looked a little distracted. In fact, she had only listened to him in a sort of half-hearted way and looked upon him as only a human could: her eyes seeing him, her ears hearing him, but her mind a million miles away. Almost as if she was dealing with problems of her own. Which was impossible, of course, for what could be more important than a sneak thief who went around stealing litter from innocent cats?

Shaking his head at such a lack of cooperation, he decided to return to the couch and pour his lament into Max’s ears. Max would listen. Max would understand what was going on here, and most importantly, Max would act and fix things. Max always did. Dooley didn’t know how, but his friend was one of the great fixers in the world. Anything that was wrong, anything that went missing, any person or persons engaged in some form of wrongdoing, Max managed to right those wrongs and generally make things fine again. It was his greatest quality and what had made him Hampton Cove’s very own feline Sherlock Holmes. And the great benefit of being friends with such a powerhouse of detection was that Dooley had access to that formidable brain at all times, which was both a blessing and a curse. A curse in the sense that a lot of people lay claim to Max’s time, often causing Dooley’s problems to take a back seat, just as they now had with Odelia. But also a blessing, for often Max only needed a single word to know how to proceed. But as he now approached the couch with the intention of uttering just this single word to place his friend in possession of the facts pertaining to the strange case of the missing litter, he saw that of his friend… there was not a single trace!

Somehow, in the five minutes that Dooley had been gone, Max had skedaddled. This made Dooley realize that the worst had happened—the thing he had feared the most for the longest time. Along with his litter, this mysterious sneak thief had also… stolen Max!

Odelia wasn’t feeling at the top of her game. Not only did she have several articles to finish and multiple looming deadlines hanging over her head like the proverbial swords of Damocles, but the woman who ran the daycare Grace attended had sent a message in the parents’ WhatsApp group stating that due to a family emergency, the daycare would be closed for the next couple of days. This meant alternative solutions had to be found. Consequently, Odelia had paid scant attention to Dooley’s litter lament and had immediately rushed out the door in search of her grandmother, hoping she would find the old lady next door.

She found Gran gazing intently at a caterpillar that had taken up position underneath a leaf on one of her precious rose bushes, seemingly transfixed on the bug. Observing the intensity with which her grandmother regarded the caterpillar, Odelia thought she wanted to zap it with her eyes, laser-beam it into oblivion. When Odelia cleared her throat to alert her of her presence, Gran redirected her gaze and, for a moment, something stirred within Odelia as she experienced the full impact of the old lady’s baleful eye. But then Gran’s gaze softened, and she even managed a smile. She probably had realized that Odelia was not a caterpillar.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on that one,” she announced. “The old Vesta would have killed it dead, but the new Vesta wants to protect life. It’s all about the preservation of life, you see. If we want to save the planet from destruction, we need to do it one caterpillar at a time.”

“So you’re going to let it eat your plants?” Odelia asked, surprised by this position.

“I didn’t say I’m going to stand idly by and watch it destroy my lovely garden,” Gran replied. “I said I’m keeping an eye on the little bugger. And if I see it take so much as one bite out of this here rose bush of mine, I’m going to pounce.” She wagged a bony finger at the caterpillar. “Consider this your first warning, buster! One bite and you’re out. Is that clear?”

“Gran, could you babysit Grace for me? Chantal at the daycare sent a message saying she’s dealing with a family emergency and she has to close the daycare for the next couple of days.”

“Oh, sure, honey,” her grandmother said vaguely, her attention still riveted on the caterpillar, indicating she wasn’t paying much attention elsewhere.

“Could you do it now?” asked Odelia. “I’m already late for work. I didn’t see Chantal’s message until I arrived at the daycare with Grace.” She hadn’t been the only one either. Three other moms had also arrived, surprised to find the daycare closed for the day, with a sign on the door informing them of Chantal’s unexpected unavailability. It was highly unusual since Chantal Jones was a most conscientious and dedicated daycare owner, who loved the kids in her care as if they were her own. For her to suddenly close up shop was disconcerting, and when Odelia had more time to spare, she would definitely pay her a visit and see what was going on. She sincerely hoped Chantal wouldn’t be inconvenienced indefinitely. Otherwise she’d have to find a different daycare, which might prove to be a tough proposition, as most of them were already full and didn’t accept any new charges, especially a couple dozen of them.

“Sure, sure,” said Gran with a wave of the hand. “Just leave it with me.”

She would have pointed out that her daughter was not an ‘it’ but a ‘she,’ but then she knew it would be pointless. Once Gran had her mind set on something, it was pretty much impossible to shift it. So she placed Grace on the porch swing, kissed the top of her head, and hurried off again. Not only did she have several articles to write, but she also had an interview scheduled with the one and only Robert Ross, the multimillionaire actor whose yacht had arrived in the Hampton Cove marina just the other day and had attracted so much attention.

Robert Ross was a local man who had left his home town many years ago to try his hand at different endeavors. According to local lore, he had worked as a handyman in a maharajah’s harem, had competed in several boat races alongside the Prince of Brunei, and had even been the personal bodyguard of the Crown Prince of Jordan. He earned the man’s eternal gratitude when he saved his life from an assassination attempt. During that particular act of heroism, he had sustained a gunshot wound to the stomach, which had been successfully remedied with the first pig-to-human stomach transplant in history, earning him an entry in the Guinness Book of Records.

After his checkered career, he had been selected as the next James Fox, and had now finished no less than six very successful Fox movies in a row, becoming one of the most popular actors ever to play that famous British spy. In other words, the man was a legend. When the rumor spread that his yacht was arriving in the marina, all of Hampton Cove showed up to greet him and give him a hero’s welcome. Even Mayor Butterwick and Odelia’s uncle had been there, although the latter’s presence was for professional reasons only, to prevent anyone from trespassing or assaulting Mr. Ross aboard his vessel.

She hopped into her pickup and raced away, although the behavior of her aged Ford pickup was more akin to rattling away, as the noise the car made could probably be heard three streets over. She really should get a new one, but when she had asked Dan if he couldn’t by any chance provide her with a company car, the editor had chuckled amusedly, pointing out that the newspaper trade was a dying industry and she was lucky to still have a job. Perks like company cars were not in the cards, unfortunately, and would never be as long as she insisted on working as a reporter, as opposed to, say, an investment banker or a stock broker.

She arrived at the marina in due course and parked her car between a Porsche Cayenne and a Tesla, doing her best not to scratch either. She knew that these wealthy yacht owners didn’t take kindly to scratches on their precious cars’ paintwork. She hurried across the boardwalk to the quay where all the fancy yachts were moored. It didn’t take her long to spot the Aurora, Robert Ross’s personal yacht. It was easily the largest one in the small harbor. Recently, the marina had been completely redesigned and now featured a few luxury boutiques and fancy restaurants catering to the yacht owners who liked to visit these shops before heading into town. A more rustic experience awaited them there. If it were up to Charlene Butterwick, she would probably redesign all of Hampton Cove. However, she would face opposition from the locals, most of whom preferred things the way they were and had always been. Not that Odelia could blame them. Hampton Cove was a pretty pleasant town, even though it appeared a little sleepy to the more hip and cool segment of the tourist class.

She stepped onto the gangway to board the vessel, hoping Mr. Ross wouldn’t be too upset that she was running late. But when she arrived on board, she was surprised to find that the yacht seemed to be deserted. Normally, for a man of Mr. Ross’s stature, she had expected to encounter a small regiment of security personnel, personal assistants, and other crew members. However, she had boarded the vessel without being stopped, causing her forehead to wrinkle up in a frown. Having been on yachts before, she had some understanding of how they operated. Therefore, she headed to the bridge first, hoping to find a sign of life. The door was, of course, locked, which was understandable. As she walked along the deck, lightly placing her hand on the bulwark, she traversed the vessel from bow to stern. To her disappointment, she found no trace of the famous movie actor.

She had reached the stern of the yacht and gazed up at the upper deck, where she knew a Jacuzzi and a small pool were located from the pictures she had seen. But there was still no sign of the boat’s current resident. That’s when she decided to climb the small metal ladder leading to the upper decks, hoping to find the actor sunbathing on the top deck, possibly having fallen asleep and forgotten all about their meeting. As she rounded the corner, she laid eyes on the small pool, a gorgeous azure blue in contrast to the beige wood of the deck, and noticed something floating in it. Moving closer, she saw that it was a person’s body. Without a moment’s hesitation, she jumped into the pool, swam with a couple of powerful strokes of her arms to reach the person, and started dragging the lifeless body back to the side of the pool.

Moments later, with a supreme effort, she hoisted the body out of the water and placed it face up on the decking. It was Robert Ross, and he appeared very much dead.

When Dooley started messing about in the kitchen, and then Odelia walked in with Grace on her arm, I decided to desert my pleasant spot on the couch and go in search of more peaceful pastures to continue my nap in an uninterrupted fashion. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy consuming my naps in one long session. So, I relocated to the rose bushes at the bottom of the garden, hoping to find them uninhabited by our housemates Brutus and Harriet, who often like to spend time there, engaged in their lovey-dovey activities.

I was in luck, as I found the location free of any lovers, whether pet or otherwise, and with a sigh of relish, I settled down for the long haul. Or at least that was my intention. It soon became clear to me that it simply was not to be. Above me, an insect that looked vaguely familiar drew my attention to its plight, and before long, it was talking a mile a minute.

“Yo, Max,” said the creature, which at this point I had positively identified as a caterpillar, “I’ve got a problem that’s been giving me a headache.”

I had the impression that the caterpillar was about to transfer this headache to me if I didn’t get to take my nap, but nevertheless, I asked, “What is it?”

“Well, I’ve been hounded by this huge monstrous beast that seems intent on eating me, for some reason I can’t possibly fathom.”

“What beast, and why does it want to eat you?” I asked as I marveled at the mass of feet this creature had. I wondered how it never got them entangled. I guess there must be some kind of system in place.

“I’m not sure,” said the caterpillar. “Oh, my name is Joe, by the way.”

“Max,” I said, “but then I guess you already knew that.”

“Of course!” said Joe. “Who doesn’t know the great Max? So the thing is, I’ve been hanging out here and minding my own business, when all of a sudden, this huge… thing homes in on me. Sometimes it’s carrying a can and threatens to ‘zap me to kingdom come.’ Other times it tries to grab me and says it will ‘turn me to mush.’ Now, is that nice, Max? Is that kind? No, it sure ain’t. So, I would like you to go and talk to this monster and tell it to lay off already. As far as I can tell, I never did anything to upset the beast, and still, it keeps hounding me!”

“What does this beast look like?” I asked.

“Like a scarecrow,” said Joe, “but uglier.”

“Okay, so an ugly scarecrow.”

“Exactly. And it’s not just me this scarecrow keeps harassing. It’s been happening to all of my friends too. It just goes around threatening us with destruction, and for what? Just because we happen to be alive? That’s no way to treat any creature, Max, and it’s definitely not the way I like to be treated.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a name for this scarecrow, would you, Joe?”

The caterpillar thought for a moment, then finally nodded. “I think I’ve heard it being referred to as… Pesto?”

“Pesto.”

“Yeah, must be a nickname.” Suddenly, the caterpillar glanced up, and a look of alarm came over his tiny face. “Don’t look now, but there it is. There, the monster comes!”

Ignoring Joe’s strict instructions, I did look up and saw that Gran had approached the rose bush and was peering at it intently. She did have a can of some kind in her hand, I now saw, and I understood what was going on.

“Gran, don’t use that bug spray on me,” I told her immediately.

“Oh, Max,” said the aged relative. “I didn’t see you there for a moment. You wouldn’t have seen any caterpillars, would you? It’s just that my backyard has been invaded by the species, and they’re eating all the leaves and destroying my precious plants and flowers.”

Joe, who had taken to hiding underneath a leaf, now made frantic gestures in my direction to attract my attention. “Don’t tell Pesto where I am!” he whispered loudly.

I shook my head as a sign that I wouldn’t, causing his features to relax.

“No, I haven’t seen any caterpillars,” I lied to Gran. “But why are you trying to destroy them? You do know that eventually caterpillars become butterflies, right? And that they’re a boon to any garden, a source of infinite pleasure with their colorful displays and graceful flights and flutterings.”

“I don’t care about any flutterings,” said Gran, a bit more harshly than I would have liked. “All I care about is the survival of my flowers, and with all these voracious bugs hanging around, that won’t be happening.”

I eyed the can of bug spray with a curious eye. “I thought you were against the use of bug spray?”

She eyed the can with a look of wonder. “Oh, will you look at that? Who put that there?”

Gran had been going on about ethical gardening a lot lately, which as far as I could make out meant that she wasn’t going to use any chemicals when she tilled her modest little patch with her claw rake, carefully removing weeds and making the soil ready to give of its best.

“Chemicals destroy everything and turn the earth into one big garbage dump. Isn’t that what you said, Gran?” I asked.

“Of course, of course,” she said. “Which is why I don’t understand what this is doing here,” she added, then proceeded to throw the can as far away from her as she could. It sailed across the hedge dividing our backyard from the next. There was a sort of loud thunking sound, followed by a soft yelp of pain, and moments later, Tex Poole, Gran’s son-in-law, appeared in the opening in the hedge, rubbing his head and looking understandably irate.

“What’s the big idea!” he cried. “Pelting me with cans!”

“That wasn’t me,” said Gran, even though she was the only one present.

“Of course it was you! Don’t think I haven’t seen you secretly using that spray on my flowers.”

“Those are my flowers, and there’s nothing secret about it. I was simply trying to get rid of those caterpillars.”

“So you admit that you threw the can,” said Tex.

“I will admit to no such thing!” said Gran, tilting her chin a little higher in a posture of indignation. “It was Max!” she said, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“A likely story,” Tex scoffed. “Max couldn’t throw a piece of kibble, let alone a can.”

I would have told the doctor that I can indeed throw a mean piece of kibble, but since my opinion clearly wasn’t required, I kept my tongue. Instead, I lay down again, watching the proceedings like one of those spectators at the US Open. I had a feeling this might prove extremely entertaining. I was even willing to postpone my precious nap to take it all in.

“Not only have you been using these horrible chemicals on my flowers, thereby poisoning the soil and endangering every species on the planet, but you threw that darn thing at my head!”

“That was an accident,” said Gran quickly. “Max probably thought he was doing us a favor, but in his haste to get rid of the can, he failed to take into consideration that a certain person or even persons might find themselves in the flight plan of said can.”

“You threw that can,” said Tex, directing an accusatory finger at his mother-in-law. “Besides, why is it so important to get rid of those caterpillars? They’re a very beneficial species, and besides, they turn into butterflies. You wouldn’t murder a nice, innocent butterfly, would you?”

“Of course not, are you crazy? I would never raise a hand in anger at any creature, great or small. You know this, Tex. You know that I’m essentially a peaceable person and abhor violence of any kind.” Tex actually rolled his eyes at this, and it wasn’t that he was about to experience a fainting spell, but more to express his reservations about Gran’s statement.

“Whatever,” he said finally with a throwaway gesture of his hand. “But I’m confiscating this,” he said, holding up the can. “And I better not see any more of this poison in my backyard.”

“It’s my backyard, too!” Gran cried indignantly.

But Tex had already left to return to his own backyard—having lost a few of his illusions but gained a tiny little bump on the head.

“That man drives me crazy,” Gran grunted as she resumed her search for any trespassing caterpillars. “He always thinks he’s right, even though half the time he’s not.”

“Shouldn’t you both be at the doctor’s office?” I asked. “Or have all of your patients been cured?”

“We’re taking a day off,” said Gran. When she saw I was staring at her with a sort of puzzled look on my face, she said, “Even doctors can take a day off, you know. It’s hard work having to treat all of those patients, so from time to time, we need to take a break and not see any patients for an indefinite period of time.”

“How long are you and Tex going to be out of commission?”

“Like I said, for an indefinite period of time.”

“Is that your definite answer?”

She smiled. “Smart-ass.”

I don’t mind caterpillars or my humans taking the day off, or even half a day, but what I do mind is if all of this hullabaloo prevents me from doing what I consider my most sacred duty as a feline: taking long, extended naps. After all, my humans often like to consult me on minor and major mysteries that have left them baffled. But what they don’t understand is that for a brain to work at full capacity, plenty of rest is needed. So, I decided once again to relocate, this time to the house next door, where I hoped I wouldn’t be disturbed.

And I was traipsing along when I was arrested by a loud yell or scream.

“Max! You’re alive!”

I turned back to see that my friend Dooley had uttered these immortal words.

“Yeah, last time I checked, I was still alive,” I said in response.

“But… I thought you’d been grabbed by the litter monster!”

Now I’ve heard of the cookie monster, of course, but this was the first time the term ‘litter monster’ was used in my presence. For a moment, I wondered if I should take the bait or not. Doing so might lead us off on some tangent that most probably would eat into my nap time. But then my natural curiosity asserted itself. “Who or what is the litter monster?”

“The monster that ate our litter,” Dooley explained, making his meaning not all that clear. “And abducted you.” He gave me a keen look. “Have you been abducted, Max?”

“No, Dooley. I escaped from the house under my own steam.”

He visibly relaxed. “Oh, phew. For a moment there, I thought you were dead.”

“I almost was,” I admitted. “If Gran had used her bug spray on me, I might not have survived the ordeal. But as luck would have it, I caught her just in time, saving both myself and Joe in the process.”

“Who is Joe?”

“The caterpillar whose life I saved,” I explained and gestured to the rose bush where Gran was still giving Joe the evil eye, even though by all rights she should be keeping an eye on Grace instead. “I was just going next door,” I told my friend. “Seeing as it’s too busy out there, and I can’t seem to get any shut-eye. Wanna join me?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Now that Odelia’s house is being targeted by the litter monster, we need to get away before it attacks us next!”

I would have rolled my eyes at this, but since my eyelids were growing heavier by the second, I didn’t. Instead, we ventured into Marge and Tex’s house, and moments later, we found ourselves staring into Brutus and Harriet’s litter boxes, which oddly enough, were both empty!

“Oh, no!” said Dooley. “It’s the same monster. It must have been here too!”

“That’s impossible,” I said, even though the facts were clear. Both litter boxes were devoid of litter, having been neatly cleared out. In fact, whoever had done the job had been so meticulous there wasn’t a single piece of litter left. Almost as if they had been cleaned out with wet wipes.

“It’s probably Gran,” I now suggested. “She must have decided to clean out our litter boxes and then forgot to refill them.” Gran walked into the kitchen, looking like a woman on a mission. So when we posed the question, she seemed annoyed. “Not now,” she barked. “I’ve got a hot date with a caterpillar.”

“A hot date with a caterpillar?” asked Dooley. “But Gran, isn’t that… weird?”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s not a date date, Dooley. And it’s only hot for him, not me.” Her lips twisted into a vicious grin. “In fact, it isn’t too much to say it will be very hot. Very hot indeed.” With these words, she grabbed a lighter from one of the kitchen drawers.

“But Gran!” said Dooley. “You can’t set fire to a nice caterpillar! Don’t you know they turn into beautiful butterflies?”

She grumbled something under her breath, looking caught, and quickly dumped the lighter back into the drawer. “So I just let them destroy all of my plants, is that it?”

“I’ll talk to Joe,” I assured her. “I’ll tell him to take his business elsewhere and leave our plants alone.”

Gran gave me a look of such devotion I felt a little tingle travel up my spine. She had clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “You would do that for me, Max?”

“Of course. Now, about this litter business.”

“What litter business?” she asked, the look of devotion quickly being replaced by one of annoyance.

“You cleaned out our litter boxes,” I said. “But forgot to refill them.”

“I did not clean out your…” She crouched down to look into one of the two boxes and now frowned. “Well, I’ll be damned. Tex! Tex, come here a minute, will you?”

The kitchen door opened and Tex walked in. Like before, he was dressed in his gardening outfit, which, in his case, consisted of a pair of old jeans and an even older sweater with holes in them. “Now what?” he asked.

“Did you clean out the cats’ litter boxes and then forget to refill them?”

He stared at her. “Of course not. That’s your job, Ma.” Even though we have lived with Tex for many years, he still considers us ‘Marge’s cats’ or, conversely, ‘Odelia’s cats’ or even ‘Vesta’s cats.’ Maybe he has a point, since we also consider these ladies our humans, with Tex and Chase their appendages. Like spin-offs from the main feature. And it is true that Tex never feeds us or takes care of our litter boxes. He did install our pet doors, which is something, I suppose. And he tolerates us, which is very kind of him.

“So, who cleaned these litter boxes?” asked Gran.

“Marge, probably,” said Tex. “Or Odelia. And now, can I go back to my tomatoes?”

As an experiment, Tex has been trying to grow his own vegetables. Ever since the prices of common household items and foodstuffs have risen precipitously, our humans decided to put the small plots of land they possess to good use and try to yield a modest harvest. To that end, Tex had planted several seeds and was hoping for a good crop when the time came. He’s also been thinking about raising chickens for their eggs, but so far, Marge has put her foot down and is refusing to budge. I guess she feels four cats are enough denizens of the animal kingdom to contend with and doesn’t want to add a dozen chickens to the mix.

The good doctor had left the kitchen, and Gran, hoping to get to the bottom of this minor mystery, now put her phone to her ear and called her daughter. But when Marge told her that she hadn’t touched our litter that morning and had no idea who had, the mystery only deepened. Which is why when Gran’s phone rang next and she picked up, she barked, “Odelia, did you clean out the cats’ litter boxes this morning? No? Then who the hell did!” She listened for a moment, then redirected her gaze to us. I could see that whatever Odelia was telling her, clearly concerned us. And to confirm this, she said, “Yeah, I’ll tell them. Right now? The marina? Yeah, okay. So do you need me? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

Dooley looked at me, I looked at him, and I think we both had the same expression of curiosity written all over our faces.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” said Gran, not really giving us a lot to go on.

“What’s with all this ‘uh-huh,’ Max?” asked Dooley.

“It’s an expression of confirmation,” I said. “Instead of saying ‘I understand’ or ‘I see,’ people simply say ‘uh-huh.’ Like a sort of shorthand.”

“Gran’s hands are short,” he confirmed, taking in the elderly woman’s hands. “But I still don’t see why she can’t use her words, like any grown-up.”

Grace had toddled in through the door and now stood stock-still, taking us in. She did that sometimes, and it often made me wonder what went through her head at moments like these. Possibly she saw dead people, like that kid in the Bruce Willis movie, and listened to what they were telling her. She now redirected her attention to us. “So is it true what they’re saying?”

“What are they saying?” I asked. “And who are they?”

“Well, Brutus and Harriet, of course. They’re saying that you and Dooley have been using their litter boxes, and they were so dirty that Marge had to clean them ahead of time, and now they have nowhere to do their business except in Blake’s Field, so they did.”

And as if to prove she wasn’t kidding, Brutus and Harriet now walked in through the door. “Max!” Brutus growled, taking a menacing stance in front of us. “You did your business in my litter box, didn’t you? And now it’s empty.”

“It’s the litter monster,” Dooley explained. “It’s been eating our litter.”

Brutus frowned at my friend. “What are you talking about, Dooley?”

“Oh, can’t you see what’s going on?” asked Harriet. “He’s simply protecting Max.”

“Protecting Max?” asked Dooley. “From what?” But then his eyes went wide. “Oh no, it’s the litter monster, isn’t it? He’s eaten our litter, and now he’s coming for us next!”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dooley,” said Harriet in a snappish way. “Everyone knows that there’s no such thing as a litter monster.”

“There is! There definitely is! And it’s eaten all of our litter!”

Brutus and Harriet shared a look of surprise. “I don’t get it,” Brutus finally admitted as he plopped himself down on his tush. “Start from the beginning, will you, and omit no detail, however slight.”

But before Dooley could do just that, Grace decided to step in. “Someone or something is eating your litter,” she explained. “And that someone or something just might still be in the house!” At this, she glanced around in a meaningful fashion, causing the hair at the back of my neck to stand at attention. We all gave the kitchen a look filled with trepidation and downright fear.

“The litter monster is still here?” asked Dooley in a shaky voice. “Are you sure?”

“Where else could it be?” asked Grace. “First, it ate all of your litter, Dooley, and Max’s, and then it polished off Brutus and Harriet’s litter, and now it’s taking a nap. Just like me when I’ve eaten too much.”

“But, but, but…”

“Oh nonsense,” said Harriet. “There’s no such thing as a litter monster. Max simply couldn’t hold it in, and so instead of running home to his own litter box, he decided to do his business in mine. And then, since Dooley always has to do whatever Max does, he did the same thing in Brutus’s box. And when Marge got up this morning and found our boxes unusually soiled, she decided to clean them out, and then since she was busy with a million other things, like humans always are, she completely forgot about it.”

“I’ve been going to Blake’s Field,” Brutus lamented. “And I think I sat on a nettle. My tush is itching.”

“You should lick it,” Harriet advised. “Lick it until it stops itching.”

“But I don’t want to lick my tush!” said Brutus. “What am I, a dog?” He glanced up at Gran, who was still engrossed in her phone conversation, seeking her urgent assistance, but the old lady ignored us. So he now asked Grace, “Could you do the honors?”

“What honors? What are you talking about?” asked the little girl.

“Clean my tush? Normally, Marge always does it, or Odelia, or even Gran. But since they’re all otherwise engaged…”

Now it was Grace’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, all right. But just this once, you hear?”

“Marge always uses antibacterial scented wet wipes,” Brutus explained. “They make my tush smell like lavender. It’s very nice.”

“Yeah, they’ve got aloe vera,” Harriet added. “It helps soothe irritated skin and greatly reduces the presence of blemishes and wrinkles. It’s also hypoallergenic.”

“God, you guys are spoiled,” said Grace as she climbed a chair to reach the box of wet wipes located on the kitchen table. Moments later, she was applying a wet wipe to Brutus’s tush, much to the latter’s enjoyment. And since he looked so thoroughly satisfied, the rest of us stood in line for the treatment, waiting patiently until Grace had finished with him so she could apply those wonderful wet wipes to our tushies as well. “And to think that I’m the baby here,” she grumbled, “and that I’m supposed to be the one who gets her tushy wiped.”

Even though her hand-eye coordination might not be up to snuff yet, and she had a hard time focusing on the job at hand, ending up wiping half of my belly in the process, she still did a pretty good job, and besides, it’s the thought that counts. At the end of the process, the box of wet wipes was empty, and we had never smelled more like lavender before.

So when Gran finally ended her phone call and saw the floor littered with used wet wipes and the four of us looking happy as clams, she shook her head. “I won’t ask what happened,” she said. Then she turned to us. “Odelia needs you out by the marina.”

“Oh no,” said Dooley. “Not another boat trip!”

“No boat trip,” said Gran. “Another murder!”

Copyright © 2023 by Nic Saint