Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Advice. Purrfect Passion. A Purrfect Gnomeful

“I wonder how long it will last,” said Dad. “Not long, I imagine.”

And as if summoned, Gran walked in, and said, “Need any help, Marge?”

“Yes, if you could get the lamb chops out of the fridge for me, and start on those?”

Gran did as she was told, and didn’t even offer a word of protest, which was a rare thing. Odelia, Mom and Dad shared a look of surprise, and as Gran started preparing dinner, along with Mom, with Odelia and Dad lending a hand, Gran was surprisingly docile.

“So I hear you’ve been working together with Scarlett?” asked Mom finally, when she couldn’t restrain herself any longer.

“Yeah, we have. Investigating the murder of Kirk Weaver, the cat whisperer. Nasty business. But also fascinating. Do you want me to make dessert, Marge? It’s no bother.”

“Yes, please,” said Mom, a little stunned at so much obsequiousness.

“And what have you found out so far?” asked Dad.

“Nothing much, except that Kirk was a womanizer of the first water. And the weird thing is that it worked for him, too. He slept with every single female in Allison’s house, Allison and her niece included.”

“Well, someone must have been upset with him,” said Mom. “Or else they wouldn’t have killed him.”

“Yeah, someone hated the guy,” Gran confirmed. “So have you asked Max to help you, Odelia?”

“Not yet. My cats looked a little out of sorts when I got home just now, and I have no idea why.”

“Oh, I know why,” said Mom. “Harriet told me. It’s these mice you’ve got in your basement. They have no idea what to do about them.”

Dad emitted a curt bark of laughter. “Four cats and they don’t know what to do about the mice.”

“No, they don’t. Harriet told me she consulted with Clarice, and she told them to simply eat a couple, but Harriet doesn’t want to go there, and neither do the others. And Max and Dooley asked Jasmine, Allison Gray’s cat, and she told them the same thing: cats eat mice, and if you don’t want to eat them, you’re not a real cat.”

“Oh, poor babies,” said Odelia. “That’s why they looked so forlorn. They probably think that because they don’t want to kill mice they’re not real cats.”

“Well, they’re not,” said Dad, who was slicing tomatoes and taking about five minutes per slice. “Cats eat mice. That’s a fact. And if they don’t, what does that make them?”

“It makes them humane felines,” said Mom, a little heatedly, “and in my book that’s a damn good thing.”

“Okay, fine,” said Dad, and dumped the tomatoes into a bowl, then walked out of the kitchen.

Gran and Odelia shared a look of surprise. “Are you and Dad having a fight?” asked Odelia finally.

“Oh, it’s this whole European trip thing,” said Mom, pressing a hand to her forehead and looking very tired all of a sudden. “Tex doesn’t want to go, since he’s got so much on his plate at the office, and I have a feeling we’ll never get out of Hampton Cove and see the rest of the world. And when I asked Gabi all she told me was this nonsensical stuff about Alec running for mayor.”

“You’re not happy with Gabi’s answer?” asked Gran as she popped an olive into her mouth.

“No, I’m not. I don’t know where Dan got that woman but she’s obviously crazy. She only has one answer for every single question: Alec should run for mayor. Almost as if…” She paused, directed a curious look at her mother, then turned around and started fiddling with the oven.

“And you, Odelia? Did you like the answer Gabi gave you?” asked Gran.

“I liked the first one, but not the latest one. I asked if I should gently prompt Chase to set a date for the wedding, or leave well enough alone, and instead she wrote something about Uncle Alec running for mayor. As if there’s nothing more important in the whole wide world than running for mayor, while we have a perfectly fine mayor already in place, and Uncle Alec loves his job and would never want another.”

“I see,” said Gran quietly. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like the kind of answer I’d hope to get.”

“Did you ask her anything?” asked Mom.

“Not yet, but I’m thinking about it,” said Gran, gritting her teeth a little. “In fact I think I’m going to write her a nice big letter first thing tomorrow. And if she tells me I should make Alec run for mayor I just might go over there and give her a punch in the snoot.”

“Go where?” asked Odelia. “Gabi lives in the Midwest.”

But Gran was already walking out of the kitchen to go and watch Jeopardy.

Chapter 29

That night, instead of stepping out and going to the park to hang out with my friends, I decided to stay in and guard Odelia’s bedroom. I may not be as keen on swallowing down mice like Clarice or Jasmine, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand idly by while they deposit the products of their digestive process on my human’s pillowcase.

So I’d jumped up on the bed and decided to be vigilant. If a mouse came sneaking into the room to do its dirty deed under the cover of nightfall, I’d simply jump on top of it and make sure it thought twice before giving the dastardly scheme a second thought.

And so it was that I was soon snoring away to my heart’s content. What? It’s hard to have to listen to two humans fast asleep nearby and not fall asleep yourself, too.

It must have been the middle of the night when I woke up from a strange sound, and I gave my friend Dooley a poke in the ribs.

“But how do you keep it so white, Jasmine—what?” he said, awakening with a start.

“I think I heard something,” I said. “Listen.”

He listened, and so did I. And there it was again. A soft trip-trip-tripping sound.

He whispered, “I hear a tripping sound, Max. Like tiny little feet.”

“Yeah, me too.”

So we both dropped down from the bed and tiptoed into the corridor to see what was going on.

And as we looked down from the landing and into the living room below, the most horrendous sight greeted our eyes: dozens and dozens of mice were forming a long conga line that stretched all the way to the kitchen, and were raiding the fridge, items of food being carried back to the basement!

“No way!” I cried, and was already starting down the stairs before having come up with a strategy of campaign.

Napoleon Bonaparte would have told me that engaging in battle without a proper plan of action is usually a bad idea, and he would have been right. By the time I was downstairs, the mice had all disappeared, and so had the food!

“They must have heard me,” I said, panting as Dooley joined me in the kitchen.

The fridge was open, and it was practically empty, the kitchen a mess. The cheeky little buggers had even gnawed a hole in our bag of kibble, and absconded with a fair amount! Obviously the mice had done themselves well, and all of it under our noses!

“That’s it,” I told Dooley. “I can’t stand this anymore!” And I made for the basement.

“What are you going to do, Max?” he cried.

“I have no idea, but I have to do something! Put my paw down, at the very least.”

So I descended the wooden stairs into the darkness, and quickly saw that I was on enemy terrain: dozens of beady little eyes were blinking back at me in the semi-darkness, and I could even hear giggling and snickering.

“Hey, Tom,” said one of the mice. “Come to pay us a visit, have you?”

“My name is Max,” I said, “Not Tom.”

“And my name is Dooley,” said Dooley.

“I want to speak to your leader,” I said, looking around for the biggest, meanest mouse of the bunch.

“We don’t have a leader,” said one of the mice. “But we do have a pa. Pa!” he hollered. “There’s someone here to see you!”