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

“Yeah, it’s just this once,” said the second one.

“It’s the smell,” explained the third. “So hard to resist the smell of grilled meat!”

You’ll agree they made a valid point. And since I was feeling so happy, I decided there was plenty of food to share. So I whispered, “Enjoy!” and they grinned happily.

Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know a cat is supposed to catch mice, not encourage them to steal food from their humans, but I think we’ve already established that I’m a pussy. And proud to be one.

Though when five minutes later another two dozen mice came tripping past me, all hoisting the remnants of Tex’s grilling experiments on their tiny shoulders, I was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I’d made a big mistake.

Well, I guess I could always ask Dear Chloe.

Purrfect Passion

The Mysteries of Max - Book 23

Chapter 1

“Max, can I ask you a question?”

Lazily, I opened my eyes. “Mh?”

“How come we have mice in our basement and next door they don’t?”

I shrugged. It was one of those questions no one has an answer to, and certainly not me. “I don’t know, Dooley,” I said therefore. “Maybe they like our basement better?”

This gave my friend some food for thought, and for a moment I returned to my peaceful slumber. Not for long, though, for Dooley’s train of thought was determined to make sure I got no repose whatsoever. His trains of thought are often that way, completely oblivious to my creature comforts.

“So… what is it about Odelia’s basement that makes it so appealing to mice?” he asked, launching a follow-up question that compelled me to open my eyes once more and think up a response. I have to tell you, though, it’s hard to think when all you want to do is sleep. It had been a particularly eventful night, what with cat choir running overtime, due to the fact that Shanille, cat choir’s conductor, had gotten it into her tiny nut that we should take our show on the road, and extend the kind of creative succor we’ve been providing Hampton Covians to other audiences in other towns, spreading sweetness and light and the caterwauling of a group of tone-deaf cats to all and sundry.

“I have no idea, Dooley,” I said. “Maybe we should ask them?”

This idea clearly hadn’t yet occurred to my friend, as his face lit up with delight.

“Of course!” he said. “I’ll simply go down there and ask them!”

And much to my surprise, he actually up and went!

I frowned as I watched him go. “Um, Dooley?” I said.

He turned, a smile spread across his furry features. “Yes, Max?”

“When I said we should ask them, I didn’t mean…”

He gave me that wide-look of his. “Yes, Max?”

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

He frowned and a look of confusion wrapped his funny face in frowns. “Of course, Max. It’s your idea. And your ideas are always good ideas.”

In spite of the fact that his confidence in my cerebral processes warmed the cockles of my heart, I still felt it incumbent upon me to point out a fatal flaw in this, my own, plan. “We’ve talked about this, remember? When we made our peace with Hector and Helga we agreed that the basement was theirs, and the rest of the house ours.”

He gave me a look of bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

“The basement has officially been turned into a no-go zone for cats,” I explained. “It’s their territory now, and we’re not supposed to tread there if we can help it.”

“But… this is our house, Max. We have a right to go where we want, don’t we?”

“Well, not anymore. Under the terms of the peace treaty we arranged with the mice, this house has now been divided into two separate zones. There is a cat zone…” With an all-encompassing sweep of my paw I motioned to the living room, the kitchen and the upstairs. “And there’s the mice zone—in other words, the basement.”

His bewilderment was absolute. “But… are you sure this is legal?”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “If you mean was there a notary present when we came to this agreement, then no, there wasn’t. But it was either that or have them traipse all over the house, raid our fridge, steal the kibble from our bowls whenever they felt like it, and turn our lives into a living hell. It’s an arrangement for our mutual benefit. The mice can live their lives unencumbered, raising a family of healthy, happy little pinkies and pups, and we can relax and save face in front of Odelia and Chase.”

It had taken a lot of persuading on my part to get my human on board. Odelia shares most humans’ visceral aversion to all things rodent, and the mere suggestion that we’d give these critters and their offspring a permanent home in her home (and our home) seemed repugnant to her. But I simply appealed to her softer side and even she had to admit it was an arrangement that offered a lot of benefits. As long as these mice occupied the basement, no other mice would move in. Better the mice you know than the mice you don’t, if you see what I mean. And when I personally introduced her to Hector, and translated the little fella’s words for her, and told her they had come in peace and had promised us to keep the basement absolutely free of droppings, she relented, and so did her boyfriend Chase.

Though the latter contrived a look of bewilderment very similar to Dooley’s. He probably hadn’t expected when he started dating Odelia that at some point in the near future he’d find himself negotiating with a colony of mice, a cat officiating the peace treaty.

“I still don’t see why the basement should be off-limits,” said Dooley. “It’s still our house, and they’re just guests.”

“Look at it this way, Dooley,” I said, deciding to try a different tack. “It’s as if you’re a property owner. And the mice are your tenants.”

“Tenants who don’t pay rent.”

“True, true,” I admitted. “The point I’m trying to make, though, is that a landlord can’t simply walk into a tenant’s house or apartment, see?”

“He can’t?” asked Dooley, much surprised by this strange legal quirk.

“No, he cannot. There are laws protecting a tenant’s privacy, and a landlord can’t simply barge in whenever he likes. He has to get the tenant’s permission first.”

“So I have to get Hector’s permission before I can set paw in the basement?”

“Pretty much,” I agreed.

“And what about Odelia? Does she have to get Hector’s permission, too?”

“Um, no, I guess she doesn’t. The arrangement is between cats and mice only.”

His face cleared. “Great! Then I’ll simply ask Odelia to ask Hector why they like it here so much. And I’ll tag along as Odelia’s official translator, just like a delegation of Swaziland would bring along their translator when attending the United Nations General Assembly.” And with these words he trotted off in the direction of the staircase, presumably to rouse Odelia from sleep so she could pose this all-important question.

This time I did roll my eyes, then lay down my head on the sofa cushion I’d singled out for my own, and went back to sleep. The plight of the rodent family that had moved into the basement might fascinate and intrigue my friend, but it certainly did not fascinate me. You may say I’m a lousy cat for allowing mice to move into my domain, and I’d tell you that my peace of mind is worth a lot more to me than any slings and arrows you can aim at me. That and my daily dose of kibble, of course.

And I’d just fallen into a peaceful slumber once more when the sound of a flapping pet flap told me that the prospect of a nice nap was not in my near future just yet. When I opened my eyes I found myself gazing into the familiar face of Brutus, and he wasn’t looking very happy at all. His next words confirmed my assessment of his mental state.