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

“Max, you have to help me. It’s Harriet. She’s gone completely mad!”

Chapter 2

To be absolutely honest with you, Brutus’s announcement didn’t surprise me. I’d already had the feeling that Harriet was brooding on something. Even her customary solo performance during cat choir had had a different quality last night, as she’d seemed distracted and a little surly, and had dropped even more notes than usual. Even Shanille had felt compelled to ask the prissy Persian if everything was all right, receiving a typical snappish response for her trouble.

“What is it this time?” I asked therefore, starting to feel as if this nap I’d been anticipating with such eagerness was starting to look like a lost cause.

“She wants to put our relationship to the test by joining a reality show,” said Brutus.

I frowned. “I’m sorry, Brutus, but you’re going to have to run that by me again. I didn’t quite catch your drift.”

He was too wired to take a seat, and had resorted to pacing the rug, going so far as to extend his nails and plucking little tufts of fiber from Odelia’s nice carpet. It just goes to show the extent of his exasperation. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve remained a bachelor until now: my closest friends are frankly the best advertisement for bachelorhood.

“She’s been watching this reality show with Gran lately. Passion Island? Gran is hooked on the thing, and so is Harriet. It’s all they talk about. And now Harriet has decided she wants in. She figures it’s the best way to see if we’re really meant to be together.”

“But… I didn’t even know she had doubts about that.”

“Me neither! But watching Passion Island has made her think.”

“Uh-oh,” I muttered.

“And she’s been pushing Gran to get her on the show, and it looks like Gran thinks this might not be such a bad idea, only cats aren’t allowed anywhere near the island.”

“For a good reason,” I said, nodding. No reality show fans want to be distracted by the sight of a couple of cats slinking into the frame and obscuring their view.

“Yeah, but Gran says she can probably make the producers change their minds. Or maybe even get them to create a spin-off. Cat Passion Island. She figures it would give people the best of both worlds: adorable cats doing what cats do best, and a healthy dose of drama.”

“But… no viewer would understand what the cats are saying,” I pointed out. “And where would be the fun in that?”

“Exactly what I said!” said Brutus, becoming more and more agitated. “But do you think they’ll listen to the voice of reason? Oh, no.”

“I’m sure nothing will come of it,” I tried to reassure the butch black cat. “You know what Gran is like. She always has some bee buzzing in her bonnet, but rarely has the wherewithal to see her wild ideas through to fruition.”

He gave me a look of hope. “You think so? You’ve known Gran longer than I have.”

“Trust me,” I said. “This idea will simply fizzle out and die before you can say kibble.”

“Kibble,” said Brutus earnestly, and plunked himself down, slightly mollified. And I could see his point. Gran may have the attention span of a goldfish, but Harriet is one of those cats that don’t stop until they get what they want. If she had her mind set on being in some goofy reality show, she’d keep harping on the theme until she got her wish.

I decided not to share this little insight into Harriet’s psyche with the latter’s mate, though, as I was still holding out a tiny hope I’d get the chance to have that sweet nap.

And as Brutus mulled over my words, I shifted in my seat and accidentally hit a button on the remote control, inadvertently turning on the TV. And while I was wondering why the TV had suddenly started pouring out its usual dose of frenetic programming on an unsuspecting world, Brutus sprang to his paws again, vibrating with excitement, his nose pointing in the direction of the darned thing like a pointing dog.

“That’s it!” he cried. “That’s the show that’s ruining my life!”

I directed a curious eye at the goggle box and saw that a small group of young women was seated around a fire, all staring intently at a tablet computer, held up by a platinum-haired and sophisticated-looking woman. On the tablet’s screen, grainy footage of a man and a woman lying in bed together appeared, and suddenly one of the women brought her hands to her face and started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Prepare yourself for a shock, Sookie,” said the sophisticated woman, who appeared to be the show’s host. “The next images will be tough for you to watch.”

We were regaled with images of the same couple in bed, only this time all that was visible was a shapeless form underneath the sheets, and those very same sheets were moving in a very suspicious way indeed. It was obvious the couple were in the throes of a passionate spate of lovemaking, bumping and grinding with careless abandon.

The woman named Sookie, the one who’d been sobbing, now wailed like a banshee. “Not my Bennie-ie-ie-ie!” she cried.

“Yes, I’m afraid your Bennie has succumbed to the wily ways of seductress Mia,” said the show host, barely suppressing a hint of satisfaction.

“Oh, my God,” said Brutus, looking on with fascination. “I never thought Bennie would cheat on Sookie. They were the perfect couple! Everybody said so!”

It was obvious to me that Brutus was as big a fan of this Passion Island bonanza as Harriet and Gran.

Just then, Dooley came trudging down the stairs again, a very sleepy-looking Odelia in tow. “So what’s all this about the United Nations General Assembly?” she asked.

But Dooley had become distracted by the footage on TV. He stared at the wild sheet tussle for a moment, then asked, “What are those people doing, Max?”

Brutus and I immediately scrambled to grab the remote and change the channel. Unfortunately in our efforts to do so, the thing dropped to the floor and skipped underneath the couch. And as I aimlessly reached for the gizmo, I saw how Dooley approached the screen and stared at the footage of Sookie’s Bennie-ie-ie-ie and wily seductress Mia, whoever she was, performing feats of acrobatics, their modesty only covered by a thin sheet.

“Are they playing a game?” asked Dooley, wide-eyed now as he took in the scene.

“Um, yeah,” I said, still fruitlessly reaching underneath the couch. “Yeah, they’re playing a game of hide and seek.”

“Looks like they found each other,” said Dooley, quite astutely I might add.

“Oh, is that Passion Island?” asked Odelia, stifling a yawn. “I love that show.”

Brutus emitted a low groan. “ Everybody loves that show,” he said.

“Yeah, even Mom and Dad watch every episode.” She frowned at the screen. “This is a rerun though, right?” Like a true addict, she sounded worried she’d missed something.

“Yeah, they’re gearing up for a new season, and started airing last season’s episodes to whet people’s appetites,” said Brutus, as the expert he clearly was.

Dooley had turned his head sideways and was still watching the couple intently. “It looks like they’re rubbing against each other,” he said finally, still that puzzled look on his face. “Why are they rubbing against each other, Max?”

“Um, I guess one of them has an itch,” I said, eliciting a smile from Odelia. Then, finally getting hip to my predicament, she fished the remote from underneath the couch, and quickly changed channels. A weatherman started waxing poetic about a low-pressure system moving in from the East, or it could have been the West, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The danger had been averted, and Dooley’s innocence was safe once more.