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

“I promise,” said Odelia, but I could see she was crossing her fingers behind her back.

“What is she doing, Max?” asked Dooley, gesturing to the strange custom.

“She’s lying to her mother,” said Harriet. “Making promises she won’t keep.”

“You mean she’d go through the Passion Island ordeal again?” asked Dooley, surprised. “Willingly?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Brutus. “Let’s face it, though. She was never in any danger.”

We’d all heard the reports of the unmarked vans snatching the five other women off the street, their takers setting up an elaborate ruse to make the families believe they were all right—four to get married to the men of their dreams, the fifth on a spiritual kick. What had tipped off the FBI was that one of the women had managed to escape, and had started a chain of reactions leading to the arrest of Rick on Passion Island.

Tex, working relentlessly at the grill, was happily flipping burgers like a pro again, providing his family sustenance. If anything, though, his very particular set of skills was getting worse, which seemed impossible. Usually humans get better with practice, but not our good doctor Poole. Still, he was clearly having a ball, and that’s all that matters.

“So when is the show coming out?” asked Scarlett now. “I can’t wait to see myself in action.” She preened a little as she spoke the words.

“The show isn’t coming out, sweetheart,” said Gran. “The show has been canceled. As in buried deep within the archives of the network, never to be seen again, except maybe by wizened old scholars working on a dissertation on reality show history.”

“But… what about all that footage?”

“Buried. Deep,” said Gran. “Like Indiana Jones’s Ark of the Covenant.”

“So I worked my seductive ass off for nothing?!” cried Scarlett, visibly upset.

“The joy is not in reaching your destination, but in the journey,” said Charlene, earning herself a scathing look from Scarlett and wisely shutting up. A good politician knows when to speak, but also knows when to be quiet.

“I’m glad Odelia wasn’t kidnapped,” said Dooley. “I don’t think she would have liked to spend time with a Russian oligarch, an Arabian billionaire or a Chinese mobster. And I don’t think we would have liked it either.”

“They wouldn’t have kidnapped us, Dooley,” Harriet said. “They would have snatched Odelia, not her cats.”

“But… they’d have simply left us behind?” He looked shocked at the prospect.

“These people aren’t exactly cat lovers, Dooley,” said Brutus. “Probably they like dogs, though. Big, mean, tough canines. Not sweet pussies like you and me.”

“Or me,” said Harriet.

“Or me,” I said, nodding.

Dooley shivered visibly. “Imagine. Having to spend time with a mean dog when you’re a cat person like Odelia. The horror.”

I shared a look with Brutus and Harriet, and we were in silent agreement that we weren’t going to tell Dooley that when being kidnapped by a human trafficker to be traded to a rich pervert having to spend time with dogs probably wasn’t the worst part.

Instead, I snapped a piece of steak out of the air that Odelia threw me. She’d already cut off the burnt parts, and had saved only the succulent center. I nodded my thanks and gulped the whole thing down eagerly.

For a moment, only the sound of chewing filled the air, as four cats devoured their portions. Then, Harriet said, “You know? Being on Passion Island has really made me think.”

“Oh?” I said, swallowing with relish.

She gave me a sweet smile. “I missed you guys. I mean, I know we don’t always get along. And I know I can be something of a pain in the patootie sometimes—“

“Oh, no,” I began to say, but she stopped me with a gesture of her paw.

“No, it’s true, Max. But deep down you know that I love you guys, right?”

I nodded, swallowing again, only this time it wasn’t a tasty morsel of meat but a lump in my throat.

“I love you guys, too,” said Brutus a little gruffly. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

“I love you guys so much!” said Dooley, sniffling unabashedly.

And thus ended our Thai adventure. And as a mild summer rain suddenly started falling from the sky, instigating a mad dash for the great indoors from all those present, and a mad scramble from Tex to safeguard his grill, I smiled. After the sweltering heat of the Thai isles, and the hair-raising antics of Passion Island producers, a light drizzle was just what we all needed.

And when I jumped off the porch swing and padded into the backyard, to sample some of that soft rain on my skin, I was accompanied by my three friends. The scent of summer and fresh grass tickled my sense of smell, and I whooped with joy. The humans, all ensconced on the porch now, probably thought we were crazy, but for once we defied the old adage that cats hate to get wet.

I was getting soaked and I loved it.

Home sweet home!

A Purrfect Gnomeful

The Mysteries of Max - Book 24

Chapter 1

In spite of the fact that it was a glorious morning—one of those mornings that makes you happy to be alive—I was brooding. Yes, brooding. Now I know what you’re going to say. Why would a cat who has everything his little heart desires be spending precious time brooding, when he could use that time to rejoice and count his blessings instead? Well, I’ll tell you why. Or in fact I might as well show you. Show, not tell, right?

Here, let me take you by the hand and accompany you from my perch on the couch to the kitchen. Do you see that fridge? That’s my human Odelia’s fridge. And do you see the trail of leftovers leading all the way from the kitchen to the living room and beyond?

Mice did that. Or more specifically, the colony of mice that has been using our basement as its refuge, and our fridge as its main source of nourishment.

I could also point out the fact that my bowl was now devoid of kibble, and so were the bowls of my friends Dooley, Harriet and Brutus. Or I could have led you into the pantry, where Odelia and her boyfriend Chase like to stock their stuff, and which was also a mess now.

The thing is, I recently negotiated a peace treaty with the mice, ceasing all hostilities, and in exchange Hector and Helga gave me their solemn word they wouldn’t treat the house as their personal Walmart. Unfortunately it would appear they had a hard time keeping their offspring in check, and the upshot was that both Odelia and Chase were starting to lose their patience… with me!

Yes, the mice were misbehaving, but yours truly was taking the rap.

That’s what you get when social media is filled with story after story extolling the so-called mouse-capturing capabilities of your common domestic short-haired feline.

Fake news, I say, and it’s high time the owners of those social media sites did something to stem the flow of this false and frankly misleading information.

No, not every cat is a ruthless killer.

No, not every cat likes to eat mice for breakfast.

And no, not every cat is a Tom, eager to catch himself a Jerry.

So I watched the carnage and heaved a deep sigh. I’d been out last night, you see. Cat choir, if you must know. And by the time I got back, Hector and Helga’s offspring obviously had been at it again.

The pet flap flapped and Dooley walked in. When my friend caught sight of my careworn expression, he immediately came tripping over, concern written all over his features.

“Max!” he said, a generous dose of sympathy lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you really have to ask?” I asked.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded seriously. “It’s cancer, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Max, we’ll find you the best doctor money can buy.”