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

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just like in that movie I saw last night with Gran. About a man who only has three months to live. And he looked just like you. Round-faced and orange, I mean. I cried a lot. Gran didn’t. But then Gran never cries, except when one of her soap stars dies.”

I held up a paw, for Dooley has a tendency sometimes to go off course. “About that man. The one who looked like me. And by the way I’m not orange, Dooley—I’m blorange. And I’m not round-faced—I’m just naturally furry. So what happened with that man?”

“Oh, when all else failed his dear old mammy advised him to try laughter therapy. And it worked! He laughed himself back to health, Max, and I’m sure you can, too. So start laughing and start healing.”

I shook my head. I’m sure Dooley meant well, but laughter therapy wasn’t going to solve the mice issue.

“A priest, a rabbi and a hippopotamus walk into a bar,” said Dooley, undeterred. “The hippopotamus says, ‘What does a hippopotamus have to do to get a drink around here?’ And the bartender replies, ‘Find religion!’” He laughed loudly, but when I didn’t join him, he stopped. “Max, you have to laugh. You’re my best friend and I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die in three months, Dooley.”

“You could die in one month. The guy in the Lifetime movie didn’t know he was going to die at first. It was only when he lost feeling in his patootie that he figured something was wrong.” He gave me a slight tap on the patootie. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes, I can feel that. And the reason I’m not my usual sunny self is not because I only have three months to live but because the mice made a terrible mess again last night, and the moment Odelia walks down those stairs she’s going to be very upset with me.”

“Why? It’s not your fault the mice are making a mess, Max,” he pointed out, and very sensibly, too, I thought. But I was afraid Odelia wasn’t going to see it that way.

“Yes and no. Rightly or wrongly she feels that with a house full of cats she shouldn’t have to worry about a mice infestation.”

Just then, and right before our eyes, two small mice came tripping past us into the kitchen. Moments later they returned, both carrying large chunks of cheese. When they saw us gaping at them, the first mouse, presumably the leader of this small battalion, gave us a toothy grin and said, “Hiya, fellas. Almost forgot I dropped this last night.”

“You’re not supposed to do that, you know,” I said, righteous indignation making me quiver. “It’s not okay.”

The mouse took a nibble from the cheese. “Tastes okay to me, bud.”

“No, I mean—it’s not okay that you would steal my human’s food.”

“It’s not stealing when it’s just lying around,” argued the mouse, whose brother or sister had already disappeared down the basement stairs. “In fact your human should thank us. If not for us this cheese would go to waste. At least now it’ll end up feeding at least a dozen…” He took another big bite. “Or half a dozen…” He devoured the last of the cheese. “Well, at least one mouth.” He glanced back to the kitchen, clearly still hungry.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, taking a step closer.

The mouse held up its tiny paws. “All right, all right. Cool your jets, you big pussy. The way I see it? Us mice provide a vital and important service.”

“And what service would that be?”

“This place could be crawling with beetles and roaches. Can you imagine?” He gave us a cheeky wink. “Think about that.” And with a cheerful wave of the paw, he was off.

After a moment’s silence, as I slowly came off the boil again, Dooley said, “He’s right, you know. If not for Hector and Helga and their kids Odelia’s house could be swarming with beetles and roaches. And maybe even spiders and other creepy crawlies.”

It was a point to take into consideration, though secretly I doubted whether Odelia would take this benign view.

Just then, the pet flap flapped again, and Harriet and Brutus came walking in, both looking highly perturbed.

“Something needs to be done,” said Harriet, a gorgeous white Persian. “This simply cannot go on.”

“But they keep out the beetles and the roaches,” I pointed out, earning myself a look of confusion.

“What are you talking about, Max?”

“The mice. I’m starting to think they just might be one of those necessary evils you hear so much about.”

Harriet tsk-tsked freely, and shook her head. “I’m not talking about the mice, Max. I’m talking about the gnomes.”

“Someone stole Tex’s gnomes last night,” Brutus said. He’s Harriet’s mate, and a butch black cat of particularly shiny hue.

I silently wished that whoever had stolen Odelia’s dad’s gnomes would steal Odelia’s mice instead, but obviously Harriet didn’t share my preoccupation with the murine colony.

She frowned, and so did Brutus, clearly thinking hard thoughts about the gnome thief, while I was frowning because of my recent encounter with one of Hector and Helga’s offspring. The only one who wasn’t frowning was Dooley. And to show us his mind was otherwise engaged, he suddenly burst out laughing, then said, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but a priest, a rabbi and a donkey walk into a bar.”

And he probably would have gone on to tell us all about this exciting event, if not the glass sliding door had slid open and Gran walked in, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Where’s Odelia?” she asked.

“Still in bed,” I said. “Why?”

“Odelia!” Gran bellowed at the foot of the stairs. “Get down here now!” And her eyes shining, she announced, “The crime of the century has just been committed, so Scarlett and I are launching a neighborhood watch, and I want you guys to join us!”

Chapter 2

“What are we looking at here?” I asked.

Gran had led us into Tex and Marge’s backyard and triumphantly waved her arm at… nothing in particular. The lawn could use a trim, and the big cherry tree probably needed pruning, but apart from that I saw no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

“Can’t you see?” asked Gran, her voice rising as it often did when she was in the throes of excitement. “They’re gone!”

“Who’s gone, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“The gnomes! Someone took the gnomes!”

“Oh, the gnomes,” I said, deflating a little. Why did everyone and his grandmother keep harping on about gnomes, when it was mice that were the main issue here.

“Yes, Max, the gnomes,” said Harriet. “Why, isn’t this mystery big enough for you? Or important enough to occupy your highly intelligent mind?” Since she made air quotes and rolled her eyes, I guess she didn’t think all that highly of my mind—such as it was.

“No, it’s not that,” I was quick to assure her. “It’s just that…”

“Max has mice on the brain,” Dooley explained.

“Oh, God, when are you going to stop talking about your mice!” Harriet cried, even going so far as to stomp her paw on Tex’s semi-smooth lawn.

“They’re not my mice,” I said. “And they pose a big problem. They keep eating our stuff.”

“Probably because they ran out of beetles and roaches,” Dooley said, nodding in my direction. “Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Look, can you guys please focus on the problem at hand?” Gran said, starting to get a little impatient. All this talk about mice and roaches clearly wasn’t gripping her. “This is a serious problem and I think it’s the perfect first case for our neighborhood watch, of which I’m the founding mother and you’re now the founding cats.”