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

“You’ll have to forgive Brutus,” said Harriet. “He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So to speak.”

“Ha ha,” said Rufus at this quaint conceit. Then he frowned. “You guys have your own beds now?”

“It’s just a manner of speech,” Harriet said. “We usually sleep at the foot of our human’s bed.”

“Oh, nice,” said Rufus. “I sleep at the foot of the bed, too, though sometimes my humans kick me off. They say I’m too big to sleep there, but I don’t think so.”

Harriet could only imagine how much acreage the big dog would occupy, and mentally commended Ted and Marcie for their tolerance. “So you didn’t see anything last night?” she asked, returning to the topic under discussion.

“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t,” said Rufus ruefully.

“Thought so,” Brutus grumbled.

“Maybe if you could sniff around you might be able to pick up the thieves’ scent?” Harriet suggested.

“Harriet!” Brutus cried, then added between clenched teeth, “We can’t allow dogs in OUR backyard!”

“Oh, I’d love to,” said Rufus, ignoring Brutus’s outburst, which he must have picked up loud and clear. Dogs not only have a superior sense of smell, their hearing is pretty solid, too. “Just give me a mo,” the big dog said, and as Harriet stood back, Rufus effortlessly jumped on top of the garden table, then on top of the fence, and straight into their backyard, much to Brutus’s horror.

“You’re not using my litter box!” the cat yelled.

“Oh, don’t worry, Brutus,” said Rufus with a pleasant smile. “I won’t.”

There had been a time when all the neighborhood dogs had started using cats’ litter boxes, but luckily that folly had been short-lived. Now they did their doo-doo on the sidewalk again, as before, with their humans picking up after them. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still preferable to having to share a litter box with every deserving canine.

“So let’s do this,” Rufus muttered, and began to sniff around to his heart’s content.

“I swear, if he so much as lifts his hind leg and pees…” Brutus said under his breath.

“Oh, don’t be such a grinch, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Rufus is helping us out, so you should be nice to him.”

“Grmbl,” was Brutus’s response.

“So weird,” said Rufus after having sniffed his way all around the backyard and returning to where Brutus and Harriet sat near the fence.

“What is?” she asked.

“Well, I’m picking up the same scent that I’ve been picking up in my own backyard the last couple of days. And I’ve been wondering where it comes from. I don’t recognize it as belonging to either Ted or Marcie or any of their friends. So it must be a stranger.”

“You mean someone’s been in your backyard, too?” asked Brutus, momentarily forgetting his antipathy at this startling revelation.

“Yeah, two distinct scents belonging to two distinct individuals. I picked them up for the first time about a week ago, and now again here.”

“These must be the thieves,” said Harriet slowly. “They must have passed through the Trappers’ backyard before jumping the fence and coming here to steal the gnomes.”

“But why?” asked Rufus. “They could easily have come in through the field.”

They all stared at the field in question, which was located behind both their backyards and Odelia’s, too. It was a piece of land covered in brambles and overgrown weeds and nettles, and provided the perfect access and egress into all of their backyards.

“Nothing was stolen from your place?” asked Brutus, taking the case in paw.

“Nothing as far as I know,” said Rufus.

“Weird,” said Harriet. “Very weird.”

“Say, listen,” said Brutus, clearing his throat. “Um… you’ve got a pretty solid sense of smell on you, right?”

“I can’t complain,” said Rufus with a smile.

“Well, um… well, see, the thing is, Gran and her friend are launching a neighborhood watch. And so I was wondering…” He coughed nervously. “See, the thing is… we could use someone like you on our team.”

Harriet smiled. It surprised her that her dog-hating mate would suddenly display such a change of heart, but it most definitely pleased her. “Great idea, snuggle bug,” she said. “Brutus is right, Rufus,” she added. “We could use a dog like you on our team.”

“Neighborhood watch, eh?” said Rufus, giving this some thought. “Well, why not,” he said finally. “I’ve always wanted to be a cop dog, and this is probably as close as I’ll get.”

Brutus grinned, and so did Harriet. This was great news. Cats and dogs, fighting crime together as a team. Which reminded her of another idea that had hit her shortly after Max and Dooley had set out for their morning stroll.

“Say, Rufus, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Shoot,” said the amiable dog.

“The thing is, you know that Odelia has mice, right?”

“Yeah, you guys told me about that.”

“Well, they’re making an awful mess of the house, and Odelia is fed up and frankly so are we. So I was wondering… Could you drop by one of these days and have a word with them? They don’t seem to respect cats, but maybe they do dogs. Especially as you’re so big and strong and all?”

Rufus grew a few inches as she spoke, and she could have sworn he was blushing. “No, of course,” he said. “If you think it’ll make a difference I’d be more than happy to help.”

“Great,” she said, well pleased. “That’s settled then.”

After Rufus had returned to his own backyard, Brutus turned to her and said, a slight hint of suspicion in his voice, “Why did you ask Rufus to take care of the mice? I thought Odelia had asked Max to deal with them?”

“It’s obvious Max can’t cope, wuggle bear,” she said. “And neither can Dooley. So I thought maybe we should lend them a helping paw. After all, that’s our house, too.”

Brutus didn’t seem to agree. “I still think asking a dog to do a cat’s job is simply wrong. Besides, we’re going to owe him big time. And I hate to be indebted to a dog.”

“Oh, don’t be such a prig, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Dogs are God’s creatures, too, you know. And Rufus is a nice dog, as dogs go.”

“He is nice,” Brutus agreed, then gave her a curious look. “Maybe a little too nice.”

She stared at her mate, then broke into an incredulous bark of laughter. “Brutus, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said gruffly, staring at the ground.

“You are! I don’t believe this. Jealous of a dog!”

Brutus shrugged. “So what if I’m jealous? Clearly that dog likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me like that, you fool!” she cried, but felt touched by Brutus’s behavior. So she planted a gentle kiss on his brow, which was puckered with worry. “Oh, sugar plum,” she said. “I only love you, you foolish tomcat. Don’t you know that by now?”

“I guess sometimes I don’t,” he murmured.

“Here, look at me,” she said, and tilted his head. “You’re the only one for me, cuddle cakes.”

He smiled then, and they kissed.

Chapter 8

Marge was leafing through a Jackie Collins book, to see if there weren’t any pages ripped out or remnants of food left when old Mrs. Samson walked into the library, carrying her usual shopping bag full of books.

Mrs. Samson was a little old lady and one of Marge’s regulars. She came in almost weekly, and judging by the number of books she read probably did little else but read.

“All finished already, Mrs. Samson?” asked Marge pleasantly.

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Samson, twin blushes on her cheeks as usual. She preferred to read the saucy romance novels—in fact the saucier the better. “Anything new?”