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

“You should come and live with us,” said Dooley. “I mean,” he added, with a glance in my direction, “what’s one more mouse?”

“Dooley!” I hissed. “We’re trying to get rid of the mice, not add more to the pack!”

“But Elsa is not like the other mice,” he said. “She’s one of the nice mice.”

“You know what?” said Elsa. “I could join you guys and have a word with this Hector and Helga, if you like. I’m sure I could come to some sort of arrangement if you let me. Mice, after all, don’t listen to cats, but they might listen to a fellow mouse.”

I had to admit there was something to be said for this. And if things didn’t work out, she could always come back to live at Maria’s place.

“All right,” I said finally. “You can come. But only if you promise to behave.”

She laughed again. “Behave! Max, I’m the best-behaved mouse you know!”

And with this, we shook paws on it.

Chapter 25

“Are you sure?” asked Fifi. The little Yorkie didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” said Harriet.

“But what am I going to tell them?”

Brutus and Harriet and Fifi were in conference in Odelia’s backyard, Fifi having absconded from her own backyard through one of the holes she liked to dig. Her human, Kurt Mayfield, a retired music teacher, always patched up the holes, only for Fifi simply to dig another one. She didn’t like to be confined to her own backyard, and liked to socialize with the cats next door, much to Kurt’s dismay, as he was a lot less fond of those same cats, especially when they broke into song, which he often responded to by throwing his shoes in their direction as a way of showing his lack of appreciation.

Brutus thought they should probably leave Fifi in peace. He didn’t see how a small dog would succeed where a big dog had failed. Then again, once Harriet had an idea in her head, it was very hard to get it out again, at least until she’d brought it to fruition, often with disastrous consequences.

“You simply tell them they have to leave,” said Harriet. “I’m sure they’ll listen to you.”

“When?” asked Fifi. “When do you want to do this?” She still wasn’t fully on board, Brutus could tell.

“No time like the present,” said Harriet cheerfully.

“What, you want to do this now?!” asked Fifi, looking horrified by the prospect of having to use her powers of persuasion to dislodge two hundred mice from the house.

“Yes, why not? Better get it over with,” said Harriet. “Like a band-aid,” she added.

“A band-aid?” asked the little doggie dubiously.

“Yeah, you have to pull it off quickly. That way it’s not so bad.”

Fifi, who probably never in her life had had a band-aid applied to her corpus, gave Harriet a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of her plan. Still, she followed them into the house when invited, and in the direction of the basement when suggested. She paused on the top step, though, now clearly suffering from a bout of stage fright.

“They’re not… violent, are they?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “They’re quite peaceful. Very friendly. You’ll see.”

How a dog who was afraid of mice was going to scare them into leaving Odelia’s home was obviously not a thought that occurred to Harriet, and it wasn’t a question Brutus was prepared to raise. Still, as he watched Fifi walk down the stairs, one careful step at a time, the thought ‘dead dog walking’ suddenly came to mind.

“Stop!” suddenly another voice yelled, this one not in Brutus’s head but coming from behind him.

He turned, and so did Harriet and Fifi.

Much to Brutus’s surprise, it was none other than Shanille who’d graced them with her presence.

Shanille, leader of cat choir and Father Reilly’s cat, seldom paid house calls.

It also surprised Harriet, and not in a good way. “What are you doing here?” she growled.

Harriet and Shanille rarely saw eye to eye. Shanille often found fault with Harriet’s nightly solo performances she insisted on giving, and Harriet, who hated criticism of her God-given talents, didn’t like the comments her choir leader habitually directed at her.

“Kingman told me about your predicament,” said Shanille, a little stiffly. “He told me you’ve been suffering from a mice infestation and suggested I pay you a visit. See what I can do.”

“What you can do! Excuse me, Shanille, but we don’t need your help. We have everything under control.”

Shanille directed a critical look at the mess the mice had made of the kitchen, with pieces of cheese having dropped by the industrious mice, forming a trail all the way from the kitchen to the basement door. “Yeah, I can see you do,” she said, then pressed her lips together primly.

“We have our secret weapon right here,” said Harriet, gesturing to Fifi, who’d retraced her steps and was now among them once more, and looking suspiciously relieved at this stay of execution.

“A dog?” asked Shanille. “You’re going to send a dog to do a cat’s job? Oh, dear. This is so much worse than I thought. No wonder Kingman asked for my help.”

“Kingman should mind his own business,” Harriet snapped. “And frankly so should you, Shanille. Fifi, go ahead.”

But the little Yorkie gave them such a look of anguish Brutus decided to intervene. “Why don’t we give Shanille a chance to see what she can do?” he suggested. “She is, after all, Father Reilly’s cat.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” asked Harriet.

“I have religion on my side,” Shanille said, giving Harriet a supercilious look. “And that’s a lot more than I can say about you.”

And with these words, she passed by a furious-looking Harriet and stepped into the basement.

Brutus followed from a distance, and Harriet brought up the rear, with Fifi deciding to occupy the top step, giving her a fighting chance to make a run for it in case things turned ugly.

“What are they called again?” asked Shanille once they were down in the basement.

“Helga and Hector,” Brutus supplied helpfully.

“Hector? Helga? A word, please?” said Shanille briskly.

Immediately the mouse couple appeared, as did about a hundred of their offspring, taking Shanille by surprise.

“Oh, my,” she said as she saw the sea of mice surrounding them.

“Who are you?” asked Hector, nibbling from a piece of cheese Brutus was pretty sure had been in the fridge only an hour ago.

“My name is Shanille, and I wanted to have a little chat with you. From one of God’s creatures to another, and with the blessing of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, who loves us all unconditionally and in equal measure.”

Hector frowned and turned to Brutus. “What is she talking about?”

“Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat,” Brutus explained. “And she has an important message for you.”

“Well, speak up,” said Helga. “I don’t have all day.”

“I have a proposition for you all,” said Shanille, taking a seat and carefully draping her tail around her buttocks. She didn’t look completely at ease, Brutus thought, and he could see why. More mice had appeared and Hector and Helga’s family was now all present and accounted for, filling the basement. In fact he couldn’t see the floor through the ocean of gray.

“What proposition?” asked Helga suspiciously.

“A way for all of you to live together in perfect harmony,” said Shanille pleasantly. “As you know, this home belongs to Odelia, and she has been so kind as to invite a number of cats to live with her. What she didn’t do is invite you lovely mice to share her home. But being the wonderful, God-fearing woman that she is, she was so gracious to let you stay here regardless. But through no fault of your own, this arrangement isn’t, um, convenient for her anymore. She appreciates you, and wants you to know she loves all creatures, great and small, just like the good Lord does, but she now suggests you and your family relocate to another, more suitable location, and leave her and my fellow felines the house.”