Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“That surge of energy. If we all start kicking each other we elevate the planet’s energy level. Once the planet’s core energy signature changes, we collectively enter the sixth dimension and as everybody knows the apocalypse can’t materialize in the sixth dimension.”

“Huh,” said Dooley, and eyed me curiously. I could see that his right leg was itching to give me a kick so I moved back a little.

A small smirk appeared on Milo’s face so I gave him a warning glance.

‘What?’ his expression said.

‘Cut it out,’ my expression returned.

‘I was just having a bit of fun.’

‘You had your fun now cut it out.’

‘Oh, all right. You’re such a party pooper.’

Better be a party pooper than have cat choir turn into a kickfest. As we waited for Shanille to take up her position on top of the jungle gym and start rehearsals, I noticed how Brutus suddenly seemed to have disappeared.

“Where’s Brutus?” I asked Harriet.

“Beats me,” said Harriet. She didn’t look happy. As if something was bugging her. “He’s been acting weird all week,” she added, then lowered her voice. “I think he’s having an affair, Max.”

“That’s impossible. That cat is crazy about you.”

“He was—now he’s not.”

“I think you’re wrong. I happen to know Brutus very well and—”

“If you know him so well you’ll know that he’s been unusually quiet and maudlin.”

I gave her a look of surprise. Not because of Brutus but because she knew the word maudlin.

“Maybe you should talk to him, Max. Man to man, I mean. He might tell you what’s going on.” Her expression hardened. “And if he’s been having an affair I can tell you right now that I’ll rip him to shreds and stomp on his remains then spit on his cheating carcass.”

I gulped. Harriet can be fierce, and I didn’t doubt for a moment she meant every word she said. “I’ll talk to him,” I promised. “In fact I’ll do it right now.” If I could find him, that was. “Can you keep an eye on Dooley? Milo’s been filling his ears with nonsense again.”

“I know. If he keeps it up I’ll rip him to shreds, too, then stomp on—”

“His remains. I get it.”

I was quick to put some distance between myself and Harriet. When she was in one of her moods there was no telling who’d be on the receiving end of those sharp claws.

To my surprise, I found Brutus hobnobbing with Shanille near a cluster of evergreens. The two of them were deep in conversation. So deep, in fact, that they didn’t hear me sneak up on them until I was close enough to catch some snatches of what they were discussing.

“Come tonight and come alone,” Shanille was saying.

“I will,” Brutus responded, uncharacteristically solemn. “Are you sure about this, Shanille?”

“Of course I’m sure. But it’s imperative that you tell no one, you hear?”

“Do you think I want anyone to know? I haven’t even told Max, and he’s my best bud.”

I was so surprised to hear Brutus refer to me as his best bud that I accidentally stepped on a twig and it snapped. Both Shanille and Brutus looked up and spotted me.

“Hey, guys,” I said with faux cheer. “Great weather we’ve been having, huh?”

Shanille shook her head disgustedly, then said, “You fix this, Brutus.” She stalked off, leaving me and Brutus to stare at each other, an uncomfortable silence stretching out between us.

Finally, Brutus said, “There’s something I need to tell you, Max.”

I steeled myself for the big reveal. “I like Shanille.”

He frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” I hastened to say. “Just a comment in the margin.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said in a soft voice, “I’m dying, Max.”

“Wait, what?”

He nodded sadly. “Come here.”

I came there—reluctantly.

He spread a few hairs on his chest. “See?”

Honestly I didn’t see a thing. Mainly because it was pretty dark where we were standing, and also because Brutus is the color of the night: blacker than black.

“What am I looking at?” I asked finally.

“The spots. Can’t you see them?”

“What spots?”

“The red spots!”

I squinted, straining my eyes and leaning in.

And this is how Dooley found us: me with my nose practically touching Brutus’s chest.

“Guys?” he asked. “Am I interrupting something?”

“He’s dying,” I said without preamble.

In response, Dooley came over and gave Brutus a kick against the rear end.

“Hey!” Brutus cried, jerking up. “What was that for?”

“Do you feel it?” asked Dooley, wide-eyed.

“Of course I felt it. You kicked me!”

“Now you’re in the sixth dimension and you won’t die.”

Brutus’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Finally, he reeled it back in and growled, “If you kick me one more time, I swear to God, I’ll kick you so hard your backside will become your new face and you’ll wear your tail as a nose.”

Dooley gulped at this. Milo probably hadn’t told him that even in the sixth dimension cats wouldn’t enjoy being kicked up the backside.

“Have you told Marge or Odelia?” I asked.

“About the sixth dimension?” asked Dooley.

I ignored Dooley. “Someone should take a look at those spots.”

“I’ve told Shanille and now I’ve told you and Justin Tucker over there.”

“Who’s Justin Tucker?” asked Dooley.

We both ignored him. Brutus was still sitting with his chest out and now I finally saw the spots. They were tiny and they were red. I didn’t like the look of them, to be honest.

“I’m afraid that if I tell Odelia or Marge they’ll take me to Vena and she’ll say I’ve got cancer and will put me down on the spot. I don’t want to be put down on the spot, Max.”

“I understand.” I did. No cat likes to be put down on the veterinarian’s table. It’s humiliating, not to mention unpleasant. We all want to die in our sleep after living a long and happy life. And be disease-free right up to the end. And stay far away from the vet.

Dooley, who’d been staring at Brutus’s chest for the past five minutes, now said, “You have spots on your chest, Brutus.”

Brutus muttered something I won’t repeat here, seeing as children and senior citizens might be reading about my adventures, too. Suffice it to say it was the verbal equivalent of Dooley’s sixth-dimension-inducing kick.

“So why Shanille?” I asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

“She’s a religious cat,” said Brutus. “I figured she would have some answers for me. And she did. She says I should invite Jesus into my life and he will heal me. She’s scheduled for me to get baptized tomorrow night in the baptismal font over at St. John’s Church. I’m going to do it, Max,” he added when I gave him a slightly skeptical look.

“Maybe she can wash off those red spots while she’s at it,” said Dooley. He moved to touch Brutus’s chest. “Is that paint or tomato sauce?”

“Don’t touch my spots,” said Brutus, deftly evading Dooley’s grabbing paw.

“Don’t touch his spots, Dooley,” I said. “They could be contagious.”

This was the right approach. Dooley’s paw froze mid-air. “Contagious?” he asked in a strangled, squeaky voice. “You mean… you’re really dying? Like, dying-from-a-contagious-disease dying?”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Brutus growled.

Dooley immediately retracted his paw and took a few steps back. Dooley has a thing about dying and diseases. He doesn’t like them. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a look of panic in his eyes. “I want to get baptized, too—but I get to go first!” he now exclaimed.