Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“No, for real.”

“I know. You’re dead to me.”

“I have spots!” Brutus cried out, desperation in his voice.

Whatever Harriet had been expecting, it wasn’t this. She stared at Brutus. “Spots?”

“Spots! Red spots! On my chest!”

For a moment, Harriet was speechless. “Huh.”

“So I asked Shanille for advice and she said inviting Jesus into my life would fix me right up.”

“Jesus,” said Harriet dubiously.

“Yes, Jesus. I’m a desperate cat, Harriet, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. Also…” He traced an uncertain pattern on the baptismal font’s ledge with his paw. “I, um, I guess I felt embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed!”

“I know you like your tomcats butch and strong, and these spots have made me feel weak and… well, all too aware of my own mortality. I didn’t want to let you down.”

“Oh, Brutus,” she said, and to my elation there was a marked softening in her demeanor. In the past her ‘Oh, Brutus’ had alternately sounded exasperated or incensed but now her words were tinged with a nice sense of compassion.

Brutus jumped down from the font and approached her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you. I didn’t think I could stand to see the disappointment on your face.”

“Disappointment! Brutus, I’m not disappointed. In fact I’m proud of you. That you would decide to face this terrible disease on your own—proud in the face of certain death.”

There was a moment of reconciliation that was accompanied by the kind of scene that would almost certainly earn this chronicle a PG-13 rating so I won’t recount it here. Suffice it to say that all seemed to be well in the enduring love affair of Harriet and Brutus.

“So are we still doing this?” asked Shanille, sounding a little peeved. A staunch believer in the life celibate, she hadn’t enjoyed being accused of being married to Brutus.

“Yes, we’re doing this,” said Harriet with a happy smile. “In fact, now that I come to think of it, I want to join you guys. I want to invite Jesus into my life, too. Max, Brutus, I want to be baptized, too, if that’s all right with you.”

“What about me?!” Dooley cried.

Harriet gave him a grin. “Just teasing.” She gestured between them. “I see you.”

“Avatar!” Dooley jubilated. “I love that movie!”

“What’s he talking about?” grumbled Brutus. For a cat on the verge of death he was no stranger to petty jealousy.

“Never mind,” said Harriet, jumping up onto the baptismal font. “So how does this work?”

“Shanille will say a few words, then splash some water on our heads,” I explained.

“Great. So let’s get on with it. This cold stone is murder on my butt.”

It wasn’t exactly the kind of statement to preface what Shanille had said was the most important moment of our lives. I wasn’t convinced she was right. The most important moment in my life had probably been when Odelia lifted me from amongst my mother’s litter. The second most important moment when Dooley came into my life. But I wasn’t about to be nitpicky. After all, this wasn’t about me but about the salvation of Brutus.

Brutus joined us and now five cats circled the dark well of holy water.

“Let’s begin,” said Shanille. “Brutus, do you reject sin and the glamour of anvil?”

“Anvil?” I asked.

“That’s what Father Reilly says on these occasions.”

“Pretty sure he means ‘evil.’”

“Are you a church cat or am I?”

“You are.”

“Fine. Brutus, what say you?”

“Um, I reject the glamour of anvil,” said Brutus.

“Max,” whispered Dooley.

“What?”

“I thought I was first!”

“Let’s just go with it,” I suggested. Otherwise we’d be there all night. And Harriet was right. This cold bluestone surface was wreaking havoc on my tender tush.

“Do you believe in the Holy Sprite?” Shanille intoned.

“Spirit,” I muttered.

Shanille gave me a withering look and I mimicked locking my lips and throwing away the key.

“Sure thing, babe,” said Brutus with a grin. Like Big Mac, he was clearly lovin’ it.

“And do you believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior?”

“Absolutely, toots,” said Brutus, earning himself a scowl from Shanille.

“Brutus, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Sprite, for the forgiveness of your sins, and the gift of the Holy Sprite.”

“So what about my spots?” asked Brutus.

In response, a clearly irate Shanille gave Brutus a slap on the back that sent the black cat flying into the baptismal font. When he resurfaced, spluttering and splashing, she made the sign of the cross and said, “Consider yourself baptized. Next!”

Dooley, Harriet and I exchanged worried glances. I’d expected a slight splash of water, which was enough to give me chills. But a full-body dunking? No way, José!

“Your turn,” said Brutus, who now looked like a drowned chicken. He sneezed. “Hey, I feel better already.” He quickly checked his spots. “Nah. They’re still there.”

“The benediction might take some time to kick in,” Shanille said. “So who’s next?”

Finally, Harriet stepped to the fore—metaphorically, at least—and said, with a slight shiver of anticipation, “Me. I wanna go next.”

“Fine,” said Shanille. “Harriet, do you reject sin and the glamour of anvil?”

And so it went. Harriet went into the drink, then Dooley, and finally, I was for it, too. I have to say that when all was said and done, I felt distinctly refreshed. Which of course could have had something to do with the fact that the water was pretty darn chilly.

Still, now that I’d put my destiny in the Lord Jesus’s hands, I had the impression that this benediction Shanille had mentioned had descended upon my furry shoulders, too. It was the weirdest thing. As the four of us walked out of that church, it was with a spring in our collective steps, smiles on our faces and a definite swing in our hips.

“I can’t believe we’ll never have to go to Vena anymore,” said Dooley, voicing my thoughts exactly.

“We’ll never get sick again,” said Harriet.

“And we’ll never have to get shots ever again!” I cried.

We all laughed. If there’s one thing us cats hate, it’s shots.

Brutus sneezed, and then, like a chain reaction, so did Dooley, Harriet and me.

Looked like the Lord Jesus had washed away our sins and given us a cold in return.

Chapter 32

When Odelia woke up the next day she wondered for a moment what had awakened her. It wasn’t her alarm—she’d forgotten to set it again—and it wasn’t the sun shining through the curtains either, for the sun hadn’t yet hoisted itself across the horizon yet.

“Achoo!”

She lifted her head from the pillow and saw, in the relative darkness of the room, a small form at the foot of the bed. She smiled and propped herself up on her elbows.

“Max? Is that you sneezing?”

In response, four distinctly different sneezes rang out like cannon shots in the silence of the room.

“Achoo!”

“Achee!”

“Achoum!”

“Achaa!”

She flicked on her bedside Betty Boop lamp and blinked against the sudden light. When her vision cleared, she saw four cats staring back at her. Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus. They didn’t look very happy. In fact they looked distinctly despondent.

“You have a cold,” she said matter-of-factly. “All four of you.”

All four cats nodded gloomily.

“I better take you to Vena,” she said.