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“This is not very interesting,” said Dooley as the discussion flowed as easily as the champagne.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “And not a word about Pussy.”

“I think they completely forgot about her.”

“Yeah, just like Odelia has completely forgotten about us,” I said with a touch of bitterness. Humans weren’t as trustworthy as I’d always imagined. When push came to shove, they preferred to be surrounded by other humans, not the feline species they professed to love so much.

But then, suddenly, the old lady in the wheelchair piped up. She’d put down the oxygen mask and spoke with a croaky but clear voice.

“You’re all nuts!” she declared, and silence immediately descended upon the room. “Don’t you realize you’re wasting your time? My son decided to leave his entire fortune, and the company he built, to a cat!”

“I don’t think—” Xavier began with a little smile.

“A darn cat! Who cares who the new CEO or president is? From now on, Leo’s cat is in charge! She’s going to sign the paychecks. She’s your boss!”

“But surely a cat can’t run a business,” said the well-coiffed woman.

“Yes, that is simply ludicrous!” said another.

“You’re right! Cats don’t run companies! So my son appointed a guardian for his cat, and so this guardian will effectively run things from now on.”

“Who’s the guardian?” asked one of the suits.

“And how do you know all this?” asked another.

“Because Leo’s lawyer is also my lawyer. And the guy called me the minute he learned about what happened. So the lawyer told me about Leo’s will—apparently he’d only had it drawn up last week—and the cat situation, and I was as shocked as you are. And as shocked as I’m sure the rest of the world will be when they find out about my son’s final folly. They’ll all be surprised to learn that Leo went a little cuckoo at the end. But the fact remains that Pussy now owns the company!”

“Can’t this will be contested on account of the fact that the person who made it was… well, not to put too fine a point on it… nuts?” asked another suit.

Xavier spread his arms. “Leo wasn’t nuts,” he said. “Just… a little eccentric.” He looked flustered. He probably hadn’t expected to have to report to a cat from now on.

“Well, the lawyer assured me that Leo was of sound mind and body when he drew up his new will,” said Leo’s mother after taking a gasp from her oxygen tank. “And that it will stand the tests of the courts and whatever else you want to throw at it. The only problem is that the guardian is now in jail for murder, and won’t be able to take up his role.”

“The guardian is Gabriel Crier?” asked Xavier, looking flabbergasted.

“Yes, it is. And since he killed my son, and will be sent to Rikers Island if there’s any justice in the world, the law clearly states that the next person in line for this guardianship is Leo’s next of kin.” She tapped her chest. “Moi.”

Chapter 17

The meeting turned into complete pandemonium. People were rocketing up out of their chairs, they were screaming, some were pulling at their hair, while others hammered the table with their fists, one even with his head.

“Silence!” suddenly a voice bellowed. It was hard to imagine, but it actually came from the old lady who looked a hundred, and who probably was a hundred, but who was as vivid and lively as any of her cronies.

“But this is an outrage!” Xavier was crying. “This will not stand!”

“Yes, how can a cat—a cat!—run this company!” someone else said, clearly speaking for all those present.

“I take offense, Max,” said Dooley. “A cat can just as easily run a company as any human, right?”

“I would think so,” I said. Though I had no personal experience running a company, I could well imagine that a cat, given the proper training, could run a company just as well as the next CEO. After all, a lot of Fortune 500 companies are run by jackals and hyenas, and some even by an ass.

“Pussy is quite capable of running this company,” said Leo’s mother, echoing our words exactly.

“I think I like this woman,” said Dooley.

“A woman after my own heart,” I agreed.

“At least she seems to appreciate that sometimes the smartest person in the room is a cat,” said Dooley.

“But you don’t even know what she thinks!” said Xavier, whose hair was now all mussed and whose glasses were bedewed with honest perspiration.

“I don’t claim to understand cats either,” said the old lady. “But fortunately I know someone who does. Come on in, Chris!” she yelled in that same hale and hearty voice of hers that resonated through the room—both the one in the basement and the one Dooley and I were currently holed up in.

Chris came in, and to my surprise it was the pet detective.

“Isn’t that…” said Dooley.

“Yeah, I think it is,” I said.

To remove the last vestige of doubt as to who he was, the Siamese cat that had been so rude to us walked right behind him, and immediately meowed, “What a bunch of losers, boss!”

“Yeah, I know,” said his boss.

Lucky for him no one understood what they were saying, which seemed to add to their enjoyment, for they both smiled. Yes, cats do smile, even though there is some discussion about that. Some scientists claim they don’t, while other, equally learned scholars claim that they do. Well, let me clear up this misunderstanding: we do smile, but since we have a very refined sense of humor, we rarely indulge in the habit, so you probably missed it that time.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” said Leo’s mother, “let me introduce you to Christopher Cross and his trusty sidekick Tank. Chris is a latter-day Dr. Dolittle, in the sense that he can talk to any pet, great or small, and can actually understand what those pets are talking about. He’s the original pet whisperer, and I’m very grateful that he’s accepted my invitation to play a senior role in the newly structured Leonidas Flake Company.”

There was more shouting, this time directed at the newcomer, but the old lady once again managed to drown out the hubbub with her stentorian voice.

“This is how it’s going to be from now on! Pussy will take on the role of company president, and her dictates will be carefully noted by Chris and Tank, then turned into instructions and executive orders, which will trickle down through the company. I will be on hand to keep an eye on the proceedings, as I have formed a close bond with Pussy myself, and will play a vital role in the new structure that will be put in place.”

“But what role will you assume?” asked an exasperated chairman.

The lady puffed out her chest. “I’m the new CEO. And together with my president I will make this company great again!”

“This is an outrage!” someone yelled.

“Well, you don’t have to feel that way anymore,” said the woman, after taking a puff from her oxygen mask. “You’re fired, effective immediately.”

A collective gasp of shock reverberated through the room.

“Anyone else want to lodge a formal complaint about the new management structure?” asked Mrs. Flake.

“I don’t want to sound critical…” the well-coiffed lady began.

“I have a feeling you will.”

“But aren’t you a little… old for the role, Mrs. Flake?”

“You’re only as old as you feel,” said Leo’s mother. “And I feel a sprightly fifty, so I have a lot of good years still left in the tank.” She patted the oxygen tank for good measure. “Anyone else? Comments, criticisms? No? Then court is adjourned and I’ll see you lot in Paris for our annual board meeting where we will formalize the new company structure and I hope to be able to convey to you some of the new plans I’m sure Pussy will be excited to come up with.”