Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Santa

“Why don’t I give you a paw up?” Dooley asked now.

“I don’t know…” I muttered. I glanced behind Dooley, making sure he was alone. If we were going to do this, I didn’t want there to be any witnesses.

Dooley followed my gaze. “What are you looking at?” Then he got it. “Oh, if you’re looking for Harriet, she was fast asleep in Brutus’s paws. Those two must have had a rough night.”

My face clouded. Being reminded of Brutus usually has a souring effect on my mood. You see, Brutus is what us cats call an intruder. He came waltzing into our lives a couple of weeks ago and has refused to leave ever since. He belongs to Chase Kingsley, a cop Odelia has taken a liking to, but seems to spend an awful lot of time next door, cozying up to Harriet, Odelia’s mom’s white Persian.

I made up my mind. “Let’s do this,” I grunted. If we didn’t, Odelia might wake up of her own accord, and I’d miss my window of opportunity to put in some much-needed snuggle time.

Dooley padded up to me and plunked down on his haunches. “How do you want to do this?”

“Simple. I jump and you give me a boost.”

“You mean, like, on the count of three or something?”

“Or something.” I got ready, poised at the foot of the bed and said, “One—two—”

“Wait,” Dooley said. “Are we doing this on three or after three?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I boost you on three, or right after?”

“Why would you boost me right after? The count of three usually means the count of three, Dooley.”

“So, one, two, three and boost? Or one, two, three, pause, and then boost?”

“One, two, three, boost,” I said, starting to lose my patience. “Now, are we doing this or not?”

He thought about this for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you want to do this?”

“Of course I want to do this! Preferably before we die of old age.”

Dooley’s eyes went wide. “Die of old age? Do you think we’re dying, Max?!”

“No, we’re not dying! I just want to put in some snuggle time, is that so hard to understand?”

“Oh, right,” he said, understanding dawning. “I thought you said we were dying.”

For some reason Dooley has been obsessing about dying lately. Usually I can talk him out of it, but then he sees something on TV and the whole thing starts all over again.

“Are you ready?”

Dooley nodded. “I’m ready, Max.”

“One—two—”

“Wait!”

I groaned. “What is it now?”

“Where do I boost you?”

“Up the bed! Where else?”

“No, I mean, do I boost your butt or your hind paws or what? I’m new to this boosting business,” he explained apologetically.

“It’s not exactly an Olympic discipline, Dooley. There are no rules. You can boost me wherever you want.” On second thought… “Though stay away from my butt.”

“Right. Stay away from your butt. So where…”

“Anywhere but my butt! Now one—two—”

“Max!”

“What?!”

“What if I boost you too hard and you end up flying across the bed and down the other side?”

I fixed him with a hard look. “Trust me, Dooley, the chances of that happening are slim to none. I mean, look at us. I’m like the Dwayne Johnson of cats and you’re more like Andrew Garfield in Hacksaw Ridge , all scrawny and mangy. You’ll be lucky if you can boost me a couple inches, which is all I need,” I hastened to add.

“Do you think I’m too mangy?” asked Dooley with a frown.

“Not too mangy. You’re just thin is all. A very healthy thin.”

“Not a sickly thin? Like an I’m-about-to-die thin?”

Oh, God. I did not need this aggravation. “Absolutely not. More like a my-name-is-Gwyneth-Paltrow-and-I’m-willowy-and-gorgeous kind of thin.”

“I thought you said I looked like Andrew Garfield?”

“In a very Gwyneth Paltrow-y way.”

This seemed to please him, as he gave me a grateful smile. “Why, thanks, Max. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Great. Now about that boost?”

“Oh! Right! I forgot all about that.”

“Focus, Dooley. Now, are you ready?”

“Ready,” he said, his face a study in concentration.

“One—two—three—”

“Boost!” he cried and placed both paws on my butt, giving me a mighty shove.

And… we had liftoff! Only it didn’t last very long, nor did it carry me where I was aiming to go. Instead, I plunked right back down again, landing on top of Dooley, who ended up squeezed beneath my sizable buns.

There was a momentary pause, while we both figured out what went wrong, then Dooley croaked, “Can you please lift your butt, Max? You’re choking me!”

Applause broke out behind us, and a loud cackling sound, and when I looked up, I saw we’d been joined by Harriet and Brutus. The latter was applauding, a Draco Malfoy-type sneer on his mug, and Harriet was doing the cackling, apparently finding the whole scene hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” I asked with an angry look at the newly arrived.

“You!” Brutus cried. “You’re so fat you can’t even jump on the bed!”

“I’m not fat! I’m just… experiencing some issues with my takeoff.”

“Issues with your takeoff! You’re not an airplane, Max. You’re a cat. A cat too fat to fly!” Harriet dissolved into giggles while Brutus was laughing so hard his belly shook.

“Max!” Dooley breathed. “You’re… choking… me…”

I released Dooley by lifting my butt, then resumed my scowling. “I’m not fat—I’m big-boned. There’s a difference. And Odelia probably bought a new bed, that’s all. I never had any trouble jumping into the old bed, which was still here yesterday morning. Isn’t that right Dooley?”

But Dooley was still catching his breath, taking big gulps of it.

“That’s the exact same bed as always,” said Brutus. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Girlfriend stealer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”

Brutus had walked up to me and poked my chest with his paw. “You kissed my girlfriend, Max. I saw you so don’t try to deny it.”

“I didn’t kiss anyone! She kissed me!”

“That’s what you say.”

“Because that’s what happened!”

He leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I thought we had an understanding, Max. I thought you and I were friends. And then you went and did a thing like that.” He pursed his lips. “You’re despicable. There’s no other word for it.”

“I didn’t kiss her,” I hissed. “She kissed me. I’m not even interested in Harriet!”

“What are you two whispering about?” Harriet asked with a laugh.

“Nothing, honey bunch,” said Brutus in his sweetest voice. “Just clearing up some stuff.”

“Max is right, Brutus,” Dooley loud-whispered. “Harriet kissed him, not the other way around. And he didn’t even like it, did you, Max?” These last words were spoken with a look of reproach in my direction. Dooley has always fancied Harriet, and he cannot grasp being kissed by that divine feline and not enjoying the experience.

“I heard you,” said Harriet, tripping up deftly. “And for your information, I didn’t kiss Max.”

“See?!” Brutus exclaimed triumphantly.

“My Inner Goddess did.”

“What?!”

Harriet raised her chin defiantly. “I can’t be held responsible for every little thing my Inner Goddess does, Brutus. Sometimes she wears a blindfold. I thought I was kissing you, actually. I only realized my mistake when I reached out and the only thing my paw met was a yielding fluffiness where rock-hard muscles should have been.”

Brutus stared at her. “Go on.”

She placed a paw on his chest and closed her eyes. “See, now that I’m feeling your steely pecs I know it’s you. That was my mistake. I kissed first and touched later.”