Дебора Хоу - Howliday Inn

“Now, now, Chester, what’s the matter, hmmm? You’re not afraid, are you?” I suppose his words should have been comforting, but I could feel myself beginning to shake. “You’re both going to have a won derful time here at Chateau Bow-Wow while your family is away. Aren’t they, Harrison?” Harrison looked at Dr. Greenbriar as if he were crazy. The doctor turned back to us. “Harrison and Jill are going to take good care of you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Mrs. Monroe seemed a little uneasy. “Are you sure everything will be all right, doctor?” she asked. “I don’t mean to question you, but—”

“Everything will be just fine , Mrs. Monroe,” he answered her sharply. “Surely you don’t question my staff?”

Mrs. Monroe’s eyes grew wide. “N … no, of course not,” she answered, taken aback.

“Harrison has worked for me for three summers now, and Jill is studying to be a veterinarian. I trust them both completely. As should you.”

“But we thought you’d—” Mr. Monroe started to speak, but was cut off by the doctor.

“Yes, yes, I know. But I simply must take some time off. No one appreciates just how hard I work.” His face took on a pained expression as he continued. “This has been a difficult summer. I’ll work myself into a collapse if I don’t get away.” With furrowed brow, he looked into Mrs. Monroe’s eyes. Then his features relaxed. “Anyway,” he went on, “it isn’t as if I were going to the other side of the world. I’ll be right here in town, just a phone call away, should any problems come up. I know you have two very special pets here, and believe me, nothing is going to happen to them.”

Harrison snorted. “ This is a special pet?” he asked, pointing to Chester. Chester, who had calmed down a bit, began hissing at Harrison.

“Oh yes,” Dr. Greenbriar replied seriously, “Chester is a very special cat. Most … unusual . Isn’t that so, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe?”

“Unusual, hmmm,” Mr. Monroe said, reflecting, “I’d say that’s just the word for Chester. Wouldn’t you, dear?”

“That’s the word all right,” Mrs. Monroe agreed.

At that moment, Jill came through the gate marked “Chateau Bow-Bow.” She tripped on a tree stump as she moved toward us. Chester dropped his head sadly. I heard him sigh, I assumed in resignation to his fate.

“Okay, their bungalows are all ready,” she said as she approached. She took Chester from Toby and carried him off. He didn’t even resist as they disappeared into the world beyond the gate.

“Bungalows are what we call cages here at Chateau Bow-Wow,” Dr. Greenbriar was saying to the Monroes. “We think it has more class.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Monroe answered. “Class. Yes.” She and Mr. Monroe exchanged a look.

“Well, we should be going,” Mr. Monroe said then. “Come on, boys, let’s leave Harold to his new home.”

Suddenly, Toby threw himself around my neck.

“Goodbye, Harold,” he cried. “I’m going to miss you. Be a good dog, okay?” I felt a tear come to my eye.

Pete snickered. “Yeah, Harold,” he said sarcastically, “try not to stink up the joint.” I felt a bite coming to my teeth.

“Bye, Harold,” Mr. Monroe said, leaning down to pat me on the head. “Remember,” he added in a whisper, “it’s good for the soul.”

“Harold,” Mrs. Monroe said firmly, “be of good cheer. And keep your eye on Chester, will you? Try to keep him out of trouble.” Mrs. Monroe often left me with instructions, but rarely so impossible a task as this. Still, I vowed inside myself to do my best.

Toby was holding me tightly. His tears flowed freely now. “I don’t want to leave Harold, Mom,” he was saying between sniffs. A lump formed in my throat.

Gently, Mrs. Monroe separated Toby from my neck. As she led him by the hand to the car, Harrison took me by the collar to the waiting gate. Just as I was about to enter, I looked back at Toby who was waving to me sadly. A tear at last escaped my eye, and I turned to step through the gate.

Harrison pulled the door shut, and Chester’s words popped into my head. “Abandon all hope,” he had said, “ye who enter here.”

ONCE inside the gate, I got my first real look at my new home, as Mr. Monroe had called it. Chateau Bow-Wow consisted of nine bungalows. (Whatever they were called, they looked like cages to me.) These stood on three sides of a big grassy play area, which Harrison referred to as the compound. The fourth side of the compound was the back wall of the house. A door in this wall led directly into Dr. Greenbriar’s office. This door and the main gate seemed to be the only ways to get in or out of the place. A high wooden fence stood behind all the bungalows. It was impossible to see over it, and the only relief from the drabness within was the presence of a few trees here and there.

Oh well, I thought, I had been right about one thing. The Waldorf-Astoria it wasn’t.

Harrison led me to the first bungalow we came to after entering the compound. I was relieved to see that Chester was being housed next door. After Harrison left me, I whispered to Chester through the wall.

“What’s it like where you are?” I asked. “This isn’t so bad. I’ve got a nice carpet on the floor and a couple of rubber bones for chewing. It’s not home, but at least they’ve tried to give it a personal touch.”

“Oh really?” Chester snapped back. “Like what? Aside from a disgusting looking lump of cloth hanging from a string in here, there isn’t much in the way of interior decoration.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Chester.”

“It looks as if it’s been hanging here since they built the place,” he went on. “Probably supposed to be some sort of cat plaything. To tell you the truth, it looks like a mouse with a serious medical condition.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“Probably got that way from eating the food here,” he muttered.

“Oh, this is nice,” I said, noticing my food dish for the first time. “It says ‘Doggie’s Din-Din’ on the side. Does your dinner bowl say anything?”

There was a long silence from the other side of the wall.

“Chester? Chester?”

“I hear you, Harold.”

“Does your food dish say anything?”

“Yes, Harold. It says, ‘Tuna Tonite! Kitty’s Delite!’ ”

“Oh, that’s cute, Chester. Don’t you think so?”

“I may throw up.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind, Harold.”

After a pause, Chester spoke again.

“Harold?”

“Yes, Chester?”

“This place is a loony bin, Harold. Any place that has a dead mouse hanging on a string as guest room decor is a loony bin.”

“Oh, Chester, I think you’re exaggerating—” I started to say, but I was cut off by a sudden burst of barking from the two dogs in the bungalows directly across from ours. Straight ahead of me was a bulldog in a white turtleneck sweater. Next to him was a French poodle. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument, and it was the poodle who spoke first.

“Oh, yes, yes!” she was saying. “Over and over you say the same thing. But don’t think I am so easily fooled, Monsieur Max. You cannot pull the—how you say—wool over these eyes so easily.”

“Louise, lower your voice,” the bulldog replied. “Everyone can hear you.”

“Let them! I do not care! Why should I? After what you’ve done to me? Humph!”

Even at a distance, I could see that Max was embarrassed. He tried to pull his head further back into the turtleneck sweater, which already threatened to engulf him. He kept pacing back and forth as they spoke.

“So?” Louise pressed on relentlessly. “What do you have to say for yourself, Monsieur Fancy-Pants?”