“P-p-partners?” I said, shaken.
“Of course. I’ll admit you’ve got brains, meatb— I mean, Tom, but I’ve got the brawn. Together we’ll solve this murder in no time. You’ll figure out the identity of the pimpled killer, and I’ll take him out.”
“Take him out?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Cats don’t take out humans. It’s simply not done. Furthermore, I was now an FSA agent, and sworn to protect humans, not harm them, even if they did prove to be cold-blooded killers. “But we can’t take the law into our own paws,” I said.
“Why not? Easy as chicken pie. You just find out who this knife-wielding maniac is, and I’ll do the rest…” He punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Partner.”
“But—”
He yawned cavernously. “I’m off. Got a hot date with a pillow. Just let me know when you’ve got the fellow in your sights and I’ll be there.” And sliding gracefully from the bench, he left me to ruminate on the consequences of this new alliance.
As far as I could see I was now partnered up to the hilt with not one but two undesirables. Though I had to admit Stevie was growing on me. Throughout our nightly vigil I had even grown to like the hairy blabbermouth. I just wondered how he would respond to this sudden extension of our duo to a trio. On the other hand, seeing as this espionage business could get dangerous, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to have a known strongcat on our team. If Dana had her Peterbalds, we had Brutus. And though I was still feeling positively dubious about this latest development, it was with a lighter heart that I descended from the Moppett bench and made my way home.
22
Dana Drops By
A rriving home , I did the eating and drinking bit, but somehow that didn’t satisfy me. And as I munched down another piece of kibble, I remembered how Zack always likes to sleep late. Perhaps if I could just test my ‘planting thoughts’ abilities on him for a bit, I could find out some more about the mystery that was puzzling me. I would never say a bad word about the guy—he is, after all, the hand that feeds—but it is a well-established fact in Brookridge that Zack is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. And I had this theory that his weaker intellect would yield more readily to my newfound powers of psychic persuasion.
I trotted upstairs and found my lord and master tangled up in his bed sheets, as usual. I hopped up on the bed and made myself comfortable at the foot, where Zack has placed a sheet for me. I first scanned his dreams. Not surprisingly, they dealt mainly with food and women, Zack's two main interests in life. At this moment the Don Juan was entertaining a remarkably pretty girl during dinner in some fancy restaurant. Unlike real life, Zack had the girl in convulsions by directing at her an endless stream of witty banter, while dozens of waiters hurried to and fro, carrying laden trays with the most delicious foodstuffs imaginable. Talk about wishful dreaming.
Unfortunately, the dream held Zack so strongly in its grip that when I tried to introduce the Bluebell theme into the conversation, it was met with a stoic refusal. I tried again, by whispering the curious name in Zack's mental ear, but the waiters kept on strewing roast chicken from their proverbial hats and Zack moved his odd brand of eloquence into higher gear by asking the girl if she liked cats and, being informed that she did, starting waxing eloquent on… me.
I was touched, of course, and since it’s always nice to listen to a seemingly endless stream of compliments, I momentarily lost all interest in the mission and drifted off into a refreshing sleep, myself. I don’t know what I dreamt about, but I have a hunch it had something to do with being the birthday cat at some fancy dinner party thrown in my honor.
It was probably late when I woke up, what with having been through the most eventful night in my young life. And what woke me wasn’t the chirping of
“Of course. I’ll admit you’ve got brains, meatb— I mean, Tom, but I’ve got the brawn. Together we’ll solve this murder in no time. You’ll figure out the identity of the pimpled killer, and I’ll take him out.”
“Take him out?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Cats don’t take out humans. It’s simply not done. Furthermore, I was now an FSA agent, and sworn to protect humans, not harm them, even if they did prove to be cold-blooded killers. “But we can’t take the law into our own paws,” I said.
“Why not? Easy as chicken pie. You just find out who this knife-wielding maniac is, and I’ll do the rest…” He punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Partner.”
“But—”
He yawned cavernously. “I’m off. Got a hot date with a pillow. Just let me know when you’ve got the fellow in your sights and I’ll be there.” And sliding gracefully from the bench, he left me to ruminate on the consequences of this new alliance.
As far as I could see I was now partnered up to the hilt with not one but two undesirables. Though I had to admit Stevie was growing on me. Throughout our nightly vigil I had even grown to like the hairy blabbermouth. I just wondered how he would respond to this sudden extension of our duo to a trio. On the other hand, seeing as this espionage business could get dangerous, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to have a known strongcat on our team. If Dana had her Peterbalds, we had Brutus. And though I was still feeling positively dubious about this latest development, it was with a lighter heart that I descended from the Moppett bench and made my way home.
22
Dana Drops By
A rriving home , I did the eating and drinking bit, but somehow that didn’t satisfy me. And as I munched down another piece of kibble, I remembered how Zack always likes to sleep late. Perhaps if I could just test my ‘planting thoughts’ abilities on him for a bit, I could find out some more about the mystery that was puzzling me. I would never say a bad word about the guy—he is, after all, the hand that feeds—but it is a well-established fact in Brookridge that Zack is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. And I had this theory that his weaker intellect would yield more readily to my newfound powers of psychic persuasion.
I trotted upstairs and found my lord and master tangled up in his bed sheets, as usual. I hopped up on the bed and made myself comfortable at the foot, where Zack has placed a sheet for me. I first scanned his dreams. Not surprisingly, they dealt mainly with food and women, Zack's two main interests in life. At this moment the Don Juan was entertaining a remarkably pretty girl during dinner in some fancy restaurant. Unlike real life, Zack had the girl in convulsions by directing at her an endless stream of witty banter, while dozens of waiters hurried to and fro, carrying laden trays with the most delicious foodstuffs imaginable. Talk about wishful dreaming.
Unfortunately, the dream held Zack so strongly in its grip that when I tried to introduce the Bluebell theme into the conversation, it was met with a stoic refusal. I tried again, by whispering the curious name in Zack's mental ear, but the waiters kept on strewing roast chicken from their proverbial hats and Zack moved his odd brand of eloquence into higher gear by asking the girl if she liked cats and, being informed that she did, starting waxing eloquent on… me.
I was touched, of course, and since it’s always nice to listen to a seemingly endless stream of compliments, I momentarily lost all interest in the mission and drifted off into a refreshing sleep, myself. I don’t know what I dreamt about, but I have a hunch it had something to do with being the birthday cat at some fancy dinner party thrown in my honor.
It was probably late when I woke up, what with having been through the most eventful night in my young life. And what woke me wasn’t the chirping of
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