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I stared at the picture of the youth some more. According to the report his name was Elon Pope, and apart from the pimples he was also red-bearded and a little portly. In fact he looked like a younger, chunkier Ed Sheeran. He was grimacing awkwardly into the camera, a hunted expression in his eyes. It was one of those pictures paparazzi like to snap of unsuspecting celebrities. Paparazzi just love to make celebrities look like fools, and they must have had a field day with Elon Pope. His entire expression screamed deer in the headlights, and I wondered if they’d caught him exiting some local den of inequity or other house of disrepute. And then I recognized him. “Hey, isn’t that…”

“One of the youngest kids ever to win the lottery,” said Gran, who was following the story with rapt attention, her anger at being denied Tim Cook’s latest toy a distant memory.

“That’s right,” I said. “How much did he win again?”

“Three hundred million and change,” said Gran with a wistful look on her face. “You can buy a lot of foldable smartphones with three hundred million and change,” she added, indicating Tim Cook’s toy shop was still very much at the forefront of her mind.

According to the report Elon had vanished without a trace. He’d last been seen exiting the Caf? Baron, the hipster bar on Downey Street, but never made it home.

“Maybe he decided to disappear,” Dooley suggested.

“Could be,” Gran agreed.

Dooley might be on to something. The kid hadn’t expected to win the big pot and had been struggling in the aftermath of his big win. At twenty-one, he’d immediately walked out of his job at the 7-Eleven where he’d made a career as a shelf stacker, and never looked back. But then stories had started to surface about the fancy house he bought, and the fleet of fancy cars he acquired, and the models he’d been dating, and the wild and crazy parties he’d been throwing, where a bunch of strangers he’d never met before but who’d suddenly become his best friends forever had enjoyed his lavish hospitality.

“He probably decided enough was enough,” said Gran. “Or else he ran out of money already, and decided to move to Mexico and start a new life as a shelf stacker over there.”

She then resolutely switched the channel toJeopardy, and for the next half hour intently followed the exciting exploits of Alex Trebek as he guided us through another series of tough questions to guess. To Gran’s credit, she guessed every last one of them.

But Dooley and I had had enough. Gran’s habit of turning the volume up to the max was impeding with our natural predilection for peace and quiet, so we decided to leg it.

We hopped down from the couch and moved upstairs to Gran’s room, which was devoid of both noise and humans, curled up at the foot of her bed and were soon fast asleep once more.

Ah, blisssss…

It wasn’t long, though, before the world decided to intrude upon our slumber. This time not in the form of Lauren Klepfisch or Alex Trebek, but our fellow cats Harriet and Brutus.

“What are you guys doing in here?” asked Harriet, who looked annoyed by our presence, even though technically she was the one who was intruding.

“We’re trying to get some quality Z’s,” I said pointedly. “What are you doing here?”

“Haven’t you heard?” said Brutus. “Odelia has decided to take us all to Vena’s again, so we figured we’d hide in the last place she would look.”

I gulped, and so did Dooley. Vena Aleman is Hampton Cove’s number-one veterinarian, and Odelia always finds some excuse to take us there and have us turned inside out by Vena’s gloved hands. More often than not discomfort and pain is involved, not to mention needles and all manner of torture gear. Suffice it to say we don’t like Vena, and we don’t like this habit of Odelia of dragging us there, even when we’re not sick.

“Oh, my God,” I said, raising my paws. “Why can’t she just leave us alone?!”

“Right?” said Harriet. “All of us are the picture of health, but still she insists on having us checked out over and over and over again. And Vena never finds a thing!”

“Exactly!” I cried, indignation making me sound squeaky. Like a squirrel.

“You have been having trouble chewing lately, though, Max,” said Dooley.

“No, I haven’t,” I said quickly.

“Yeah, you have,” said Brutus. “You told me so yourself.”

“Yeah, and you keep favoring your left side, because of the pain on the right,” said Harriet.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said, my paws breaking out into a sweat. “It will pass.”

I should never have told Dooley, or Harriet, or Brutus! Of course they would go blabbing to Odelia and now she was taking me to Vena’s and I was for it! For it!

“You should have that tooth checked out, Max,” Dooley said now. “It’s not good for you to keep walking around with a bad tooth.”