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“It just happened,” I said curtly. “Look, we’re looking for Clarice. You haven’t seen her around by any chance, have you?”

“Can’t say that I have. Last time I saw her was yesterday, when she came walking out of that alley over there. Haven’t seen her since, though.”

“Probably up in the woods,” I said, heaving a sigh of disappointment.

“We’re hungry, since Odelia and Marge and Gran only allow us to eat the same sludge they feed Max,” said Dooley. “So now we’re looking for something nutritious to eat.”

“Can’t blame you,” said Kingman. “If I were forced to eat sludge, I’d be looking for some prime grub myself.”

“You don’t happen to…” I began, but already Kingman was shaking his head, no.

“No can do, guys. If I were to feed every cat that passes my store, I’d go broke.”

“It’s not your store, though, is it, Kingman?” I said, a little peeved.

“Technically maybe it isn’t, but through the law of attachment it actually is.”

“And what law might that be?”

“Well, since I’m attached to Wilbur, and Wilbur is attached to the store that carries his name, logic dictates that his store is also my store. If you see what I mean.”

All I saw was a bullshit artist inventing excuses not to share his primo grub with some of his oldest friends in town, but I didn’t feel like getting into an argument with the cat, so I simply shrugged off his pathetic and transparent excuses and wished him adieu.

“You weren’t very nice to Kingman, Max,” Dooley said as we walked on.

“Correction. Kingman wasn’t very nice to us,” I said.

“I thought he was very nice. And maybe he has a point. If he has to share his meals with every cat that walks down Main Street, he’d be even hungrier than we are.”

“It’s not the fact that he refuses to share his food with us. It’s the way he said it. We’re supposed to be Kingman’s oldest friends, and when we show up at his doorstep in our hour of need, this is how he chooses to treat us? Not nice, Dooley. Not Christian.”

We still had no idea where Clarice could be. And on top of that, my gums were aching again. I remembered now that Vena had given Odelia a little box of medication for me. A painkiller of some kind. She probably should have given me some of that this morning.

“Should cats brush their teeth, Max?” asked Dooley now.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “At least I’ve never heard of cats brushing their teeth. Dogs, yes. But then we all know what dogs are like.”

Dooley gave me a look that said: no, I don’t. Please tell me what dogs are like.

“Well, dogs are obviously not the smartest tools in God’s big shed, so when a human decides to brush their teeth, they happily allow them to. By the same token, dogs also allow their humans to give them a bath, and run after a stick or try to eat a rubber duck or a slipper. And that’s becausedogs are known to have a very low IQ. Whereas cats…”

“Allow their teeth to rot and decay because they’re so smart?”

“Um…”

“I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. But Odelia should probably give me a hand, because I don’t know how to do it myself. She could use her electric toothbrush. I think I would like that. Though I don’t know about the sound. They make a very weird sound.”

“Dogs like electric toothbrushes,” I pointed out.

“So maybe dogs aren’t so dumb after all?”

“Well…” I said, admitting that Dooley was giving me a lot of food for thought.

“I just hope I don’t have to have my teeth pulled, Max. It must be very painful to have your teeth pulled with a sharp knife and a pair of pliers the way Vena likes to do.”

I winced.“Good thing I was sedated,” I murmured.

“Maybe we should ask Odelia to buy us all electric toothbrushes and brush our teeth every night from now on?” Dooley suggested.

I bridled at the thought of a human sticking a toothbrush into my mouth. Then again, more sharp knives and pliers wasn’t a pleasant prospect either, so instead I said, “Let’s ask her. Though between four cats and her own teeth, Odelia will have a lot of work.”

“They could divvy up the work. Gran could brush my teeth, Odelia could do yours, Marge Harriet’s and Chase or Tex could brush Brutus’s teeth. And then we’ll never have to go to Vena ever again.”

I had to agree he was onto something. If I never had to set foot in Vena’s house of horrors ever again, I was a happy cat, even if I had to give up a big chunk of my dignity by having a human brush my teeth for me.

“If we do this, though,” I said, “you have to promise me never to tell a soul.”

“And why is that?”

“Can you imagine what cats will say? We’ll be the laughingstock of the town.”

“Because we care about dental hygiene?”

“Because they will laugh at us.”

“But why?”

“Because cats don’t brush their teeth, okay? We just don’t.”

“Well, we should,” he said stubbornly. “So maybe we’ll be pioneers.”

I smiled.“Maybe we will.”