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“Yes, you did,” I said. “And so did you, Harriet. You promised that poor dog all kinds of things litter simply can’t deliver, and now she’s going to be disappointed when it doesn’t come to pass, and then what?”

“You’re meowing up the wrong tree here, Max,” said Harriet. “Gran provided us with the script for these sales pitches, remember? She fed us these lines.”

“You can’t blame this on Gran, Harriet. You have a responsibility, and I think you should apologize to Fifi.”

“Me! Apologize to her! She should apologize to me for using my litter box!”

“Shush, you guys,” said Odelia. “We’re almost there!”

We’d been traipsing along the road, and had now arrived at the entrance to the Farnsworth chicken farm—or factory. I couldn’t see a lot of security, but then that’s probably the point of security: to make sure you don’t see them until they see you.

I hoped Odelia wouldn’t get caught, though. I didn’t think that would go down well with Jock. During the daytime she was helping him find his wife, and at night she was sneaking around his property. Not a good look.

She was leading the charge now, jumping over a small creek, then getting down into the long grass on the other side, and scanning the place. When she decided the coast was clear, and our cat’s eyes didn’t spot any sign of life either, she proceeded, staying low. We’d reached the large shed, and she ran straight out to the door, then looked inside.

Chickens were softly clucking, and she stuck up her thumb, then stealthily proceeded inside. We followed in her wake, and found ourselves in a different, more horrible world.

The stench of ammonia and chicken dung was overpowering, and I felt nauseous.

“Now I understand why Odelia is wearing that mask!” said Harriet. “Not for the guards but for the stench!”

“Maybe we should wear masks,” said Dooley now. “So we don’t get recognized.”

Thirty thousand chickens sat cooped up inside the long chicken house, and Odelia immediately started snapping pictures.

I proceeded along, in search of the chicken we’d made the acquaintance of that morning. It was hard to find her, amidst thousands of her sisters, but finally I managed.

“Oh, hey, there,” she said. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Of course not,” I said. “So this is our human, Odelia. As I told you, she’s a reporter, and she’s here to write a story about the way you guys are being treated in here.”

And as the chicken told her tale of woe, and Odelia carefully listened to my translation, and jotted everything down, Harriet and Brutus and Dooley spread out, and checked out the rest of the chicken shed. There wasn’t a lot to see, but Harriet had had this idea that Jock might have killed his wife and her lover, and fed her to his chickens, so she was adamant to prove her theory right.

I’d told her people didn’t feed bodies of murdered spouses to their chickens but to their pigs, but of course she wouldn’t listen, as usual.

And just when Odelia was rounding up her visit, having shot a little video of the circumstances in which these poor animals had to live, suddenly a voice rang out.

“Hey! What are you doing!”

It was one of the workers, carrying a bucket, which he now dropped as he came rushing towards us.

“Time to go!” said Odelia, and was off like a rocket!

“Harriet! Brutus! Dooley!” I bellowed, but the chickens had been stirred up by the shouts, and were flapping their wings and clucking loudly, drowning out my shouts.

So I decided to paw it, too, if I didn’t want to get caught by this man, who looked very annoyed indeed. I also saw he’d picked up a weapon in the form of a pitchfork, and if there’s one thing that gives me nightmares, it’s to become the victim of a pitchfork attack!

So I ran and ran and ran, until I’d reached that creek, and only then did I look back.

I’m not really built for running, I have to admit, so I was panting pretty heavily. Odelia had already vaulted across the creek, and now urged me to do the same.

“But the others are still back there!” I said.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re smart. They’ll have gotten out,” she said.

I made the jump, but all that running had worn me out, and I landed in the middle of the creek. Eek! Lucky for me, Odelia immediately grabbed me by the neck and fished me out.

“You’re heavy, Max,” she grunted.

“It’s all that water,” I said. “I’m like a sponge. I soak it all up.”

“We’ll have to teach you how to swim one of these days,” she said as she took off her mask and used it to rub me down.

When she was done, I shook myself, but now felt thoroughly annoyed. Running, swimming, what was next? Riding a bike? This was starting to feel like a triathlon!

I shouldn’t have worried about my friends, though, for they soon met up with us, having escaped through a different exit.

“And?” asked Dooley. “What did you think?”

Odelia looked grim.“I had no idea,” she said. “It’s horrible what Jock is doing. Absolutely terrible.”

It was clear Jock stock was trading at an absolute low.

Just about as low as it could possibly go, in fact.

And it served him right, too.