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Gran had developed a habit of putting a little extra snack in our bowls in the morning. Every day was a surprise. One day it could be a slice of sausage or a piece of beef, the next it would be cheese or a cat treat. Gran loved to spoil us. And now that Odelia was gone I knew she’d pull out all the stops and spoil us absolutely rotten. To that purpose she had bought all of the stuff Odelia never got us, because she felt it wasn’t healthy or too expensive: all the special gourmet stuff only pampered cats eat. Like us. Except—we’d eloped.

“It’s going to take them a while to miss us,” said Harriet. “They’ll probably just think we went off to the park and will be back when we get tired or hungry.”

“I am tiredand hungry,” said Brutus. “And confused,” he added for good measure.

“What are you confused about this time?” asked Harriet peevishly. “Don’t tell me you think there might be a dog lurking inside of you that hasn’t come out yet, or a chicken. Cause I’m going to beat you, Brutus, I swear to God.”

“No, I don’t think there’s a dog or a chicken inside me waiting to burst free,” he said, “but I do wonder about my whole purpose as a male if I don’t even have a you-know-what to do you-know-what with—if you know what I mean.”

Dooley obviously didn’t know what he meant, for he said, “What?”

“I don’t have a you-know-what and you don’t hear me complaining,” said Harriet.

“You sure complained a lot about your you-know-what last night,” said Brutus.

When Harriet shot him a furious look, he murmured,“Just saying.”

“Do you know what a you-know-what is, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Um…”

We were all perched on different branches of the same tree. Not too high up, as we knew from experience it’s harder to get down than it is to go up. Cats don’t have a reverse gear, you see, and walking down a tree is the same as falling down, which is not advisable. The last time I was high up in a tree the fire department had to come and save me. Not my finest hour.

“And one other thing,” said Dooley. “What did Odelia mean when she said that thing about the spraying thing?”

“Male cats spray,” said Harriet. “It’s one of those dumb things they do. They think it keeps other male cats away—marks off their territory. Don’t ask me why they think it works. Obviously it doesn’t.”

“And what about female cats? They don’t spray?”

“Female cats caterwaul a lot,” said Brutus. “They think it attracts male cats. No idea why. Caterwauling isn’t an attractive trait if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” snapped Harriet.

“Dooley did.”

“Well, he shouldn’t. There are certain things we don’t talk about.”

“But—”

“Brutus—a lady never tells.”

And while Brutus and Harriet bickered, I thought about this spraying business. Odelia didn’t have to go and neuter me—or was it spay? If she’d simply told me not to spray, I would have listened. I’m nice like that. But when I said as much to Harriet, who seemed to be an expert on these matters, she said, “It’s not something cats have control over, Max. It’s instinct.”

“Instinct?”

“Yeah, it’s built-in behavior. Like rubbing yourself against Odelia’s leg.”

“I do that to show her how much I care about her.”

“You do that because you have scent glands and rubbing spreads your scent, marking off your territory. You’re basically telling other cats Odelia is your human so they better stay away or else.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s instinct, Max—you’re not even aware you’re doing it.”

“I’m absolutely aware. Everything I do, I do for a reason.”

“Yeah, right. Like pouncing on a toy mouse.”

“It’s fun!”

“It’s instinct!”

I lapsed into silence. Could there be truth to what she was saying? Was I helpless prey to my own instincts? Hard to believe but there you had it.

“What they shouldn’t have done is remove my capacity for procreation,” said Harriet now. “If I want to have a litter of kittens, that’s my feline right.”

“It’s not as if there aren’t enough cats in the world, though,” said Dooley.

“That’s not the point and you know it, Dooley,” she said. “It’s the principle of the thing. Cats have rights, just like any other creature, and humans shouldn’t trample all over them just because they can. Like Brutus said, my body—my choice. If I want to have a dozen babies, who’s to stop me?”

“Vena Aleman,” I muttered. The veterinarian was not our favorite person.

“So as soon as we’re home I’m going to ask for that reversal because this is not fair,” Harriet continued. It was hard to stop her when she got going.

“I thought we had eloped and were not going home again,” I said, confused.

“Pay attention, Max. We’re going home once we’ve taught them a lesson.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

She smiled finely.“When they send out search parties and start putting up flyers. That’s when we return home with our heads held high and our list of demands. And my number-one demand is to restore my ability to procreate.”

“Us males, too?” asked Dooley. “I mean, I don’t want to spray everywhere. That’s just yucky.”

“You’re not going to spray now,” she said. “You’re too old for that crap.”