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“Could you give Harriet a message? I know she won’t listen to me, but maybe she’ll listen to you.”

I was about to graciously say no to this idea when I figured that the sooner Harriet and Brutus reconciled, the sooner the four of us could be out there hunting for clues again.

“Fine,” I said therefore. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her…” He frowned, then directed a curious glance at me. “What do you think I should tell her?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I exclaimed. “How should I know? She’s your girlfriend!”

“Yes, but you’ve known her all her life. You know what might swing the deal.”

I rolled my eyes. I’m not your poetic type, so I had no idea what to tell a jilted woman who’s decided to jilt her boyfriend in return.

“Tell her you’re slowly pining away in remorseful sorrow,” suddenly Dooley said.

We both stared at him. It made for a nice change from the shark trivia.

“And tell her that soon there will be nothing left but a greasy spot on the couch.”

Brutus pursed his lips.“I’m not sure I like it, but it is very powerful. Especially that part about the greasy spot. Max,” he said, making a swift decision, “go for it, buddy.”

“Oh, all right,” I said, dragging myself up from my comfortable position on the couch.

I slouched to the kitchen door, shuffled through the pet flap, slumped through the backyard, wormed myself through the hole in the hedge, shambled through Marge and Tex’s backyard, shoved myself through the second cat flap and crawled into the house and into the family room. No sign of sharks there. Instead, a rerun ofScandal was on, and the president was getting a tongue-lashing from his chief of staff. Uh-oh. This didn’t bode well.

“Harriet,” I said, arriving at the foot of the couch that held Gran, Marge, Tex and Harriet, all lined up like so many statues, eagerly following the exploits ofScandal’s not-so-monogamous president.

“What do you want?” Harriet grunted.

“Message from Brutus,” I said, hoping this would attract her attention.

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested,” she said, making her meaning perfectly clear by flashing a shiny claw.

I gulped. I may have a layer of fat to protect me from claws like that, but I’m not immune to pain. In fact I hate it.

“Oh, just hear the cat out,” said Gran.

“What is he saying?” asked Tex.

“He says he has a message from Brutus,” said Marge.

“Let’s hear it,” said Gran. “And be quick about it. Something’s about to happen with Twisty Fitzy and I don’t want to miss it.”

“We saw this episode already, Mom,” said Marge.

“I know. But I’ve forgotten. And don’t you remind me!”

“Brutus says he’s in…” Dang. Now I couldn’t remember what it was Brutus wanted me to say. So I decided to do what all good actors do: wing it!

“Well?” said Harriet, impatiently tapping that nail on the edge of the couch.

“Brutus says you’re the love of his life and every second he can’t spend with you is a second lost forever. He’s in decline, losing weight so fast soon there’ll be nothing left but a smudge on the couch.” There. It wasn’t verbatim, but I figured I’d gotten the gist of the thing nicely across.

Harriet appeared unmoved, however.“Tell him I don’t care if he dies and rots in hell,” she growled.

“Harriet,” Marge said warningly. “Language.”

“Oh, all right. Tell him I’ll be happy to dance on his smudge.”

“Harriet!” said Marge. “Brutus is still a member of this family and you’ll treat him with respect.”

“He doesn’t respect me, so why should I respect him?” she challenged.

“Prima donna,” Gran muttered.

“I heard that,” Harriet snapped. “And I resent the slur.”

“What is she talking about?” asked Tex.

“Nothing worth listening to,” said Marge.

“Oh,” said Tex, disappointed.

“Lovers’ tiff,” Gran clarified.

“This is not a lovers’ tiff!” Harriet said. “He cheated on me and if I never set eyes on that black cat again, it’ll be too soon! And you tell him I said that,” she added for my sake.

So off I went again, this time in the opposite direction. Slouching, slumping, shuffling, worming and finally wending my way home. I arrived at the house, where I was met by two eager eyes boring into mine. Brutus was actually panting.“And? And? What did she say?”

I decided to keep this whole thing PC.“I think you’re going to have to try harder, Brutus,” I said. “She wasn’t receptive to the whole concept of the, um, smudge-on-the-couch thing.”

“What do you mean, she wasn’t receptive?” asked Dooley. “That was some of my best work. Though it’s a greasy spot, not a smudge.”

“Hold your horses, Shakespeare,” I said. “I think it’s going to take more than a few well-wrought sentences to convince Harriet to clasp Brutus to her bosom once again.”

“Oh, to be pressed to my love’s bosom,” said Brutus, suddenly becoming lyrical.

“You probably didn’t do my words justice,” said Dooley. “Next time I’ll come with you.” He shook his head. “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.”

“Next time?” I said. “There’s not going to be a next time. You asked me to be your go-between and I was. Now I’m going to take a nap and try to forget this whole business.”