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And then she stalked off in the direction of her own backyard, presumably to continue her training. Brutus watched her leave, and a distinct sense of doom and gloom settled over him. But only for a moment. He was, after all, a cat not particularly prone to experiencing the finer emotions, and so he quickly shrugged off Fifi’s refusal. If she wanted to go it alone, so be it. It was her funeral. And if Rufus didn’t want to put his back into it, then that was his business.

And as he set paw in the direction of the Trappers’ backyard, where most of the action was taking place, he suddenly caught sight of a peculiar creature. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, it was one of those creatures that carry their own house on their back. Which had always struck him as very inconvenient. Imagine he would carry an entire house on his back. He’d never get anywhere. Which was probably why these snails, as they were called, moved so infernally slow.

“Pssst!” the snail was saying.

It was located on the leaf of his favorite rose bush, the one he and Harriet liked to single out when they were feeling frisky.

He toddled over, wondering what this snail wanted from him. Maybe to help carry its load?

“Hey, cat!” the snail said, indicating that it really did want speech with him.

So he approached the creature, took a tentative sniff, and said,“What do you want?” He wasn’t feeling in a particularly bonhomous mood. He might not care that Fifi was out of the race, but he did care about Harriet’s opinion, and he knew that when he returned empty-pawed, so to speak, she would be none too happy.

“I talked to one of your lot this morning,” the snail announced, “and after he saved me from that bird, I promised I’d make it worth his while.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” said Brutus.

“It wasn’t you. It was some orange fatty,” said the snail.

Brutus grinned.“Yeah, that’s Max. He’s pretty fat, and pretty orange. But don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t like it when you call him—”

“Fat?”

“Orange. So Max saved your life, did he? Typical. He’s always saving someone from something.”

“Okay, so now I’m confused. Is this Max a friend of yours or what?”

“I guess you could say that,” Brutus admitted. He and Max might not always see eye to eye, but he did consider him one of his best pals.

“Could you give him a message from me? I would tell him myself, but I gotta run.”

Brutus laughed. A running snail. Now there was something he’d never seen before. But the snail seemed dead serious.

“Just tell him that this blue moon business we talked about this morning is happening tonight. I can smell it.”

“That’s it?” asked Brutus.

“Yeah, he’ll know what I mean,” said the snail. “So you’ll deliver the message?”

“Of course. Blue moon happening tonight. Got it.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said the snail, and started moving down the flower’s stem, at a snail’s pace.

“What’s your name, by the way?” asked Brutus, watching the snail’s progress with fascination.

“Rupert,” said the snail. “You?”

“Brutus.”

“Well, see you around, Brutus,” said Rupert. “And don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“What bed bugs? What are you talking about?”

But Rupert had disappeared into the rose bush’s inner workings, and so their discussion was at an end.

Brutus shrugged and went on his way. He hated being the bearer of bad news, especially when the recipient was Harriet. But that couldn’t be helped.

Moments later he was lumbering through the hole in the hedge, and when he came face to face with his beloved, and she saw he was alone, she tsk-tsked freely.

“She doesn’t want our help!” he cried. “And I couldn’t make her, could I?”

“Fifi isn’t coming?” asked Rufus in his big, booming voice.

“Nah. She wants to go it alone,” said Brutus.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Rufus, and promptly plunked down on the grass and proceeded to stare off into space, looking sad and despondent.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Harriet whispered. “Our star pupil, and you’ve taken the wind right out of his sails!”

“I didn’t take any wind out of any sails. Fifi did,” he argued. But it was no good, of course. They’d lost what could very well have been a shoo-in for the big prize, now a victim to a distinct lack of motivation.

“I should have known,” said Harriet, as she threw her star a nasty look. “Never work with children or dogs. Everybody knows that, so why did I think I could make it work?”

And since the training was on hiatus for the moment, they both wandered back into their own backyard, where Marge and Tex still stood discussing the future of their daughter’s marriage.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Harriet. “I almost forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Odelia and Chase are getting a divorce.”

He stared at his mate.“What?!”

“Yeah, Odelia is having an affair with a billionaire. Edward Dexter, the guy who makes those exploding cars and shoots celebrities into space? Well, he’s her new beau, and so she’s kicking Chase to the curb.”

Brutus produced a low whistle.“Well, how about that?”