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Tex must have thought the same, for he now came stepping through the opening in the hedge, trying not to smush a snail, and balancing on one foot as he did so, picking his way across the garden in the direction of the terrace.

“Chase!” he bellowed. “We have to do something about these snails!”

Chase, who’d been preparing dinner, now came out. He had tomato sauce all over his face, a testament to his signature dish: spaghetti bolognese, the sauce of which he claims to have perfected, even though I’ve seen the glass jars with tomato sauce from a popular brand lined up in the kitchen cupboard.

“What snails?” asked the cop. But then he must have seen what we all saw, for his jaw dropped a little, and he said, “Oh, those snails.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Tex, planting his hands on his hips. “We can’t just let them have at it. There won’t be a single plant or flower left!”

“Where did they come from, all of a sudden?”

“I have no idea, but we’ve got to get them out of here, before they crawl into Kurt’s backyard, and he sues us for spreading a harmful substance!”

Kurt, who’s like a genie when you mention his name, popped up over the fence.

“If they set as much as one foot onto my private property,” the retired music teacher warned, “I’m going to the cops!”

“I am the cops, Kurt,” Chase reminded him calmly.

“I mean the other cops—the ones that give a damn!”

“I give a damn,” said Chase. “I want to get rid of these snails as much as you.”

“So why don’t you just spray them?” our irate neighbor demanded. “All it takes is a gallon of slug and snail killer and you’ll never see the little suckers again!”

“Because we don’t want to poison our cats in the meantime, or your dog, for that matter,” said Chase, as he gestured to Fifi, whose snout had just appeared in the hole she’d dug under the fence.

Kurt had to admit that perhaps Chase had a point, but he still insisted we get rid of the snail population or else!

And then he was gone again.

I joined Fifi, mostly to see how her training regimen was going, but also to inquire about the state of her own backyard.

“No, we don’t have any snails,” she said. “Which is strange, cause your backyard seems to be infested with them, and usually they spread out.”

“Marge and Tex’s backyard seems to be the center of snail attention,” I said, “with our backyard enjoying a sort of spin-off effect. It’s an odd phenomenon.” It was true. Most of the snail activity was concentrated next door, with a few stragglers having taken up residence in Odelia andChase’s little patch of green.

“And as far as the training for the dog show is concerned,” said Fifi, “I’m afraid to say it’s not going well, Max. Plus, there’s the fact that I need Kurt to enter me into the show, and he’s not the kind of person who likes that kind of thing.”

“So have you considered that Odelia might have a word with him? She might be able to convince him.”

“I don’t know,” she said, casting a dubious glance back in the direction of her human. “He’s not really in a good mood right now, what with the snail thing and all. Maybe better catch him when he’s in a better mood.”

“Which may be never,” I told her gently.

She grimaced.“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He’s never anything but kind to me, you know. Which is weird, cause he’s never anything but mean to other humans.”

“Some people are like that,” I said. “They hate other people, but they love their pets and would do anything for them. Which is why he might be convinced to let you enter that show. If he thinks you would enjoy it.”

“Okay, let’s give it a shot,” she said, well pleased.

“Oh, and Harriet has given up training Rufus, so you might join him for his training activities again. I have a feeling he’d improve a lot quicker when you and he work together as a team.”

She gave me a warm smile.“You’re a wise cat, Max, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Oh, well,” I murmured with a touch of embarrassment. “Just trying to help.”

“Now look what these crazy humans of yours are doing,” said Fifi with a chuckle.

I glanced back, and saw that Chase and Tex were picking up the snails one by one, and depositing them into plastic buckets.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“I think they’re going to forcefully evict them,” said Dooley. “At least I heard Chase say something about an eviction notice.”

It was one way to handle the situation, of course. But judging by the sheer number of snails, it was also a very slow process!

CHAPTER 19

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The spectacle was perhaps a strange one, but Marge figured her husband and son-in-law probably had a point, so she took the plastic tub that she usually reserved for the laundry, and started collecting snails as well.

“Where are we going to put them?” she asked.

“Back there,” her husband gestured. “In the field.”

Stretching behind the backyards of all the houses on Harrington Street, a field lay. It belonged to Blake Carrington, who let the field lie fallow, and had spurned many offers from real estate developers to turn it into expensive apartments.