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And so it was decided: Odelia was going all by herself, no assistance needed, to wrangle Carl Strauss into accepting a divorce. And then they all sat down to enjoy Chase’s spaghetti bolognese—his not-so-secret secret ingredient included.

13

After the frankly humiliating display at the Trappers, Dooley and I decided to return home. But before we could, Harriet came tripping after us and said,“Please don’t leave me with these people, Max. They’re trying to turn me into a dog, too, and I don’t like it!”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re taking us out for walks twice a day—just like a dog!”

“That’s probably because they’re not used to having cats,” I said. “Just give them time. They’ll soon learn the difference between cats and dogs and treat you accordingly.”

“But, Max—I don’t want to be a dog!”

Rufus, who was right behind us, cleared his throat.“Why? Is being a dog so terrible?”

“No, it’s not, Rufus,” said Harriet in measured tones, “but I’m a cat, not a dog.”

“Then you shouldn’t have decided to run away from home and join a dog household,” said Rufus, offering a stark critique of Brutus and Harriet’s behavior.

“Run away from home? I didn’t run away from home.”

“Oh, and what do you call this, then?”

“My home is just next door! If I really wanted to run away from home don’t you think I’d gone a little farther afield than this?”

“You want to know what I think? I think you and Brutus were jealous of the nice life I lead, and you decided you wanted to cut in on the action, that’s what I think.”

“Jealous? Me? As if!”

“So why do this? Why exchange a perfectly fine home for my home?”

Rufus, usually such a placid and laid-back dog, seemed not only puzzled but actually displeased at Harriet and Brutus’s behavior and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t fully endorse their big move either, to be honest.

“Look, this wasn’t my idea, okay? This was Brutus’s idea—let’s be perfectly clear about that. The only reason I’m here is because I like to stand by my man.”

“Isn’t there a song that goes like that?” asked Dooley.

“I think there is,” I said.

“Well, if you’re going to join a dog household, don’t be surprised if they’re going to treat you like a dog is all I’m saying,” said Rufus. “Now let’s go before we’re too late.”

“Too late? Too late for what?”

“The dog park, of course!”

“Again?!” said Harriet, then gave me a hopeless look. “Don’t leave me alone with these people, Max. They’re going to turn me into a dog, I just know they will.”

“You mean, like for real?” asked Dooley, interested. “With plastic surgery and stuff?”

“No, silly,” said Harriet. “Just the behavior. Ted and Marcie expect Brutus and me to behave like dogs, and if we do, we get a biscuit.”

“Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” I asked.

“A dog biscuit, Max!”

“Let’s go, people! Time’s a-wasting!” Ted called out. He’d been staring up at the roof for the past ten minutes, presumably wondering how he was going to get that ball down from there without breaking his neck. But for the moment he seemed to have given up, and was now rattling several leashes to take his doggies for a walk to the dog park again.

“Mind if we tag along?” I asked, even though I knew Ted doesn’t speak cat—or dog, for that matter.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Ted said, and attached a leash to Harriet’s collar, then a leash to Brutus’s collar, and finally a leash to Rufus’s collar, the only one who actually seemed to enjoy the process.

“This is so humiliating,” Harriet said, shaking her head.

“It’s all part of the process, honey bunch,” said Brutus. “Once Ted learns to trust us, he’ll understand we don’t need any leashes—or collars. Just you wait and see.”

And so we set out for the great unknown—the dog park!

“Do you know I’ve never been there before, Max?” said Dooley.

“Me neither, Dooley,” I confessed. “But I’m very curious to see what it looks like.”

Cats, as a rule, don’t go around visiting the dog park, for obvious reasons, but now that we were in the company of Ted and Rufus, and were there as official guests of the dog-and-owner combo, I didn’t think the other dogs would mind the intrusion into their midst of their mortal enemy. I just hoped they wouldn’t attack en masse. One or two dogs, I can handle, but a dozen or two dozen? Let’s just say I’m no Bruce Lee.

The dog park turned out to be a nice patch of greenery in the heart of our neighborhood, where dog owners come to take their dogs for a walk, and allow them to do their business, at which point the plastic baggies come out, and those products of their defecation are swiftly dealt with and magically disappear into those selfsame baggies. It’s a smooth and well-rehearsed process, and as I looked around I could easily see half a dozen dogs whose acquaintance I’d made in the recent past. One of those dogs was Fifi, who belongs to Odelia’s next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield, a retired music teacher. Fifi is a small white fluffy Yorkshire terrier, and probably the sweetest dog on the planet. I like her a lot, not least because she once saved me from a watery death.