9ddba8405c712dc705f6095a3ea49417

Odelia had quickly seen the error of her ways and had started feeding us those wholesome nuggets of cat food again, kibble and pouches, and as a consequence I may have overindulged.

Or it could be a malfunction of the pet flap, of course. My money was on the latter.

Dooley took one of my paws, while Brutus took a firm grip on the other, and Harriet assumed the stance of the drill instructor that deep in her heart of hearts she is.

“And… pull!” she screamed. “And pull! And pull. Harder! Put your backs into it!”

“He’s not moving!” Brutus cried.

“That’s because you’re not pulling hard enough, soldier!” she bellowed. “Pull! Pull!”

“I’m pulling as hard as I can!” said Dooley.

“Max, suck in that tummy. Suck it in!” Harriet yelled. “Suck! It! In!”

“Yeah, suck in that flab, Max!” said Brutus, panting from the exertion.

“I’ll have you know I don’t have any flab,” I said haughtily, though it’s hard to be haughty when you’re stuck in a pet flap and two cats are pulling at your front paws with all of their might. “I’m as lean as that bowl of lean, mean turkey I just gobbled up.”

“Less talk, more action!” Harriet was saying. “And pull and pull and pull!”

“I think the problem is that this here darn pet flap has shrunk,” I said.

My two benefactors decided to take a short break and let go of my paws.

“Nonsense. You’re fat, Max,” said Harriet, never one to mince words. “You should go on a diet again.”

“Pretty sure it’s the flap,” I said. “This door is made of wood, and everyone knows wood contracts when it gets cold and wet. It must have contracted. Like, a lot.”

“How would this door get wet?” asked Brutus, puzzled.

“It gets really humid at night, Brutus,” I pointed out. “Cold and humid.”

“The sun has been up for hours. It’s warm outside, Max,” said Harriet. “So that theory doesn’t hold water, I’m afraid. If anything that door should have expanded.”

“Someone should go to the other side and push,” said Dooley, not taking his eye off the ball, which in this case was me. “One of us could push while the other pulls.”

“And how can we go to the other side when Max is blocking the exit?” asked Brutus.

“Maybe we can push from this side,” said Harriet. “Make him pop out like a cork.”

So the three of them put their paws on my face and started pushing!

“This isn’t working,” Brutus said after a while. “He’s not moving an inch.”

It wasn’t a pleasant experience, three cats putting their paws on me and poking me in the snoot with all of their might. And Brutus was right. I wasn’t budging. On the contrary. I had a feeling I was more stuck now than I was at the start of the proceedings.

And as we all contemplated our next move, I suddenly noticed we had a visitor. A very large mouse had casually strolled up to us and now sat watching the events as they unfolded before its pink whiskered nose.

“So this is what you cats are up to when you’re not sleeping or eating or pooping, huh?” said the mouse with a slight grin on its face.

“We do a lot more than sleeping, eating and pooping,” said Harriet.

“Oh, sure,” said the mouse. “You’re also supposed to be chasing me, but I see very little of that going on.”

“We’re not chasing you because we choose not to chase you,” said Harriet. “Because we’re all felinists at heart and respect the sanctity of rodent life.”

“Yeah, we’re vicious mouse hunters,” said Brutus, unsheathing a gleaming claw. “The only reason we haven’t hunted you down is because we’re not into that kind of stuff.”

The mouse was studying its own teensy tiny claws, though, clearly not impressed.“You probably don’t even know what those claws are for, you big brute.”

“I know what these are for,” said Brutus, and now showed his fangs, then even managed to make a hissing sound that sounded very menacing and convincing to me.

The mouse produced a slight smile.“You huff and you puff but you can’t even get through that silly little pet door, so forgive me for not being too impressed, fellas.”

And with that parting shot, the mouse started back in the direction of the basement stairs, which apparently was its new home. At least according to the Pooles.

“We should probably…” Brutus began, giving Harriet a hesitant look.

“Talk to it!” said Harriet. “We agreed to talk to the mouse so let’s talk to the mouse.”

Brutus cleared his throat.“Um, mouse? Come back here, will you?”

“That’s Mr. Mouse to you, cat,” said the mouse, glancing over his shoulder.

“Um, the thing is…” Brutus darted another glance at Harriet, who gave him an encouraging nod. “We’ve actually been asked to tell you that you’re no longer welcome in this house. So if you could please move to some other house that would be really nice.”

“Well done,” Harriet said with an approving smile. “Very felinistic.”

But the mouse laughed.“You’re telling me to take a hike? You’ve got some nerve, cat.”

“We happen to live here,” said Brutus, stiffening visibly. “And as the co-inhabitants of this house we have every right to ask you to clear out and to clear out right speedily, too.”