d5e426eccb138e04dab909926b2752c6

“It was okay. I got hit with shoes all night, but apart from that it was all good.”

“Oh, no. My poor baby.”

“Poor cats. They have to go through this kind of thing all the time, I imagine.”

“So many people out there who don’t appreciate cats. I don’t know what’s going on with the world.”

I could have told her: a distinct lack of aesthetic refinement. But I was on the verge of falling asleep, so I didn’t bother.

“So now you have a brother, huh?” said Chase. “How does that feel?”

“I’m not sure. I guess it will take some getting used to.”

“He seems like a great kid.”

“Yeah, he seems really nice.”

“Do you think he’ll move in next door permanently?”

“I don’t know. Mom doesn’t seem all that happy with this new arrangement.”

“I can imagine. It must have come as a great shock to her to discover that her husband fathered a son with another woman.”

“Yeah, I better have a talk with her tomorrow. See how she’s holding up.”

They both lapsed into silence, then, and soon only soft snores could be heard—the snores of one woman (cute little snores), one male (as if he were trying to cut through a tree trunk), one canine (wet slobbering snores), and two felines (I can’t tell you how that sounded because that’s when I fell asleep).

Chapter 22

“Max?”

“Mh?”

“Are you sure you told Rambo not to use our water bowls?”

We were staring at our water bowls, which were now absolutely devoid of water, but consisted instead of a generous helping of slobber. The same could be said for our kibble bowls, which had expertly been relieved of their contents, only traces of slop left. In fact all of the bowls were now empty, and the copious amounts of slop and slobber left no doubt as to the identity of the midnight marauder who’d performed this impressive feat.

“Odelia!” I bellowed. If there’s one thing I’m very sensitive about it’s of other pets eating my portion of kibble.

Odelia came staggering down the stairs, wearing an oversized sweater that clearly belonged to Chase, as it said‘I-heart-NYPD’ and was rubbing her eyes. “What is it?” she murmured as she took a right turn into the kitchen, and almost slipped on a pool of drool. “Eek!” she said, lifting one bare foot to see what had attached itself there.

“It’s Rambo,” I announced. “He’s eaten all of our food.”

“And drunk all of our water,” Dooley added helpfully.

“And replaced same with a goodish pile of goo.”

“Rambo!” said Odelia, then thunked her brow. “I totally forgot. Chase took him out for his morning walk.”

“His morning walk?” I said. You must forgive me for not being better acquainted with the ways of the canine species. I’ve never lived with a dog before, you see, so this was definitely a first in every sense.

“Dogs go for a walk in the morning, Max,” she explained. “That’s how they get rid of their morning… doo-doo and wee-wee.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling silly. “Of course. I knew that.”

Odelia stared down at the mess the old dog had made on the kitchen floor—and our neat row of bowls. “I gave him his own bowl of dog kibble,” she said, pointing to a giant bowl that was, of course, empty. “Clearly it wasn’t enough.”

“He’s a very large dog,” I said. “He probably eats a lot.”

“Maybe we should have a talk with him,” Dooley suggested. “Teach him about the difference between mine and thine.”

“Excellent idea, Dooley,” I said. “I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding that made him eat all of our food, and drink all of our water, too.”

And since Odelia was going to be busy washing out our bowls—and scrubbing the kitchen floor—Dooley suggested we move next door for our first meal of the day.

We ambled into the backyard, then through the hedge and then in through the pet flap and into Marge and Tex’s kitchen. When we arrived there we found Brutus and Harriet staring at their respective bowls, a look of distress on their faces.

“Someone ate all of our food,” said Brutus.

“And drank all of our water,” said Harriet.

“And left some kind of slime behind.”

“I think it might have been aliens.”

“Or ghosts,” Brutus ventured. “Ghosts are always leaving some kind of slimy residue behind. It’s called ectoplasm. That’s how you can tell you’ve got ghosts.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t ghosts, and it wasn’t aliens,” I said.

“It was Rambo,” Dooley said as he inspected his own bowl and sadly had to come to the conclusion that here, too, Rambo had eaten his fill, and had left nothing for us.

“Rambo did all this?” asked Harriet. “But that’s impossible. No dog can possibly eat this much.”

“He ate all the food next door, too,” I said. “And if he’d had a third home to sneak into, I’m sure he’d have emptied the bowls there, too.”

“This is too much!” said Harriet. “First Odelia hires a dog—a dog!—to guard us, and then the silly mutt eats all of our food!”

“At least he didn’t pee in our bowls,” I said with a pointed glance at Brutus. I still hadn’t fully forgiven him for his midnight indiscretions.

“We’re going to talk to him as soon as he gets back,” Dooley announced.

“Wait, where is he?” asked Harriet.

“Out. Chase took him for a walk,” I said.