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Odelia had been working steadily, typing up her article about the attack on her cats, then an article about the mall development plans, and an article about her dad finding his son after all these years. And when finally she leaned back and stretched, she glanced around and was surprised to find that instead of four cats and one dog, suddenly she was in the presence offive cats and one dog.

“Clarice?” she said, blinking as she regarded the scrawny cat, who looked as if she’d been run over by a car. “What are you doing here?”

“Your cats hired me as their bodyguard,” Clarice growled. “What can I say? It’s hard to say no to Dooley.”

“I convinced her,” said Dooley, beaming.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Clarice. “Don’t rub it in. So what’s the plan?” she asked. “And what can you tell me about this so-called cat killer?”

“Nothing so-called about it,” said Brutus. “That guy did try to kill us.”

“He hasn’t killed you yet, has he? So he’s not a cat killer but a wannabe killer.”

“The plan is for my cats not to leave the house if they don’t have to, and if they do, always to be accompanied by either Rambo or Chase, who’s their official bodyguard.”

“Well, so now I’m their official bodyguard, so Chase is off the hook, and so is fatso over there,” she added with a gesture of the head in the direction of the sleeping dog.

“Are you sure you can handle this threat?” asked Odelia. She admired Clarice for her survival instinct and the gumption with which she went through life, but didn’t think she was a match against her cats’ attacker.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, toots,” said Clarice. “It’s the would-be killer you should feel sorry for.” And to show Odelia she meant business, she unsheathed a particularly sharp-looking long claw.

Odelia had to gulp at the sight of it.“All right,” she said. “So I’ll tell Chase he’s relieved of his duties. I am still going to ask you to never go anywhere without Rambo. My uncle vouches for him. Says he’s the best of the best, and I’d feel much easier in my mind knowing he’s keeping an eye on you.”

“All right,” said Clarice after a particularly scathing glance at the big dog. “We’ll let him tag along. For now.”

“Have you discovered anything new about this cat killer?” asked Max.

“Not yet,” she said. “And my uncle tells me he has no clue as to his identity or what he was doing in Mom and Dad’s house either.”

“Too bad,” said Max.

“So whatever you do, and wherever you go—please be careful, you guys, all right?”

She watched her cats walk out of the office with mixed emotions. She didn’t want to see them harmed, but she didn’t want to keep them locked inside all the time either—something they clearly hated.

But then Clarice turned and gave her a wink.“I’ll take good care of your babies, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Me, too,” said Rambo with a yawn, and waddled off.

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Marge had arrived home from work early, and decided to make herself a nice cup of tea before she got started on the backyard. The back part of the garden had become an eyesore, with roses that needed deadheading, and weeds that needed pulling.

Usually her mom took care of that kind of stuff, or even her husband, but lately both had been too busy to bother, and Marge didn’t mind a bit of gardening from time to time.

She didn’t exactly possess a green thumb, but she wasn’t certain death to plants either.

And she’d just popped a capsule into her coffee maker and poured water into the reservoir when suddenly she got the shock of a lifetime—literally! It was as if she’d touched a live wire, and her teeth clattered and she thought she smelled burnt rubber.

Moments later she was on the floor, and wondering what had happened. And when Dudley came running into the kitchen, exclaiming,“Marge! What happened—oh, my God!” she realized she’d been in one of those household accidents you always read so much about. The kind that allegedly, and according to insurance company statistics, kill no less than 120.000 people per annum in the United States alone.

“I-I think I electrocuted myself,” she said as she got up off the floor with Dudley’s assistance.

“Your hair!” he said, glancing up at her do.

She touched her hands to her hair, and it was indeed feeling a little frizzier than usual.

“How did this happen?” she asked, still feeling a little dizzy.

“I don’t know,” said Dudley. “I heard what sounded like a loud popping sound, and when I came running in I saw smoke coming out of the coffee maker—and your hair!”

Together they inspected the coffee maker, and indeed: it was completely fried.

“Must be faulty wiring,” said Dudley as he took a towel and pulled the plug from the wall socket. He held up the wire: it was blackened, the plastic having melted away. “You’re lucky to be alive, Marge,” he said earnestly. “Electrocution is no joke.”

“No, I don’t think it’s very funny,” she murmured as she staggered a bit, until Dudley helpfully led her to a chair and gently set her down.