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Gran had pressed her lips together and gave her granddaughter a look of reproach.“I swear to God, one of these days that thing is going to be the death of you.”

“What thing?” asked Odelia.

“So are you coming or not?”

“Coming to what?”

“See? I knew you weren’t listening. Here, let me have that.” And with these words, she unceremoniously grabbed my human’s phone and tucked it into the pocket of her green-and-purple tracksuit.

“Hey, that’s my phone!” Odelia cried, as if she’d just lost a limb or vital body part.

“I know, and now it’s mine. And if you do as I say I just might let you have it back. Now are you going to listen to me or not?”

Odelia frowned, and crossed her arms in front of her. She clearly wasn’t happy to be treated like a recalcitrant child. “I’m listening.”

“I’m organizing a meeting of the neighborhood watch next week. Big meeting. We hope to welcome plenty of new members. I want you to come. You and Chase.”

“I’m sorry, Gran,” Odelia began, shaking her head.

But Gran arched a menacing eyebrow.“No meeting, no phone,” she said.

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.” Then she softened. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. There’s been a spate of burglaries lately, and we need to get on top of it before it’s too late.”

“Burglaries? Have you told Uncle Alec?”

“He’s too busy buttering up Charlene Butterwick,” said Gran with a throwaway gesture of the hand. “No, it’s up to us to save this neighborhood from falling prey to this gang of burglars, and that means you, too. The neighborhood needs you, honey.”

“Okay, sure,” said Odelia with a shrug. “If you think I can help.”

“We can only pull this neighborhood away from the brink if we all work together,” said Gran, sounding so much like a motivational coach even Odelia looked impressed.

“No, of course,” she said. “Anything I can do to help.”

“That’s settled then,” said Gran, and turned to leave.

“Wait, my phone,” said Odelia.

Gran dangled the phone from her fingertips.“Are you sure you want it back? You know smartphones aren’t good for you. They’re like the crack cocaine of the digital age.”

“Please please please can I have it back?” Odelia begged, inadvertently proving her grandmother right.

The old lady sighed, then handed her granddaughter back her phone.“Sometimes I fear for your generation,” she said, then stalked off and slammed the door.

Odelia, a happy smile on her face, immediately was immersed in her phone again.

The dust bunny was swept up from the floor by the draft caused by Gran’s departure. It happily fluttered through the living room, then into the salon, and finally settled right on top of my nose. I squinted at the bunny, cross-eyed, then sneezed, dislodging it from its perch. It flittered down right next to me, and for a moment I watched it for signs of malevolence. When nothing happened, though, I slowly drifted off to sleep again, proving once and for all that dust bunnies and cats can live together in perfect harmony.

Chapter 4

Mort Hodge was seated at his desk, hard at work as usual, when a sudden sound had him look up.

Mort, a popular and successful creator of comics for daily distribution in all the important and even the less important papers in the country, had made his fortune drawing a daily cartoon about a cat. Titled Mort’s Molly, it had been an instant hit and now, forty years into a lucrative and rewarding career, people still clamored for Mort’s creation. Unlike lots of other cartoons, Mort still did most of the work himself, and had turned part of his home into his office, the nerve center of Mort’s Molly’s universe.

“Megan?” he yelled loudly, referring to his wife. “Megan, is that you?”

When there was no response, he got up and went in search of answers. Next to his desk, a radio was quietly playing, and the atmosphere in the studio was mellow and relaxed, just the way he liked it.

He emerged from his workspace, located at the back of the garden, and glanced around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he decided he could use a snack, as his tummy was rumbling, and he felt like taking a break. That, and a chat with his wife, to bounce a couple of new ideas off her, and to sit down for that snack and a cup of joe.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and Mort had already been busy since six, having risen at five as was his habit. He was an early riser and liked that whole gag about the early bird and the worm. Not that he was into worms, per se, but he did enjoy getting an early start on his day, and getting the bulk ofhis work done before lunchtime.

“Megan?” he asked as he walked into the house. “Did you just…” The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat, though, when he observed the mess that was his cozy home. Documents strewn about, couch cushions ripped up, feathers covering every available surface. Tables had been upended and chairs lay like so many fallen soldiers on the battlefield that was his living room. “Megan,” he whispered when his eyes had taken in the devastation, then, louder, “Megan!”