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“It was a neat scheme,” said Marge. “All of their victims were also their clients, and they managed to get a good look around the houses they targeted, picking out what they were going to steal, then returning under the cover of darkness to rob them blind.”

“Wearing rubber masks that made them look like Vale and Carew and dropping their names was also very clever,” said Chase. “Your secretary didn’t pick up on the ruse.”

“No, she certainly didn’t,” said Charlene. “Well, I’m glad we got those coins back.”

“Is that why they tossed Mort Hodge’s house?” asked Marge. “To hide the fact that they knew exactly what they were looking for?”

“Exactly,” said Chase. “To make it look like a regular robbery.”

“I’m selling my gnome, by the way,” Tex announced now as he pushed his chef’s hat further back on his head.

Marge stared at her husband.“You’re selling your painting? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It takes a special kind of person to be a collector of extremely valuable works of art, and I’ve discovered throughout this episode that I’m not that kind of person. I keep worrying that someone is going to steal it, and that’s not a great feeling to have.”

“You could lock it up in a safe at the bank,” Odelia suggested.

“And then have Vale and Carew steal it? No, thanks,” said Tex, throwing his tongs into the air and failing to catch them, causing them to hit the table and knock over Uncle Alec’s beer, pouring its contents all over the big guy’s lap.

“My beer!” said Uncle Alec.

“Sorry about that,” Tex muttered. He grabbed a towel and started mopping up his brother-in-law’s crotch, who respectfully declined the treatment, yanked the towel from the doctor’s hands and did the honors himself.

“So what’s going to happen to the Johnsons?” asked Charlene. “Are they as crooked as you think they are?”

“Oh, yes,” Chase confirmed. “They may not be burglars, but they are thieves.”

“Two pairs of thieves caught in one week,” said Uncle Alec. “Must be a new record.”

“Look, I can condone a kennel, but does it have to be a dog kennel?” asked Gran suddenly. She’d been oblivious to the conversation and immersed in her own world.

“Where is your friend Scarlett, by the way?” asked Marge.

“At the spa,” said Gran. Her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you start a spa instead of a dog kennel? We could all use a nice day at the spa from time to time.”

Charlene directed a kindly smile at the older woman.“If we called it an animal shelter and dropped the reference to dogs, would you feel more comfortable, Vesta?”

“Well…” said Gran, wavering. “Maybe. I mean, what did dogs ever do to get preferential treatment?”

“She’s not wrong,” said Harriet, once again outing herself as another dog hater. “Though there are exceptions, of course,” she quickly added when she saw Rufus peeping through the hole in the hedge. “Some dogs are almost as nice as cats, in fact.”

Rufus raised his eyes heavenward, shook his big fluffy head, then reeled it back in.

“We’ll call it the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter,” Charlene suggested. “How does that sound?”

This time Gran was actually beaming. She clasped her hands together and said,“Are you serious?”

“Of course. I’m a politician. I don’t have a sense of humor,” Charlene quipped.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” said Gran, and there were tears in her eyes when she got up to give Charlene a big hug. “I love it!”

“Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter?” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I think it’s very sweet of Charlene to call it that.”

“Yeah, but what if Gran is tired of us and decides to donate us to the shelter that carries her name?”

We were all quiet after that. The prospect was too gruesome to contemplate. But Odelia must have overheard, for when she next came to dispense some more delicious grub, she said,“We’re never giving you away, you guys. And you can quote me on that.”

Just like a reporter to use that kind of language, I thought. But it was really kind of Odelia to confirm that we were, now and forever, her pets, and she wasn’t going to give us away. I like to think she was also saying it as a form of apology, after subjecting us to the cat-hating antics of the two cleaners-slash-burglars.

“Why do they call them cat burglars, Max?” asked Dooley.

“They call them cat burglars because they can scale a building like a cat, and crawl across roofs like we do. Though no human will ever be able to truly be a cat burglar.”

“What Max means to say is that cats are natural burglars,” said Harriet. “Though of course we would never stoop so low as to go and burgle people.”

“But if we would, we could?” asked Dooley.

“Well, of course, but it wouldn’t be right,” said Harriet. “We’re cats, not thieves.”

“I think I would like to be a thief,” said Dooley, surprisingly.

We all looked at him.“You, a thief?” I said. “But why?”

“I’d steal from the bad people and give it to the good ones,” he said. “Like Blanche and Bella Trainor? Or Iris and Mira Johnson? If we could steal back what they stole, and return it to the people they stole it from, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”