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So while Odelia studied the dead person, no doubt hoping to find that‘telling clue’ and figure out ‘whodunit’ Dooley and myself looked around for ‘potential witnesses.’

“Anyone might have seen something, Dooley,” I said as we set out on our journey. “I mean, a field like this must be full of animals, and it only takes one to tell us everything we need to know.”

“Do you really think aliens kidnapped that poor woman, Max?” asked Dooley, who clearly was operating under his own steam as usual, and probably hadn’t listened to a word I said.

“No, Dooley,” I said as I glanced around. “I don’t think aliens kidnapped Mrs. Gardner and dropped her in a field twenty years later, still looking like the day she disappeared.”

“It’s the only logical explanation,” he ventured.

“I’m sure there are other, more plausible ones,” I said. I frowned as I searched around for my witnesses. “There must be field mice, birds, even crickets and other insects.”

“And do you think Farmer Giles’s tongue is too thick?” my friend asked now. “It did look a little thick to me, but then I don’t have a lot of experience with human tongues. It’s so very rare that they stick them out like that.”

“And a good thing, too,” I said. “Imagine everyone sticking out their tongues at us. Yuck.”

“Human tongues are very different from ours, though, aren’t they, Max? They’re bigger but also they’re not as raspy. Our tongues are very raspy, Max, don’t you think?”

“Our tongues are raspy for a reason, Dooley,” I pointed out to my friend. “We use them to groom ourselves. Humans don’t do that.”

“I have seen Odelia lick herself,” said Dooley now, surprising me.

“Odelia? Lick herself?” I asked, momentarily pausing my forward progress through the field. The grass was tickling my belly, and the sun was making me itchy, but I didn’t mind. When I was on the hunt for clues all these minor discomforts took a backseat to my instinct to find that ‘telling clue.’

“Yeah, she accidentally spilled some jam on her arm and she licked it.”

“Oh,” I said, relaxing. “That’s different. It’s not as if she licked her entire body, did she?”

He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.“No, just her arm, and even then only the spot where she’d spilled the jam.”

“Humans don’t have nice fur like we do,” I explained. “So they don’t have to groom themselves in the same way.”

“They do have hair on the top of their heads, and in some other places, too,” said Dooley. “But they take a shower to wash it, and even then they don’t use their tongues. They use a washcloth or a sponge, or even a loofah or a brush.”

I shrugged.“What can I tell you, Dooley? Humans are weird, we all know that.”

“They also use soap, and shampoo,” he went on. “And body lotion and conditioner and—”

I held up my paw.“Let’s not focus too much on these sordid details,” I suggested. “Let’s find a witness instead, shall we?”

“Okay, Max,” said Dooley, but I could tell that in his head he was going through the entire list of products humans use to keep themselves clean. It’s an impressive list, for I’ve seen the products stacked up high in the bathroom. And all this could so easily have been avoided if only humans had learned to use their tongues the way cats do.

“You know, Max?” said Dooley suddenly. “Maybe Farmer Giles uses his tongue to wash himself, just like we do, and that’s why it’s much thicker than other humans’.”

I thought about Farmer Giles and how scruffy and unhygienic he looked, and thought that Dooley might just have a point.“He does look like a man who has no use for expensive lotions and a ton of products to keep himself clean,” I admitted. “And I’d venture a guess he hasn’t seen the inside of a shower in years. So maybe you’re right.”

We walked on, and I thought I heard a bird squawking overhead. And just when I turned my face up to take a closer look, some sticky substance suddenly fell from the sky and landed right on my nose with a splishing sound.

“And that’s a bull’s eye!” a familiar voice squawked. “Right on the big fat schnauzer!” The pigeon, for it was the same pigeon, then laughed in a hyena-like fashion and I thought he actually pumped the air with his claw-like foot!

“I’ll have you for this!” I yelled at the bird.

“You and whose army!” the bird yelled back, and swooped down for a second run.

Dooley, who’d been staring up at the pigeon in open-mouthed surprise, got hit with the second load just as I yelled, “Dooley, watch out!”

But alas, it was too late.

“Yuck!” my friend cried. “I got some of it into my mouth, Max!”

“Another bull’s eye!” the pigeon screeched, wild with triumph. “Another win for Team Pigeon and a humiliating defeat for Team Cat!”

Dooley, who was spitting out the product of the bird’s bowel movement as fast as he could, seemed to have lost all inclination to wax philosophically about human hygiene habits now that his own hygiene was imperiled and so was mine.

“Come back here, bird!” I yelled at the pigeon, who was casually flying off.