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“You know what you should do?” said Big Mac. “You need to make sure you gain weight, Dooley. A lot of weight.”

“And why is that, Big Mac?”

“Because those aliens, they only beam up the young and healthy. A fat cat like me doesn’t stand a chance. They’re not interested!”

“But why?”

“Because those aliens are trying to build a master race, see, and they can only build their master race by abducting the best and the brightest. So your sports jocks, your fitness freaks and your mathletes. Those are the ones they’re interested in. So the unhealthier you are…”

“Big Mac, you’re a genius!”

“So get yourself fat and unhealthy, and you’re safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hey,” said Big Mac, slapping his big belly. “It’s worked for me so far. Haven’t been abducted yet.”

“If you were abducted,” I said, deciding to strike the discordant note before these two got carried away, “you wouldn’t remember. Because they wipe your memory when they’re done with their ‘alien probe.’”

Both cats stared at me.“You mean we could have been abducted already, and we wouldn’t know!” Dooley cried.

“There’s one way to know,” said Big Mac, who was fast outing himself as an alien believer. “They leave a small mark.”

“A mark?” asked Dooley, wide-eyed.

“Right behind your ear. If there’s the single mark, you’ve been abducted once. Two marks, and you’ve had the dubious pleasure of their company twice, and so on and so forth.”

“Can you check my ear, Max?”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said with an eyeroll.

“Here, I’ll do it,” said Big Mac. “Not all cats are believers, and I have the distinct impression that our friend Max here is not one of us.” He quickly checked Dooley’s left ear, then his right ear, but shook his head. “Nothing. You’re clear.”

“How about you, Big Mac? Do you want me to check?”

“Go ahead. But I know I’ve never been beamed up. They can fool other cats, but not me.”

“Sure, Big Mac,” I said resignedly. “Whatever you say.”

Dooley was busy inspecting our friend’s ears, and suddenly froze.

“What is it?” asked Big Mac, a note of concern in his voice. “What do you see?”

“Big Mac!” said Dooley in hushed tones.

“What? What?!”

“Max, come and take a look,” said my friend, and reluctantly I did as instructed.

“That’s not a mark, Dooley,” I said. “That’s a birthmark.”

“It’s round.”

“So it’s a freckle.”

“A freckle? Oh, boy,” said Big Mac.

“What does it mean, Big Mac?” asked Dooley in hushed tones.

“I’m afraid to tell you, Dooley.”

“Oh, no. You’re scaring me!”

He placed a paw on Dooley’s shoulder. “Sit down a minute, will you? The shock might be too great.”

“Big Mac!”

“Dooley, there is a type of alien we alienologists like to call the CEAs—Chief Executive Aliens. They’re like in charge of all the regular aliens. Now these CEAs seldom show up on planets as ordinary and bland as ours. They like to leave the work to their underlings—the workers. But from time to time they do show up, usually to make sure that the regular aliens are doing what they’re supposed to do. They’re very big on hierarchy, aliens are.”

“Can you speed it up, Big Mac,” I said, as I glanced to the kitchen door, hoping Odelia and Chase were still in there, and hopefully hadn’t forgotten about our patties and wings.

“Okay, so when a worker drone beams you up, he just does his job, leaves his mark and that’s it. Just another day on the job. But when those CEAs are on the floor, they like to get involved—set an example and show off, if you know what I mean. So when they beam you up, you really get the fulltreatment. And they leave a mark that looks like a freckle.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “It’s considered a great honor to be handled by a CEA and not a regular worker. They don’t just pick anyone, see. They only pick the best.”

“It’s just a freckle, Big Mac,” I said.

“It’s the mark of a Chief Executive Alien!”

“Oh, my God, Big Mac!” said Dooley.

“I’ve been chosen,” said the voluminous cat, a reverent quiver in his voice.

“Chosen for what, exactly?” I asked, not hiding my skepticism.

“For my genes, of course! They’re probably planning to create a planet populated only by felines. And I’ll be the main progenitor. Me! Little Big Mac! Oh, happy day!”

“Oh, Big Mac,” said Dooley, tears of joy springing to his eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Don’t worry, Dooley,” said the large cat, clapping an earnest paw on my friend’s back. “One day they’ll pick you. And then you will have a planet filled with your offspring.”

“I can’t wait,” said Dooley.

Oh, brother. I don’t think Sherlock Holmes ever had to contend with this kind of nonsense. Doctor Watson may not have been the brightest bulb in the bulb shop, but at least he wasn’t crowing about being the progenitor of his own planet!

And so when I returned indoors, thinking dark thoughts about Big Mac and his alien race, I just hoped Chase and Odelia had had better luck. At least now we knew that when the entire group of friends gathered here last night, Angel had already disappeared. But why? Why had she decided to forego her favorite part of a night out with her friends?

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