e9c12ac8d703d9a536f23183edf8b22c

“I’m sorry but I really can’t,” said Dooley, and closed his lips ostentatiously, then mimicked locking them and throwing away the key.

“Don’t be like that, Dooley,” said Harriet, moving closer to my friend and giving him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “I’m your oldest and dearest friend. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

But Dooley shook his head.

I didn’t feel like coming to his aid, for he’d maneuvered himself into this untenable position all by himself.

“Oh, Dooley,” Harriet said with a little sigh. “Sweet, sweet Dooley…” She gave him a nudge with her head. “Do you know I’ve always thought you’re the sweetest , nicest cat I know?”

At this point Dooley looked as if the top of his head was just about to come off, but he was still staying strong.

“Oh, but Dooley, you’re hurt!” suddenly Harriet cried out, and pointed to a speck of dust on my friend’s shoulder.

“That’s just a speck of…” I began, but Harriet was already planting a delicate kiss on the spot.

“There, that should make it all better,” she purred.

Brutus was eyeing this spectacle with unreserved astonishment. It’s probably not a nice experience to have to watch the love of your life pant little kisses on other cats, but then Harriet would argue that this all served the greater good.

“Oh, but Dooley, you have a cut!” she said, this time pointing to the cat’s neck. And once more she planted a little kiss just so.

Dooley, who was sitting on a crate of dynamite, ready to explode, suddenly burst out,“Tex is tired of being a doctor and he wants to become a vet! There, I said it.” He turned to me. “Does that make me a bad person, Max?”

“No, it doesn’t, Dooley,” I said with a little eyeroll. Harriet had put him on the spot, and I imagined if she’d handled me the same way she’d just handled Dooley, I might have spilled the beans, too. She has her ways, Harriet does.

Harriet was glowing with pride, but Brutus said,“Tex wants to be a vet? Are you sure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Dooley. “He and Gran told us the whole story. How he’s fed up with his patients showing him weird-looking moles at Costco, and how pets are a much more grateful clientele, and how he dreams of becoming a vet, and never having to see another human patient in his life. Oh, and the reason he drinks so much is because he can’t decide whether to go through with his midwife crisis or not.”

“Midwife crisis?” asked Brutus. “What are you talking about?”

“He means a midlife crisis,” I said. “Tex hasn’t been feeling well lately. And so he’s been drinking more, even though he says he’s not an alcoholic, and he’s been thinking about making a big and sweeping life change, only he’s afraid that if he does, the consequences will be devastating. So he hasn’t told anyone, except Gran, and now he’s trying to decide what to do.”

“Tex a vet,” said Harriet.

“I hate vets,” Brutus grunted. “Sadists, every last one of them. Always with their needles and their poking and their prodding.”

“Not Tex,” said Dooley. “Tex will be a very nice vet, the kind of vet who doesn’t poke you or prod you or stick you with a needle.”

“Oh, he’ll stab you with needles and all the rest of it,” said Brutus. “Just you wait and see. Now he’s acting all nice and friendly, to put you off guard, but once he’s got you strapped to his table, he’ll go to town on you. You don’t have to teach me vets. I’ve seen them all andthey’re all the same.”

“Not Tex,” Dooley insisted. “Right, Max?”

“I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in action yet, so it’s too soon to tell.”

“He would never hurt anyone,” Dooley insisted stubbornly. “Sam said he saved his life, and he’s saved the lives of plenty of Sam’s friends, and Sam says Tex is a miracle worker. He’s like Dr. Dolittle, and Dr. Dolittle would never hurt an animal.”

“What are you babbling about?” asked Harriet, her sultry demeanor now fully a thing of the past. “Who is Sam?”

“Sam is a pigeon we met in Tex’s city garden,” I explained. “He suffered a broken wing and Tex nursed him back to health, so now he’s extremely grateful and told all his friends, and they’ve all dropped by at various intervals to be treated by Tex.”

“So who’s paying for all of these treatments?” asked Harriet, that mercantile streak that runs through her veins once again manifesting itself.

“No one, I guess.”

“He’s doing all of that stuff for free,” said Dooley.

“Well, he shouldn’t,” said Harriet. “If he’s going to be a vet, he needs to learn how to ask for money.”

“I’m sure that if he becomes a vet—which is still a big if,” I said, “he’ll ask for money just fine. And if he doesn’t, Gran will. Look,” I continued, “you can’t tell anyone about this, you hear?”

“Of course not, Max,” said Harriet sweetly. “We won’t tell a living soul, isn’t that so, smoochie poo?”

“Sure,” said Brutus with a grin. “Not a living soul.”

Oh, dear. I had a feeling Dooley had just let the cat out of the bag.