Saint Nic

Purrfectly Flealess

Purrfectly Flealess The Mysteries of Max Short 4

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

Purrfectly Flealess

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About Nic

Also by Nic Saint

Purrfectly Flealess

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Having barely survived the Terrible Flea Infestation unscathed, Harriet decides that Patient Zero, the first cat to catch the embarrassing affliction, must be found and must be found ASAP! If there’s anything she dislikes it’s disgusting blood-sucking bugs detracting from her natural beauty and grace. So Max, Dooley and Brutus heed the call and go in search of this elusive First Fleabag. Before long, the dragnet yields results, and the cats start closing in on their prey.

Much to their surprise, it’s a cat they know all too well.

Purrfectly Flealess is a 15.000 word short story that ties in with Purrfect Peril (The Mysteries of Max 7). It picks up where that story left off so they’re best read in that order.

Chapter 1

We were out in the backyard of Odelia’s house, undergoing what at first glance to any observer would have appeared an extremely humiliating procedure: Odelia had put a large washtub on the lawn, had filled it with warm soapy water, and was meticulously dragging a comb through the water and through my fur in an effort to catch those last, hard-to-reach fleas that might still linger on my precious bod. Meanwhile Marge was doing the same with Harriet, and Grandma Muffin with Dooley. Brutus, the fourth cat in our small menagerie, was doing his business in the bushes, waiting for his turn.

“And? Did you find any?” I asked, getting a little antsy.

As a general rule I hate getting wet. Odelia had assured me this washing time business was for the greater good, though, so I had agreed to go with it. Just this once.

“So far so good,” she said as she carefully inspected the comb.

“Why isn’t Brutus getting waterboarded?” I asked. “It’s not fair. We’re all getting waterboarded and he’s getting away scot-free. I think Chase should waterboard his cat.”

“It’s not waterboarding,” Odelia explained. “It’s just a gentle grooming session.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled, as I watched Dooley patiently undergoing similar treatment.

“I like it,” my friend said. “As long as it gets rid of these fleas I’m all for it.”

“I agree,” said Harriet, who now sported a dab of foam on the top of her head. “Anything to get rid of these hairy little monsters is all right by me.”

“Hairy?” asked Dooley, his eyes widening. “Nobody said anything about hairy.”

“Oh, yes,” said Harriet. “Fleas are big, hairy monsters, Dooley. As hairy as they come.”

Dooley gulped. “Get them off me, Grandma. Please get them off me!”

“Hold your horses,” Grandma grunted as she squinted at the comb. She then held it up for her daughter’s inspection. “Do you see anything on there, Marge? Those little suckers are so small I can’t be sure.”

Marge studiously ignored her mother, though, and continued combing Harriet as if Grandma hadn’t spoken. Ever since the old woman had decided to leave Hampton Cove to go and live with her newly acquired grandson, Grandma Muffin was dead to Marge.

Undeterred, Grandma waved the comb in Marge’s face. “Is that a flea or a piece of lint? I can’t tell.”

Marge finally took a closer look at the comb, a dark frown on her face. “Unless it’s an imaginary flea, like your imaginary pregnancy, there’s nothing there.”

“Suit yourself,” Grandma grumbled, and went back to dragging the comb through Dooley’s gray mane. She was using ample amounts of soap, and Dooley was now starting to resemble a drowned rat, hunted look in his eyes and all. “I’ll have you know that that was a great opportunity, Marge, and if you’d have been in my shoes you’d have gone for it, too.”

Marge turned on her mother. “No, I wouldn’t. I would never leave my family to go and live with a bunch of strangers just to get my hands on a little bit of money.”

“It wasn’t a little bit of money,” said Gran. “it was a lot. A big ol’ bundle of cash.”

“Even so. You don’t leave your family just because you happen to strike it rich.”

“I would have brought you in on the deal eventually,” said Gran.

Marge planted a fist on her hip. “And how would you have done that?”

Gran shrugged. “I would have hired you as my maid or something, and Tex as the chauffeur. That way you could have lived in a little room over the garage. Shared the wealth.”

Marge pressed her lips together and made a strangled sound at the back of her throat. Living above the garage and working as her own mother’s maid didn’t seem to appeal to her all that much.

“Dad is a doctor, not a chauffeur, Gran,” Odelia pointed out. “And Mom is a librarian, not a maid.”

“Who cares? The Goldsmiths got money to burn. He wouldn’t have had to do any chauffeuring. Just pretend to go through the motions. Maybe wash a limo from time to time. Wear one of them snazzy peaked caps. Just saying. This family missed a great opportunity.”

“We didn’t miss anything,” said Marge. “All we missed was you going off and showing your true colors.”

Brutus had returned from his business in the bushes, and was stalking across the lawn with the air of a cat whose bowel movements have just proved a source of great enjoyment. If he’d been a human male he’d have carried a newspaper under his arm, folded to the sports section. When he caught sight of the flea party in progress on the lawn, the smile of contentment faded and he started backtracking in the direction of the bushes again.

Marge’s eagle eyes had spotted the big, black cat, though. “Oh, Brutus, there you are. Come over here a minute, will you? We need to check you for fleas.”

“I ain’t got no fleas,” he said promptly. “No, ma’am. I’m officially flea-free.”

Marge smiled indulgently. “Be that as it may, you still need checking out. Now come over here and I’ll give you your checkup.”

“Does that mean you’re done with me?” asked Harriet with a note of disappointment in her voice. Harriet likes being pampered and groomed. The more pampering the better.

“Yup. All done,” said Marge.

“Oh,” said Harriet, and reluctantly relinquished her spot to her beau Brutus.

“You know?” said Dooley as he directed a fishy look at a floating flea. “I’m not so sure this is an entirely humane way to treat these animals, Max.”

“What animals?” I asked as Odelia lifted my tail and checked my rear end.

“Well, we’re all God’s creatures, Max, so maybe all this poisoning and waterboarding and generally slaughtering these poor fleas isn’t the way to go is what I mean to say.”

We all stared at the cat. Even Grandma momentarily paused her combing efforts. “You’re nuts,” was her opinion. “I’ve got a nut for a cat.”

Odelia, however, seemed prepared to give Dooley the benefit of the doubt. “I thought you didn’t like fleas, Dooley? You couldn’t wait to get rid of them?”

“Oh, I do. Hate the little parasites, I mean. And I do want to get rid of them. But maybe we should go about this the humane way. Treat them with kindness. Humanely.”

“Whatever,” said Harriet with a flick of her tail as she licked those last few droplets of water from her shiny white fur. “As long as they’re gone, it’s fine by me.” She then gave me a censorious look. “So have you found your Patient Zero yet, Max?”

I looked up, distracted by Odelia dragging her comb across my sensitive belly. “Huh?”

“Patient Zero,” Harriet repeated impatiently. “I thought you and Dooley were trying to track down the cat who got us into this mess and deal with him or her properly?”

“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “We’re, um, working on it.”

“Well, work faster,” she said. “I don’t want to go through this ordeal again.”

“Are you really tracking down Patient Zero, Max?” asked Marge.

“Sure, sure,” I said. Actually I’d totally forgotten about this elusive Patient Zero. Like Harriet said, as long as the fleas were gone, who cared about Patient Zero, let alone patients one or two or three or whatever? “We’re looking into it, aren’t we, Dooley?”

But Dooley was still thinking about the fate of those poor fleas. “I mean, if the Humane Society cares so much about horses and the way they’re treated in all those Hollywood movies, shouldn’t they look into fleas, too? We’re all God’s creatures, right?”

Brutus emitted a groan. “Fleas aren’t creatures, Dooley. Fleas are a pest. And pests should be terminated. End of discussion.”

“Fleas deserve our consideration, Brutus,” said Dooley with a pained look as he watched a flea float lifelessly in the tub. “Have you ever stopped to consider that this flea right here has a mother and a father who care about him or her? And brothers and sisters?”

“Lots and lots of brothers and sisters,” said Odelia with a slight grin. “Millions of them. Probably billions or even trillions.”

“We still owe it to them to treat them with kindness and respect,” Dooley insisted.

Odelia held up her comb. “This is being kind, Dooley. This is being respectful.”

“Kind and respectful,” Gran scoffed. “They’re not being kind when they suck your blood, are they? So why should we be kind to them?”

“Kill ‘em all is what I say,” said Brutus, with a decisive motion of his paw. “Carpet bomb the suckers to oblivion.”

“Speaking of carpets, did you take the vacuum bags out to the trash?” asked Marge. “They’re probably full of eggs, larvae and pupae. Best to get rid of them immediately.”

And so the discussion went on for a while. Harriet wasn’t to be deterred, though. She was directing a scathing glance in my direction. I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t going to let this go, I could tell. She was going to hound me until I produced this mysterious Patient Zero.

“Fine,” I said finally. “We’ll find your Patient Zero and we’ll find him today, all right?”

She smiled. “Thanks, Maxie. I knew you’d listen to reason. Brutus and I will join you. And together we’ll search this town until we’ve tracked down the cat who’s responsible for this terrible outbreak and make sure he or she is unflead ASAP.”

“I don’t think unflead is a word, honey,” said Marge.

Harriet flapped her paws. “Deflead, then. Whatever. But mark my words, I won’t rest until the last flea of Hampton Cove has been terminated.” When Dooley gasped, she quickly added, “in the most humane and kindest way possible, of course.”

Chapter 2

The moment we were finally declared flea-free, the four of us set out to start hunting high and low for Patient Zero and ‘take care of him,’ in Harriet’s words. She seemed pretty sure this Patient Zero was a male, as only males could be so dumb as to allow themselves to be infested with a bunch of lowly parasites.

“And it’s not just that the female of the species is smarter than the male, we’re more hygienic, too,” she claimed now as we tracked along the sidewalks of Hampton Cove. “I for one would never allow even a single flea to lay its eggs on my precious fur if I could help it.”

“None of us would allow that,” I countered. “Do you think I like hosting a flea party?”

“You tomcats are simply too insensitive to even feel that you’re being ravaged by a bunch of parasites,” she said, tail high in the air as usual. “You could have thousands of fleas feasting on your bodies and you wouldn’t even know. But put one flea on me and I’ll know instantly that something is wrong. Admit it, Max, females are much more conscious of their bodies than males.”

“Like the princess and the pea,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. When we all looked at him, he shrugged. “She could feel the pea, which showed everyone she was a princess. The same way Harriet can feel the flea, which shows us she’s…” He swallowed, and his cheeks would probably have flushed a bright scarlet if they hadn’t been covered in fur.

“Aw, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You think I’m a princess? That’s so sweet of you.”

Brutus gave Dooley a dirty look. Its meaning was clear: she’s my princess, buddy, so paws off.

We passed along the streets of Hampton Cove, the sleepy little town in the Hamptons where life is lived at a more leisurely pace than in other small towns the world over. This morning was different, however, with the sound of vacuum cleaners working at full tilt audible wherever we pointed our antenna-like ears. Windows had been flung open, with duvets, comforters and mattresses hanging from ledges, soaking up the sun’s rays, carpets being cleaned with a frantic energy that told us the flea infestation had left the good people of Hampton Cove scrambling. Some people were even fogging and fumigating their houses, judging from the clouds of acrid smoke wafting through windows and doors and chimneys.

Dooley shook his head. “Maybe we should call the Humane Society, Max. I think they’d have a field day fighting all this cruelty and this utterly senseless suffering.”

“How long do you think a flea can survive inside a vacuum bag?” asked Harriet.

“Not long,” said Brutus. “I imagine they die a slow and painful death of suffocation.”

Dooley uttered a strangled cry. “Oh, those poor, poor creatures.”

“They’re a pest,” Brutus grunted. “And pests should be eradicated. No mercy.”

“Some people consider cats a pest,” I said. “They feel we should be eradicated.”

“Some people are pests,” Brutus countered. “So maybe they should eradicate themselves.”

“Oh, but they do,” said Harriet. “People kill each other all the time. They enjoy it.”

She was right. Only a couple of days ago a grandson had killed his grandfather, just so he could take over the old man’s title as Most Fascinating Man in the World. No cat would ever kill another cat for the mere pleasure of being called Most Fascinating Cat in the World. Humans sometimes can be quite inhumane. Before I could ponder the topic more deeply, however, we’d arrived in the heart of town, and Brutus and Harriet took one side of the street while Dooley and I took the other. We were looking for clues revealing the identity of this Patient Zero, and what better way to go about this pursuit than to talk to other cats?

Cats, as you might imagine, are extremely chatty creatures. There’s nothing a cat likes better than to gossip about his or her fellow cats. And since our human is in the business of providing fresh human gossip to other humans every day through her column in the Hampton Cove Gazette, that works out quite nicely. So we passed by the barber shop and talked to the barber’s Maine Coon Buster, who sat licking his paws in front of the shop.

“First time I laid eyes on a flea I was a young whippersnapper of six months,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes as he temporarily halted his grooming. “My pa showed me. Said a cat’s not a cat without a bunch of fleas burrowing into his skin.” He sighed wistfully. “Ma kicked him out of the house that day and I haven’t seen him since. I miss my old man sometimes. Said he’d fathered a thousand kittens in his time, and felt ready and primed to father a thousand more. Which is probably why Ma kicked him out in the first place.”

“That’s all fine and dandy,” I said, trying to halt the stream of words. Buster likes to gab, and sometimes it’s hard to get him to focus. “But we’re trying to figure out when this flea infestation started, so try to cast your mind back to when you saw the first flea now—not when you were a young whipper… snipper.”

He dabbed at his eyes with his paws. “He said he’d be back for me, Pa did. But I never saw him again. I sometimes wonder if he’s out there somewhere, looking up at the same stars at night, thinking about me and those fun times we shared back in the day.”

“If he fathered a thousand kittens and was ready to father a thousand more it’s highly unlikely he remembers you, Buster,” said Dooley, offering his two cents.

Buster stopped rubbing his eyes and gave Dooley a nasty look. “Who asked you?”

“It’s simple logic,” Dooley argued. “How can a cat be expected to remember one cat out of thousands? And I’ll bet you were not very memorable at six months. None of us are.”

“Dooley,” I told him warningly.

“I stood out amongst the bunch,” said Buster through gritted teeth. “Even as a kitten.”

“I’m sure you did, Buster,” I said pacifically. “Now about this Patient Zero…”

“Are you telling me that my pa never gave me a second thought? Cause let me tell you, you scruffy-faced piece of no-good mongrel, he did. Pa said he’d be back for me and the only reason he would break that promise is if he was detained someplace, unable to come.”

“Probably fathering his ten-thousandth kitty,” said Dooley. “Or taking a breather. Fathering so many kitties causes a lot of wear and tear. Your pa probably hung up his spurs.”

“Why, you little…” Buster began, swinging his paw. “I should knock your whiskers off.”

“Now, now,” I said. “We’re all friends here.”

“Just buzz off,” said Buster, giving us a distinctly unfriendly look.

And as we walked away, Dooley asked, “Is it something I said, Max?”

“No, Dooley,” I said with a sigh. “But maybe from now on you’ll let me do the talking, all right? We are trying to find Patient Zero, not looking to start a fight.”

“Okay, Max. I was just pointing out a flaw in Buster’s logic, that’s all.”

“I know you were, Dooley. I know you were.”

Chapter 3

Next up was Tigger, the plumber’s cat, who, for some reason, sat people-watching on the stoop of Daym Fine Liquor, the local liquor store.

“Hey, Tigger,” I said by way of greeting. “What’s new?”

Tigger, a small hairless cat, held up his paw and I high-fived him. “Hiya, fellas,” he said. “Just waiting on my human. My human likes this store. In fact it’s his favorite store in all of Hampton Cove. He’s in here all the time so I’m out here all the time.”

“Why?” asked Dooley, who was in an inquisitive mood today. “You’re not a dog. You’re not supposed to sit out here and wait for your human.”

“Oh, I know I’m not a dog,” said Tigger. “But once Gwayn has some liquor in him he tends to forget he’s got me to feed, so I like to trail him to remind him I’m still here.”

It was an intensely sad story, though Tigger didn’t seem to see it that way, judging from his chipper demeanor. Just one of those things cats take in their stride, I guess. When your human is a tippler, like Gwayn Partington obviously was, a cat learns to adjust.

“We’re looking for Patient Zero,” Dooley said, getting straight down to business.

“Maybe check the hospitals?” Tigger suggested. “That’s where they keep those. I know on account of the fact that Gwayn has been in one. He has balance issues, you see, and tends to fall on his face from time to time. It’s a terrible affliction. Every time it happens an ambulance comes and a couple of men in white take him down to the hospital.”

“We’re not looking for a particular patient,” I clarified. “We’re looking for the first cat in Hampton Cove who got infested with fleas. If we can track him or her down, we might be able to nip this thing in the bud, so to speak. Eradicate this infestation once and for all.”

Tigger shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, fellas, but you can’t eradicate a flea infestation. Fleas are everywhere! Fleas are all around, just like in the song.”

“Song? What song?” I asked.

“Fleas are all around,” he began to sing to the tune of ‘Love is all around.’

“They weren’t before—not on this massive scale. Someone brought them here.”

He stopped singing and gave me a pensive look. “Maybe ask Chief Alec? If anyone knows what’s going on in Hampton Cove it’s Chief Alec. Chief Alec knows. And he’s nice to cats. I should know. The other day, when Gwayn spent the night at the police station, Chief Alec drove over to the house and gave me a saucer of milk and a piece of his ham sandwich. What a mensch!”

“Gwayn spent the night at the police station?” I asked.

“Sure. He was driving through town when he happened to drive through a red light—Gwayn suffers from color-blindness as well as this falling-on-his-face thing, you see—and so Chief Alec made him walk a line. Apparently that’s what they do when people drive through red lights—make them walk a line. He must have aced the test because the Chief was so kind to offer Gwayn free lodgings at the police station for the night. Like I said, a real mensch.”

Just then, Gwayn Partington came staggering out of the liquor store, a big brown paper bag in his arms, and stared down at us. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “First there was one cat and now there’s three? I must be off a damn lot worse than I thought!”

We watched as Tigger’s human stumbled down the street, his hair sticking up, his bushy beard unkempt, and his blue coveralls a little too tattered to appeal to the average client of his plumbing business. Tigger sighed. “I love my human, I really do, but he doesn’t make it easy.” He turned and started in pursuit of the sauced plumber. “See ya, fellas. And if you see this Patient Zero of yours, tell him next time he should keep his fleas to himself.”

“Wait, I thought you didn’t believe in this Patient Zero theory?” I yelled after him.

“If you believe it, I believe it!” he yelled back, and gave us a cheerful wave.

“He’s a real philosopher, this Tigger,” said Dooley admiringly.

“With a human like that, you have to be,” I said.

“Do you think Gwayn Partington is an alcoholic, Max?”

“Either he’s an alcoholic or a method actor getting into character as an alcoholic.”

We traipsed on, dodging pedestrians as we did, until we reached the Vickery General Store, where two cats sat shooting the breeze in front of the store. They were Kingman, generally accepted as the best-informed cat in Hampton Cove, and a ratty little cat called Kitty. She belonged to a local landscaper and was explaining something to Kingman while gesticulating wildly.

“And then he locked me up in the washer. The washer! Can you imagine?!”

I’d heard the story before so I wasn’t all that interested. Still, being locked up in a washing machine is one of those universal horror stories that gives cats the creepy crawlies.

“Her human locked her up in the washer,” said Kingman, jerking a paw to Kitty. “Can you believe it? What an idiot.”

“At least you didn’t get fleas,” I said.

“Fleas don’t kill you, tough guy,” said Kitty. “The washer will. Unless you’re me, of course.” She shook her head. “No idea how I survived that one. I must be one tough kitty.”

“Maybe your Odelia should write a story about that,” Kingman suggested. “I mean, all she ever writes about is humans doing stuff to other humans, but when is she finally going to write about the things that really matter? Like getting stuck in a washer, huh? Or this flea infestation? That’s the stuff I would like to see featured on the front page once in a while.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Kitty. “I mean, take that big story that’s been all over the news these last coupla days. About that Most Fascinating Dude that got killed by some other Most Fascinating Dude. Who cares, right? I don’t. Dudes be killing dudes all over the place all the time. But how often do you get to talk to a cat that survived three washing cycles?”

“You survived three washing cycles?” I asked.

“It sure feels like it! But do I get asked for an exclusive interview? No, sir! No fair!”

“You should tell Odelia to give me a call,” said Kingman, tapping my chest smartly. “I have an interesting story to tell about the flea epidemic. A story that would rock this town.”

“Or she could call me,” said Kitty. “A cat that survived four washing cycles!”

I stared at Kingman, hope surging in my bosom. “You know something about this flea thing?”

“Sure I do,” said the voluminous piebald, and wiggled one of his chins for emphasis. “Mark my words. If what I have to say gets printed in the Hampton Cove Gazette the good people of this town would be shocked. Shocked, I tell you!”

“Not as shocked as I was after surviving five washing cycles!” cried Kitty.

“Do washing machines even go through five washing cycles?” I asked.

“Ten! A dozen! If not more!”

“Just the one,” said Dooley. “I know because I love to watch the machine go round and round.”

“All cats love to watch the machine go round and round,” said Kingman.

“Well, my human’s machine goes round and round at least two dozen cycles,” said Kitty adamantly, “and I survived every single one of them. So there.” And having said this, she stalked off, ready to pounce on the next cat and start telling her story all over again.

“Look, Kingman,” I said. “We’re on a mission, Dooley and I. A mission to find Patient Zero. So better tell us everything you know about this flea infestation and better tell us now.”

Kingman nodded soberly. “It was a dark and stormy night…” he began.

Chapter 4

“A cat who shall not be named was on her way home from cat choir when a limo crawled to a stop right next to her. The limo door opened and a handsome cat beckoned from inside, inviting our unnamed cat choir friend in. After a moment’s hesitation, she entered the limo, the door closed behind her and the limo drove off into the night.” Kingman paused for emphasis, and was rewarded by a look of astonishment from me and Dooley.

“And then what happened?” asked Dooley finally.

Kingman shrugged. “Do I have to draw you a picture? Use your imagination.”

Dooley and I shared a look, Dooley’s more confused than mine.

“What did they do, Max?” he asked.

“They, um, played pinochle,” I said. Not my best effort, but judging from Dooley’s nod, he bought it. I turned to Kingman. “So what does this have to do with the flea thing?”

“My friend tells me that the very next morning she woke up with a terrible itch. Scratching didn’t help, and when she went to her human, he immediately diagnosed her with an acute case of fleas and called the vet to supply her with the necessary antidote.”

“So… this cat in this limo gave this friend of yours fleas? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Five minutes after she talked to me, I got the itch, and it’s been spreading like wildfire all over Hampton Cove ever since. So it would appear, my boys, that this infestation wasn’t homegrown, but was imported from the outside.”

“In a limo,” I said, and I didn’t even bother to hide my skepticism.

“In a limo.”

“And the cat in the limo was…”

“No idea. But I’ve heard more stories since then.” He fixed us with a knowing look. “Limo Cat has been driving through town every night, seducing local womenfolk and giving them fleas in return for a quick session of…” He cut a look to Dooley. “… pinochle. Find the limo, and you’ll find your Patient Zero.”

“So who is this friend of yours? I’d like to have a chat with her.”

“No can do,” he said. “I promised her absolute secrecy. And you know me, fellas. Kingman’s word is his bond. Kingman keeps his promises. Kingman is king of discretion.”

Kingman is king of gossip—biggest blabbermouth in town. Why all of a sudden he would clam up on me was anyone’s guess. But try as I might, he wasn’t divulging the name of Limo Cat’s first victim. Nor would he give us more details of this fateful midnight rendezvous.

“You know what I think, though?”

“Yes, I do want to know what you think, Kingman,” I said. “In fact I can’t wait.”

“I think this is all one big government conspiracy.”

Oh, God. Not with the conspiracy stuff again. “You don’t say.”

“I do say. And what’s more, I think the Deep State has made up its mind to destroy the United States cat population and has selected Hampton Cove as its testing ground.”

“It has?” asked Dooley, visibly perturbed.

“Sure. This Limo Cat probably works for the FBI or the DHS or any of those acronyms. And he’s spreading some noxious disease by infecting our cats one by one.” He nodded seriously. “Mark my words, boys. Before you know it, cats will be dying left and right.”

Dooley squeezed his eyes shut. “I knew it!” he squeaked. “I knew it! I told you, Max. We’re all gonna die!”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are!”

“Nobody’s dying, Dooley. And there’s no conspiracy.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” said Kingman. “Welcome to the Deep State, boys.”

“Fleas don’t kill cats, Kingman,” I said. “They’re annoying, but nowhere near lethal.”

“These fleas are. These are killer fleas, cooked up in some secret government lab.”

Dooley produced a soft whimper. “I knew it!”

“There is no secret government lab!” I cried. “There are no killer fleas!”

“It’s the Deep State,” said Kingman, sounding like one of those talk radio nutters.

“There is no Deep State!”

“Yes, there is.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And it’s very, very deep.”

“Wow, that’s deep, Kingman,” I said, but the cat was oblivious to irony, as he nodded knowingly and tapped the right side of his nose for some reason.

We walked on, leaving Kingman to dispense his theories to the next cat that stopped by the store. Judging from the terrified look on Dooley’s face this search for Patient Zero was turning into a trip to Mount Doom and not the fun and educational project I’d anticipated.

“There are no killer fleas, Dooley,” I insisted. “If there were, don’t you think the streets would be littered with dead cats by now?”

Just then, we spotted a dead cat lying in the gutter and Dooley squeaked, “I knew it! I knew Kingman was right!”

But when we moved closer, I saw it wasn’t a dead cat but a dead opossum. And when I gave it a tentative nudge with my paw, it opened one eye, then quickly closed it again.

“I know you’re just pretending,” I told the opossum.

“I’m not pretending,” said the opossum. “I’m really dead.”

“Dead opossums don’t talk.”

This seemed to have stumped him, for he opened both eyes now. “Is the coast clear?” he asked in a low voice.

I shrugged. “The coast is always clear.” I really don’t understand that expression.

He breathed a sigh of relief and lifted his head. “I thought I saw a human.” Then he happened to glance across the street, uttered a high shriek, and dropped dead again.

“You’re in downtown Hampton Cove,” I told him. “There’re humans everywhere.”

“Just like there are killer fleas everywhere,” said Dooley somberly.

“For the hundredth time, there are no killer fleas,” I said emphatically.

“Only there are.”

“Not.”

“Kingman knows!”

“Kingman is nuts!”

“Look, if you’re going to keep yapping like this I’m gonna go ahead and move to the next gutter,” said the opossum. “How can I play dead with all this yapping going on?”

“Tell him there are no killer fleas,” I told the opossum.

“There are no killer fleas,” said the opossum. “There. Happy now?”

“You’re just saying that to get rid of me,” said Dooley.

“You’re right. He’s right,” he told me. “I do want to get rid of him. Both of youse, actually. Then again, every idiot knows killer fleas don’t exist. Who put that crazy idea in your noggin?”

“Kingman,” we both said in unison.

“Kingman as in the fat cat that squats in front of the General Store?”

I nodded. “He seems to think the Deep State sent a limo to Hampton Cove that contains a cat that infests the local cat population with killer fleas as a test case for a national pandemic to occur at some point in the near future that will kill all cats everywhere.”

The opossum, contrary to its desire to remain inconspicuous, emitted a raucous laugh. “And you morons believe that load of crap? Cats are even dumber than I thought!”

“Dooley believes that load of crap—I don’t,” I clarified.

“I’m starting to have my doubts,” Dooley said now. It’s never fun to be insulted by an opossum, and it appeared this particular opossum was having better luck convincing Dooley Kingman was an idiot than I was.

“Mind you, getting rid of all cats nationwide is something I can only applaud. Then again, since it’s a bogus notion, there’s not much sense yapping about it. So why don’t you both move right along and I can go back to doing what I do best: playing dead opossum.”

“But what about the limo?” asked Dooley. “It sounds so… specific.”

“Oh, there is a limo out there, all right,” said the opossum. “I’ve seen it. But no killer fleas, unfortunately.”

“You’ve seen the limo?” I asked.

The opossum sighed. “If I tell you will you finally go away?”

“I promise we’ll go away and you can do what you do best,” I said.

“Every night, a limo passes through town. Its windows are tinted, its lights are dimmed, and inside is a lustful roving animal, hunting the streets of Hampton Cove in search of females. Once he’s set his eyes on a particular prey, the limo driver pulls over, the door opens, and Limo Cat invites his clueless victim into the limo. And since all cats are idiots, all cats accept the offer, step into the limo, and are never seen or heard from again.” When he saw the horrified looks on our faces, he laughed. “That last part’s not true. I made that up. But I did see that limo pull over a couple of nights ago, and I did see a cat get in and the limo take off. What I didn’t see were killer fleas or government spooks or any other crazy stuff.”

“So… where did you see that limo, exactly?” I asked.

But I was talking to a dead opossum. Or a method actor playing a dead opossum.

Chapter 5

We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the roof of The Hungry Pipe, one of Hampton Cove’s cat population’s favorite hangouts, mainly because the owner likes to store his restaurant’s trash on the roof before transferring it to the alley below for collection.

“Nothing!” Brutus said when we’d finally navigated the fire escape and arrived up top. “We talked to everyone we know up and down the street and they all told us the same thing: whoever or whatever caused this infestation will always remain a secret.”

“No, it won’t,” I told him, and proceeded to clue him and Harriet in on the little secret Kingman had shared.

“The opossum said that,” said Harriet, not concealing her disbelief. “A dead opossum. Seriously.”

“It wasn’t dead,” said Dooley. “It was just pretending to be dead, like opossums do.”

“So a dead opossum and Kingman, the biggest con cat in all of Hampton Cove, think a cat in a limo caused all this.” She rolled her eyes, and very expressively so, too. “Puh-lease. That is just ridiculous.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” said Dooley. “The opossum wasn’t really dead. It was just pretending to be dead. And he said he actually saw that Limo Cat with his own eyes and…” Harriet gave him a look of such hauteur he stopped mid-sentence.

“Limo Cat. Huh,” said Brutus, though judging from the smirk he was displaying he had a hard time giving credence to the story as well.

“Look, I don’t care if you believe us or not,” I said, “but the fact remains that two witnesses so far told us about this limo and I, for one, would like to try and find Kingman’s friend—the one who got into the limo and when she got out was infested with the bugs.”

“Will you look at that?” said Harriet, and I had the impression she wasn’t referring to me or the bugs or even the fake-dead opossum. When I turned to look, I saw she was actually talking about a small troupe of cats who had just arrived on the rooftop, and who were now going through a series of highly vigorous warm-up routines.

“It’s the Most Interesting Cats in the World,” said Brutus, fascinated by the sight.

“I know who they are, Brutus,” snapped Harriet. “And if you ask me they’re not as interesting as they make themselves out to be.”

“Oh, for sure,” said Brutus, his eyes riveted on the cats. “Not interesting at all. Absolutely uninteresting, in fact.”

The cats had spotted us, and trotted up limberly. “Hey, cats of Hampton Cove,” said the leader, a butch cat called Princess. “Are you here to spy on the competition?”

Harriet frowned. “Competition?”

“Yeah, the contest? You are going to Vegas, right? For the Ultimate Cat Show?”

“Um, no,” said Harriet, as if Vegas was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

“Oh, too bad,” said Princess. “Always fun to demolish the other teams, especially when they’re as weak and pathetic as you guys obviously are.” She laughed a very unpleasant laugh. “At least if that performance at the park was any indication.”

“We’re not show cats,” Dooley explained. “We’re cat sleuths, actually.”

“Cat sleuths!” cried Princess, almost choking. “Of course you are.” She gave us a look of disdain, only matched by the one her teammates gave us. “And what have you been sleuthing lately? How to get rid of your silly little flea infestation? Oh, yes, we’ve heard all about that, haven’t we, ladies?”

The other cats nodded, producing scornful sounds.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Harriet.

“Show cats like us don’t get infested with fleas,” said Princess. “Gorgeous cats like us are too well-groomed to attract common vermin.” At the mention of the word vermin she cut an up-and-down glance at Harriet that made the latter’s blood boil, if the steam flowing from her ears was any indication. “Because as you know, vermin attracts vermin, girl.”

“Are you calling me vermin?” demanded Harriet, eyes glittering dangerously.

“If the shoe fits…”

“Why, you horrible little—”

“Ooh, I think we’ve got ourselves a challenger, sisters,” said Princess.

“Bring it,” said Beca, the Most Attractive Cat in the World.

“Let’s do this,” said Chloe, the Most Intriguing Cat in the World.

“We’ve got this, sisters!” exclaimed Aubrey, the Most Iconic Cat in the World.

“Hit it!” hollered Fat Amy, the Sexiest Cat Alive.

And before we could stop them, the quintet were shaking and quaking their booties as they moved into some sort of convulsive dance routine. I’d seen them in action before, and they were pretty amazing. The show they now provided was equally entertaining, with snatches from several hit songs. Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack sounded familiar, as did Uptown Funk and even Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You. Before long, the roof was filled with cats of all shapes and sizes, cheering on the Most Interesting Cats troupe and whooping it up.

Harriet, meanwhile, stood fuming to the side. She had many talents, but singing and dancing were not amongst them. “Let’s go, Brutus,” she said finally. “Brutus? Brutus!”

But Brutus was too busy staring at the dance routine to notice his lady love needed him. Finally, she stalked off alone, and when I looked back I saw that Harriet had left the roof.

Chapter 6

Harriet gracefully made her way from the roof to the street level below, halting halfway down and pausing for a moment to gather her wits. Even though she was loath to admit it, this most recent altercation with the cat troupe had rattled her. And that was probably because they were right. These cats were gorgeous, talented, on their way to the top, and above all, they were well-groomed and obviously flea-free in a way that she wasn’t.

The flea episode had shaken her to the core. A proud cat, and always conscious of the way she looked and acted and the impact her appearance had on other cats, she’d hated the way those fleas had made her feel. Dirty. Soiled. Degraded. The whole incident had lowered her self-esteem and had probably been the most traumatic experience of her young life.

And now these Most Interesting Cats had rubbed her nose in it. Had sprinkled ample supplies of salt in the wound and reminded her that she was merely a small-town cat living in a small-town environment with no future to look forward to and no prospects to speak of.

Like Princess, she wanted to go to shows and win prizes. She wanted to sing and dance and be appreciated by the masses. Go on to perform in front of millions and be on the cover of Time Magazine as Cat of the Year. And why stop there? Why not act in ad campaigns and be hailed Most Beautiful Cat in the World by the pundits—whoever they were?

It was obvious though that her ambitions would never amount to a hill of beans. Never would she leave this small town that now felt more like a prison than the support system she’d always appreciated it for. Her friends? Losers, just like her. Her humans? Small-town people with small-town dreams. She, on the other hand, had big dreams and big hopes for a bright and better future. Hopes and dreams that would never be. And this auspicious meeting with Princess and her Most Interesting Cats had finally made her aware of that.

Just then, Brutus descended from the roof and joined her.

“Hey, baby cakes. You suddenly disappeared. What happened? Didn’t you like the show?”

“No, I didn’t like the show,” she snapped, then turned away from her boyfriend to hide the moisture that had sprung to her eyes. “In fact I hated it,” she said quietly.

“Hey, now,” said Brutus. “Sugar plum. What’s wrong? Are those... tears?” He said it with the note of quiet horror typical for any male suddenly confronted with a teary female.

“No—yes,” she said. “Oh, Brutus, why can’t I be successful like those Interesting Cats? Why can’t I have a career as a show cat and be loved and praised by all? Why can’t I have a show in Vegas like Céline? Why can’t I...” She faltered, well aware that these private yearnings of her heart were utterly pointless. And still she couldn’t help feeling as she did.

“But you are loved and praised,” said Brutus, the sweet dear. He was speaking in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “You’re appreciated by every cat I know. We all think you’re the most beautiful cat in all of Hampton Cove. And I, for one...” He swallowed, not used to expressing these deeper, finer emotions. “I, for one, think you’re the most wonderful cat I’ve ever met, honey muffin. And I...” He coughed, pausing his remarks while he let three scruffy-looking cats pass on their way to the roof, where the show was still in full swing. “I, for one...” Once more, a cavalcade of cats made him swallow his words, the sudden diffidence odd in a cat as blunt as Brutus. When more cats interrupted this sacred moment, he finally growled, “Oh, for Pete’s sakes, can’t you morons leave a cat in peace for one minute?!”

“Sorry, Brutus,” said a cat with a lopsided ear and a grating voice. “But we heard there’s one hell of a show going on up top.” He then leered at Harriet. “What’s wrong with your lady cat? You make her cry or something? You break her heart, tough guy?”

“No, I did not make her cry,” he snarled. “And now get lost before I kick you in the butt!” He then turned back to Harriet and said, softer, “Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I just wanted to say that I, for one, appreciate you very much, sweet peach. In fact I...” He swallowed again, looking as if he were about to lay an egg, then pushed out the fateful words. “I... love you, Harriet.”

In spite of her mood of melancholy, Harriet couldn’t resist a smile. He was such a dear, her Brutus. Other cats might think he was a ruffian, bullyragging his way through life, but she knew better. She’d seen his softer side, his true nature, and she knew that beneath that bristly exterior there lurked a tender heart. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Brutus.”

“You...” He suddenly looked uncertain. “You do like me, too, don’t you, tootsie roll?”

She nodded, once more distracted by the hopelessness of the situation she was in. “Do you ever wonder if there’s another future for you out there somewhere, Brutus? A future that isn’t so... bleak and dismal? So lacking in hope and brightness?”

“Um, not really,” he said.

She gave him a censorious look. He was a dear, and very sweet, but she now saw he was just like the rest of them: lacking in ambition and the wherewithal to reach for the stars. To dream big and act on those dreams. In other words, he wasn’t a Most Interesting Cat in the World. Not by a long stretch. “Oh, Brutus,” she said finally, and the words came out on a sigh. Life suddenly seemed sad. So very, very sad.

And when Max and Dooley came down from the roof, filled with plans and schemes about how to go about finding this Patient Zero, she suddenly found she’d lost all interest. Who cared about a few fleas? She was never going to get out of Hampton Cove, so what did it matter that they were all infested with these terrible, blood-sucking bugs? Life itself was a blood-sucking, soul-sapping bug, and there was nothing she or anyone could do about it.

Chapter 7

“So where are we going?” asked Harriet.

It was obvious she hadn’t been listening to a word I’d said. She looked a little peaked. Not her usual vivacious self. Despondent. “We’re paying a little visit to Shanille,” I told her.

“Shanille?” she asked dully. “Why Shanille? What does she have to do with all of this?”

Patiently, I explained to her once again how a cat had sidled up to me on the roof and, in the middle of the Most Interesting Cat Show, had asked if I’d heard about Shanille. My ears twitching, he’d told me how Shanille had been going around town, asking forgiveness from any cat who would listen. When they asked her why, she refused to say. Only that she was harboring a great secret, one that was burdening her soul and making her seek relief from this heavy load she was carrying on her slightly stooped shoulders.

“So you see what that means, right?” I said. But when my eye met Harriet’s dull gaze, it was obvious she had no clue what I was talking about. “She’s the one I’ve been looking for!” I cried, barely able to contain my excitement.

“That’s great, Max,” said Harriet in the same lifeless tone. “I’m happy for you. Shanille is a great cat and I’m sure you deserve each other. You’ll make each other very, very happy.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, puzzled.

“You said Shanille is the one you’ve been looking for. And now you finally found her. I know it’s too late for me to find what I’m looking for, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rejoice when others fulfill their wishes and satisfy the deepest desires of their hearts.” She gave me a wan smile. “Way to go, Max. I couldn’t be happier for you. Really. Three rousing cheers.”

Uh-oh. It was obvious that this meeting with the Most Interesting Cats had affected Harriet adversely, and I thought I knew why. She probably wanted to be a Most Interesting Cat herself, part of the popular troupe, and the fact that she wasn’t clearly stung. “I’m not interested in Shanille as a love interest, Harriet,” I explained to her now, careful to make my meaning perfectly clear and leave no room for misunderstandings. “I think she’s our Patient Zero. The one who got into that limo that night. The one Kingman was telling us about.”

Harriet raised a dispirited whisker. “Oh?” she asked in a tone that told me she wasn’t the least bit interested in this quest that she’d instigated in the first place.

“Is she all right, Max?” asked Dooley now, as Harriet and Brutus hung back. “She seems bored with us all of a sudden.”

“I think Harriet is suffering from FOMO,” I told him.

He started. “That sounds bad. That sounds terminal! Is she gonna die?!”

I laughed. “FOMO is not something that will kill you, Dooley. FOMO stands for the Fear Of Missing Out. And I think Harriet feels she’s missing out on a lot of things right now.”

“Missing out on what?”

I shrugged. “Missing out on living a Most Interesting Life, I guess.”

Dooley displayed a look of distaste. “She wants to be more like Princess? Ugh.”

“What seems ‘ugh’ to you probably looks very ‘ooh, me wants’ to Harriet.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s exactly the way she feels.”

He paused, then shook his head. “I still don’t get it.”

“Harriet has just discovered that there’s a whole other world out there. A world of show cats and glamour and glitter and prizes to be won and crowns to be worn and praise and applause to be had. And she wants all of that. She wants to be up on a stage with people clapping and snapping pictures and writing articles about her. She never thought she wanted it before because she wasn’t particularly aware a world like that even existed, or maybe she was, in a nebulous sort of way, but not made tangible, like with these Most Interesting Cats.”

“Harriet is going to leave us? She’s going to become a Hollywood superstar?”

“I very much doubt it. It’s a little tough to go from a small town like ours all the way to Hollywood, even if you’re the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove.”

“She really is the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove,” Dooley said reverently.

“And now she’s just discovered there are prettier cats out there—cats that seem more successful in life than she is, and it’s not a pleasant realization for her.”

“Seem to be more successful?”

“Looks can be deceiving, Dooley. Princess might come across as the Most Successful Cat Out There, but I very much doubt that that’s the case.”

“She’s a little vapid and narcissistic,” Dooley said, and I was surprised he even knew the meaning of those words. “And I don’t think she’s a very happy cat, Max.”

“I don’t think so either, Dooley.”

We’d reached St. John’s, the church where Father Reilly has his spiritual and worldly headquarters. St. John’s is a nice red-bricked building with a gabled roof and an actual spire. The oak front doors were huge and heavy, and there was no way we would ever be able to open them if they hadn’t already been slightly ajar, hospitably bidding parishioners to enter. We weren’t parishioners, exactly, but we were here on a mission. Not a mission from God, maybe, but still a mission.

We carefully made our way inside, and were struck by the cool and dark atmosphere. Father Reilly obviously didn’t believe in wasting money on electricity, as the lights were dim and the temperature low. But since we’re cats, and our eyes are more accustomed to the darkness than human eyes, I found our new surroundings soothing, if not a quiet relief from the hustle and bustle outside this high-ceilinged space.

“This is a very big house, Max,” said Dooley. He’d dropped his voice to a whisper, for some reason, and I felt compelled to do the same.

“It’s not a house, it’s a church,” I whispered back.

“You mean like in The Da Vinci Code? I liked that movie. I like all Tom Hanks movies. Except maybe Cloud Atlas. I didn’t really get that movie, Max.”

“Nobody got that movie, Dooley,” I said, scanning the pews for a sign of Shanille.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Brutus. “I don’t see any cats.”

“Shanille usually hangs out in here. She once told me she likes the peace and quiet.” She also told me she liked the acoustics. And since she’s cat choir’s conductor, she probably needs a place to practice so why not practice in here? I doubted whether Father Reilly would appreciate her brand of singing, though. Shanille doesn’t sing so much as shrieks.

I sniffed the air and got a whiff of an aroma that was a blend of burnt candles, incense and humidity. Statues of stern-looking saints looked down on us from their high perches and the little bit of light that filtered in came through high, stained-glass windows depicting more stern-looking saints. The place reminded me of a tomb for some reason.

“I like this place,” said Harriet, displaying the first signs of animation since we’d left The Hungry Pipe. “It soothes my soul. Maybe I should have been a holy cat, like Shanille.”

“Shanille is not a holy cat,” I said. “Shanille’s human may be a priest, but that doesn’t make her holy.”

“You know what I mean,” said Harriet. “Maybe I should be one of those cats that dedicate their existence to the pursuit of spiritual engagement and the meaning of life.”

We all stared at her. Harriet was the last cat I’d ever suspect of searching for the meaning of life. And the closest she ever came to the pursuit of spiritual engagement was when she got to choose a new bow to wear on top of her head. She loved those bows.

Just then, we heard a soft splashing sound, and quickly deduced it came from somewhere near the back of the church, to the left of the altar. And as we passed pew after pew, I saw that the church was empty, not even Father Reilly having put in an appearance. Behind us, Harriet had slipped into a pew, and murmured, “You guys go ahead. I need to pray.” And she actually closed her eyes, put paws together, and was soon lost in prayer!

“There’s something wrong with Harriet, Max,” said Brutus. “She’s not herself today.”

“I can see that,” I said. “Did she say anything?”

“She said something about a dismal future lacking in hope and brightness.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Max. I don’t like it one bit.”

“It’s FOMO,” said Dooley knowingly. “It’s a disease that makes you sad but doesn’t kill you.”

“FOMO? Never heard of it.”

“It’s what Princess has, and Harriet wants it, too,” said Dooley.

“Princess? That jumping bean?”

“Harriet wants to be just like Princess.”

“She shouldn’t. Harriet is a lot prettier and a lot nicer than Princess. In fact Princess can’t hold no candle to Harriet. Not by a mile.” He shook his head. “I wish those Interesting Cats had never set paw in Hampton Cove. Filling Harriet’s head with all kinds of nonsense.”

“You guys,” I said. “I think it’s Shanille.”

We’d reached the source of the splashing sounds and found ourselves looking up at a large stone structure, a cat perched on the rim, splashing herself with pawfuls of water. It was Shanille, and she was muttering strange oaths under her breath. It sounded a lot like, “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous, grievous fault...”

Chapter 8

“What are you doing?” asked Dooley curiously.

Shanille, who hadn’t been aware that she was no longer alone, jumped about a foot in the air, vaulted from her perch on the stone structure and landed on all fours on the granite floor below. She clutched a paw to her chest. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Patient Zero,” Dooley explained helpfully. “And Max seems to think you’re she—or her—or it.”

“What is that thing?” asked Brutus, staring up at the monument Shanille had just made such a nice running dive off of. “And why were you taking a bath in it?”

“I wasn’t taking a bath,” said Shanille, directing a scornful look at Brutus. “I was merely repenting. And for your information, that ‘thing’ is a baptismal font.”

“An abysmal font?” asked Dooley. “What is an abysmal font?”

“Baptismal, not abysmal,” Shanille corrected him. “It’s used to baptize babies.”

“You’re not a baby,” said Brutus, keenly detecting the fatal flaw in Shanille’s logic.

“I know I’m not a baby, Brutus,” she said haughtily. “I was merely...” She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. “I was merely expressing contrition, that’s all.”

“Be that as it may,” I said, deciding to get this interview on the right track again. “We’re on a mission to find out who Patient Zero is who brought this flea pandemic to our community, and, like Dooley mentioned, we have reason to believe that this Patient Zero is in fact you, Shanille. So what do you have to say to that?”

She drew back a little. “What do I have to say to that? That you’re talking through your hat, Max.”

Dooley laughed. “That’s impossible. Max doesn’t even have a hat. Have you, Max?”

“No, I don’t have a hat,” I said, locking eyes with Shanille. This was where all those late-night cop shows came in handy. Interrogation technique. I pointed a paw at Shanille. “Isn’t it a fact that on the night of Thursday the sixteenth you stepped into a limo that stood idling on the side of the road? And isn’t it also a fact that the very next morning you woke up with a terrible itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you scratched?” Shanille gasped, but I wasn’t done yet. “And isn’t it also true that Father Reilly discovered, upon closer inspection, that you were infested with a small army of fleas and as a consequence called in Vena Aleman who diagnosed you as having contracted this terrible affliction?!”

Shanille drew herself up to her full height. “Where did you get this information?”

“Kingman told me,” I lied. “And he also told me Limo Cat seduced you and subsequently infested you!”

“Lies!” Shanille cried now, her composure crumbling under this onslaught. “All lies! It wasn’t an entire army of fleas—just a few of them.” She bowed her head, defeated. “It’s true though that I came upon a limo idling on the corner of Franklin and First that fateful night. And it’s true that I injudiciously hopped into that limo and joined that cat. And it’s also true he must have given me this flea affliction that unwittingly turned me into your Patient Zero.”

Dooley gasped. “So it’s true, then. You are Patient Zero!”

Shanille nodded, wringing her paws. “Yes, I am! I am Patient Zero!” she cried, her voice echoing through the church’s nave, bouncing off the stony-faced saints who all seemed to stare down on her with condemnation written all over their unforgiving mugs. “I did all this. I hurt my community and now I must pay the price for my sins.” She tapped her chest and once again began to murmur that strange oath, “Through my fault, through my fault...”

“Hold it,” I said, and she halted her sad lament and looked up. “You’re not Patient Zero. You’re merely a victim of Limo Cat. He’s Patient Zero. He’s the one who should be repenting and taking a bath in Father Reilly’s abysmal font.”

“Baptismal font,” she corrected me, then shook her head. “Limo Cat is not from around here. I am. I’m responsible for this outbreak. I brought this pandemic upon us.”

“But he’s the one who gave you fleas!”

“And I should have known better than to get into a limo with a stranger!”

“Stranger danger,” Dooley muttered automatically.

“So he was a stranger, was he?” I asked, curious to ascertain the identity of this mystery cat. “You never saw him before?”

Shanille hesitated. “He... seemed familiar somehow, though I can’t say why.”

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“He was wearing a mask.”

“A mask!”

She nodded pensively. “It was such a strange experience. There was something electric about him—something utterly mesmerizing. He was perhaps the most charming cat I’ve ever met. And not in an unctuous or cheap way. He was... wonderful. Simply wonderful.” She uttered a little sigh. “When I asked his name he told me to call him Love Symbol.”

I frowned. “Love Symbol. Like Prince.”

She nodded. “He said he’d dropped his name. Claimed names were a tedious and bourgeois convention and that the name humans had given him was now a distant memory of his dead past. A past where he was a mere household pet.”

“As opposed to...”

“He said he was now master of his own fate. Ruler of his domain. King of his home.” She shrugged. “He said a lot of things—that night is almost like a blur to me now. And a moment in my life I’d much rather completely forget. Love Symbol led me to heights I’d never thought I’d experience. And then into the lowest depths the very next morning.” She buried her face into her paws. “And now if you would leave me alone. I need to repent.”

I touched my tail to hers. “It’s all right, Shanille. It wasn’t your fault. No need to repent. As far as I can make out this Limo Cat—Love Symbol—is the one who brought these fleas into our lives, not you.”

“Please go away, Max,” she said in a strangled voice. “I would be alone.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Shanille,” I said. “And stop splashing yourself with water. It’s very uncatlike and frankly a little creepy.”

She nodded, her face still hidden. “I know. But I have to do it. This is all my fault, Max. If I hadn’t succumbed to the temptations of sin, this would never have happened. If I hadn’t fallen for the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye and the pride of life, Hampton Cove would have been spared this terrible ordeal.” She looked up, a sad look in her eyes. “I’m a sinner, Max, and now I must repent and hope I will be forgiven.”

“I forgive you, Shanille,” I said magnanimously.

She clucked her tongue. “Would that it were so simple, Max.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, for lack of anything better to say. I am, after all, not a confessor.

We watched as Shanille made the leap back up to the edge of the baptismal font, and started splashing water over her head once more, murmuring incantations to herself.

“She’ll get over it,” said Brutus.

“Would that it were so simple,” Dooley said.

Chapter 9

As we left the church, I wondered what the odds were for the Most Virtuous Cat in the World to meet the Most Charming Cat in the World and together turn Hampton Cove from a bucolic little town into a flea-infested hellhole. Slim, probably. And still it happened.

“So what’s the plan, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, we need to confront this Love Symbol,” said Brutus. “Teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

“Violence, always violence,” said Harriet, still morose even after her prayers. “Why is it that men always seem to resort to violence as the first solution for every problem?”

Brutus frowned. “Because it works?”

Harriet sighed. “Oh, Brutus. You do bore me sometimes.”

Brutus exchanged a quick look of concern with me. Harriet was getting worse. The FOMO virus had taken root and was spreading, quickly poisoning her soul.

“At the very least we should figure out who this Love Symbol is,” I said.

“And then we’ll knock his block off,” Brutus said with a decisive nod.

“Violence, violence,” Harriet muttered.

“Not knock his block off,” I said, “but talk to him. Reason with the cat. Tell him to seek help for his flea affliction. I’m sure that when we explain to him how he’s responsible for this recent outbreak he’ll be horrified and more than happy to comply.”

“That’s it?” asked Brutus, disappointed. “That’s your big solution? Talk to the cat?”

“Sure. Love Symbol probably doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“But he’s driving through town—seducing our lady cats!”

“No law against that,” I said.

“Some kind of pied piper is wreaking havoc in our community and you’re going to let him get away with it? No way. I know you’re a pacifist and all but that is just plain wrong.”

“So what do you suggest? We rough him up? We’re cats, Brutus, not animals.”

“Cats are animals!”

“Still. No need to resort to violence. I’m sure Love Symbol is a perfectly decent cat and—”

“He’s a harbinger of doom!”

“And he works for the Deep State,” said Dooley. “Bringing death and destruction to all cats.”

Brutus gestured to my friend. “See? Even Dooley agrees with me on this one.”

I was slowly losing my patience with these cats. “How many times do I have to say it? There is no Deep State. There is no secret plan to wipe out the country’s cat population. And Love Symbol doesn’t work for the CIA!”

“I have an idea,” suddenly Harriet spoke up. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet for the past five minutes. “We know where Love Symbol picks up his victims, right?”

“On the corner of Franklin and First,” I said.

“So why don’t we meet him there tonight, and see what he has to say for himself?”

“He’s not going to stop his limo for us,” I said. “Love Symbol likes his cats young, pretty and, most importantly, female.”

Harriet cocked her head and smiled. And then I got it. And so did Brutus, judging from the way sound was escaping from his lips like steam from a busted pipe.

“No way!” he bellowed.

“Yes, way,” Harriet insisted.

“You’re not going to act as bait for that maniac!”

“Oh, yes, I am.” She touched Brutus’s shoulder. “How else are we going to make him pull over his limo? And how else are we going to get him to open his door? This cat is coy, and when he sees the four of us he’ll tell his driver to punch the gas and lay rubber. No, the way I see it is that one of us must get him to pull over and since last time I checked I am the only female in our little band of four, it’s up to me to do the honors.”

“No!” said Brutus. “I won’t let you!”

“Brutus,” I said. “She’s right. There’s no way Love Symbol, or whatever his name is, will pull over his limo for you or me or Dooley. Harriet’s plan is our only option.”

Brutus was puffing up his chest. “If you think I’m going to let my girl be subjected to this—this—this PLAY-CAT you’ve got another thing coming. I’m putting my paw down!”

And he did. He actually stomped his paw. “Brutus, sugar bear,” said Harriet. “It’s so sweet of you to try and protect me, but I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t know this cat. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Like she said, Harriet is a big girl, Brutus,” I said. “She’ll be fine.”

“You’re not that big,” said Dooley. “In fact you’re quite petite.”

Harriet laughed a tinkling laugh, and I for one was glad she seemed like her old self again. “You think I’m petite, Dooley? You haven’t seen my butt!”

“I’ve seen your butt,” said Dooley, blinking. “You have a nice butt.”

Brutus directed a scathing look at Dooley. “Dooley,” he said warningly, “I like you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t disembowel you.”

“Temper, temper,” said Harriet, lightly tapping her lover on the nose. “Now are we doing this or not?”

“We’re doing this,” I said resolutely.

Brutus seemed torn. On the one hand he wanted to collar this Love Symbol, but on the other hand the thought of Harriet crawling into the limo with this notorious player clearly made his skin crawl.

“You’ll be thirty feet away,” said Harriet. “So if something happens...”

“I’ll come running,” Brutus said, nodding. “And I’ll knock his block off.”

“Deal,” said Harriet with a perky smile. “And now let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’m starving.”

Brutus relented. Seeing Harriet being herself again clearly cheered him up, to the extent that he was prepared to let her get into strange limos with strange cats. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s grab a bite to eat and then we’ll get ready to pounce on Love Symbol.”

And as we set a course for home, Dooley and I fell back a few steps, allowing Harriet and Brutus some privacy while they discussed Harriet’s daring and audacious plan.

“I’m right, though, aren’t I, Max?” Dooley said.

“About what, Dooley?”

“Harriet has a very nice butt.”

“She does, but don’t let Brutus see you checking it out.”

“But why, Max? Harriet’s butt is a thing of beauty, and things of beauty should be appreciated, not hidden away from the rest of the world by some jealous cat-friend.”

I smiled. “Are you comparing Harriet’s butt with a work of art, Dooley?”

His face took on an exalted expression. “Doesn’t Harriet look just like Mona Lisa?”

For a moment I fixed my gaze upon Mona Harriet’s tush. Dooley was right. Harriet did have a perfectly nice behind. More than that, though, she was a dear friend, and I hoped her latest mood swing was a permanent one. That she’d thrown off this strange mantle of doom.

Somehow I wasn’t too sure, though.

Something told me we weren’t out of the woods yet.

Chapter 10

That night found Harriet, Max, Dooley and Brutus staking out the corner of Franklin and First, lying in wait behind a fire hydrant. They’d been there for all of one hour and frankly Harriet was already regretting having suggested this crazy scheme. It was one thing to come up with a plan of campaign but quite another to carry it through.

“Where is this Love Symbol?” she asked irritably. She had an itch near the base of her tail that she was pretty sure came from lounging on this absurdly filthy sidewalk.

“Maybe Shanille made the whole thing up,” said Brutus hopefully. Even though he’d accepted the plan, that didn’t mean he was happy with it. He clearly hoped Love Symbol wouldn’t show up and Harriet wouldn’t have to act the part of live bait.

“She didn’t,” said Max, as always the voice of reason. “Shanille would never lie about a thing like that. Shanille would never lie, period. She’s the most virtuous cat I know and if she says this episode happened, it happened.” He sighed. “Maybe this Love Symbol person took another route.”

“This is the best way into Hampton Cove,” said Harriet, chewing her lower lip nervously. “If he comes from Hampton Bays this is the road he needs to take.”

“What makes you think he comes from Hampton Bays?” asked Brutus suspiciously.

“Duh. Where else is he coming from? The moon? His human probably lives in Hampton Bays or somewhere around those parts, and he’s chosen Hampton Cove as his hunting ground.”

“Hunting ground,” said Brutus. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

She didn’t, either, but it was her only way out. If this Love Symbol was as suave and charming and worldly as Shanille had described, he wasn’t from around these parts. More than likely he was a New Yorker, or maybe even a West Coaster here on holiday. And if his human let him ride around in a limo he must be loaded. All those things combined indicated a future for her far away from Hampton Cove. A chance to kick the dust of this crappy little town and an opportunity to join the major leagues. The prospect cheered her up.

Now if only this Love Symbol would show up and take her away from here...

“There he is!” suddenly Dooley cried. She followed his gaze and saw he was right. A white stretch limo had just turned the corner and was slowly rolling their way. Showtime!

She patted down her fur, gave herself a quick once-over, took a deep breath, and emerged from her stakeout place behind the fire hydrant and sashayed into the road.

“Harriet!” Brutus cried, and she quickly glanced back, only to see him hold up two paws and give her an encouraging grin. She ignored him. Soon Brutus would be a thing of the past, as would Max and Dooley and all her other friends. A slight pang of regret niggled at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Onwards and upwards! The grand life awaited!

The limo crawled to a stop in front of her and the door opened, light spilling out into the street. And then she saw him. Limo Cat. Love Symbol. He was everything Shanille had promised and more. Orange, butch, his fur shiny and gleaming in the dome light, slate gray eyes sparkling and bright, he displayed the kind of grin that seemed oddly familiar. He was also wearing a mask, which covered half the acreage of his noble and handsome visage.

“Hey, beautiful”, he said, his voice a purr.

“Oh, hey, there,” she said, as if his arrival had caught her by surprise.

“Fancy a ride in my fancy car?” he asked, gesturing at the limo’s butter-colored leather interior.

She couldn’t see the driver, but Love Symbol was all alone in the plush back section, which told her he was the one in charge of the proceedings, the stretch limo all his.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?” She knew time was of the essence here, as Brutus and the others were ready to pounce on Limo Cat. Her plan had been to hop into the limo the first chance she got, and tell Love Symbol to hit the gas and get out of there. Now that she was face to face with the cat, though, a sudden doubt seemed to cripple her.

“Hop in,” he said. “You look like the kind of cat who likes to have a good time. And guess what? I’m the kind of cat who likes to show cats like you a good time. Heh heh.”

She frowned. Once again the thought that this cat seemed awfully familiar assailed her. “Have we met?” she asked.

He laughed. “Oh, honey, if we had I would remember. A beauty like you?”

She smiled. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you’re gorgeous. In fact I think you’re probably the most gorgeous cat I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to get better acquainted.”

She decided to take the leap. A cat who appreciated beauty like this couldn’t be bad. It showed the kind of depth of character and sophistication she’d been looking for. He might have a private dungeon back home and turn out to be Christian Grey’s cat but who cared? Christian was a billionaire, right? He owned a private jet, didn’t he? So she hopped into the limo and as she did something hopped from Love Symbol’s fur onto her and she yelped.

“A flea!” she cried. “You’ve got fleas!”

“No, I don’t,” said Love Symbol bluntly.

“Your flea just jumped on me!”

He grinned a lascivious grin and leaned in. “Is that an invitation?”

“Get away from me, you freak!” She started to crawl back out of the car.

His smile vanished and he yanked off his mask. “Cut the crap, Harriet. You know you want this as much as I do. Now get your pretty little tush back in here and we’ll dance the vertical mambo just the way we used to.”

She stared at the cat, aghast. “Diego? What the hell?!”

He shrugged and displayed that grin again. “Hey, I’m happy to see you too.”

“I thought you moved away?”

“To Southampton. Only a few miles down the road.”

“You left me, you scumbag! You left me for some stupid human!”

“I’m sorry, okay! It was an offer I couldn’t refuse! Free Cat Snax for the rest of my life? An actual mansion? Are you kidding me? The only thing I miss is you, babe. So what do you say? Come and live with me? Kitty Nala’s got cat food up the wazoo, and toys and grounds stretching as far as a cat’s eye can see. The only thing she hasn’t got is playmates, but she was kind enough to give me this limo so I can be out and about from time to time—take care of those other needs, if you catch my drift.” He gave her a fat wink, and Harriet couldn’t believe she ever thought Diego was sexy. He repulsed her now. Him and his fleas.

“Maybe Kitty should send you to a vet. You’ve got fleas, Diego. It’s a real turn-off.”

“Who cares about a few fleas as long as you’re having fun? Come with me, babe. I’ve missed you. I’m all alone up there in that big mansion. No one to play with. No one to shoot the breeze with. No one to cuddle up to when the nights get cold and lonely.”

She wavered. “Do you get to go to cat shows and stuff?”

“Sure! I can go to any show I want. Kitty’s got a private plane. Whatever you want.”

She glanced back at her friends, who stood concealed behind the fire hydrant. Suddenly the life of the big-city cat she’d wanted seemed a lot less appealing. Then the flea took a big bite out of her tush and she yipped, “It bit me! The frickin’ thing just bit me!”

“Oh, all right, I’ll see the vet,” said Diego. “We’ll see the vet together, okay?”

And she was just about to announce that Diego could stick his vet where the sun didn’t shine when a voice piped up behind her. “What’s all this?” the voice asked.

When she turned, she saw that the voice belonged to none other than Princess. The fancy cat stood staring from Harriet to Diego, an insolent look on her face. Her troupe of cats joined her, crowding around. Suddenly an idea struck Harriet, and a sly smile crept up her lips.

“This is Love Symbol,” she said, introducing Diego, who’d quickly put his mask back on. “Love Symbol is the hottest cat in town—and the richest one, too. Love Symbol, this is Princess, and these are the members of her troupe: Beca, Chloe, Aubrey and Fat Amy.”

“Ladies,” said Diego in an unctuous tone, a faux-sexy smile on his snout. If he’d had a mustache he would have twirled it. “Pretty. Very pretty. Are these your friends, Harriet?”

“Sure,” said Princess quickly. “We’re Harriet’s best friends, aren’t we, Harriet?”

“Best friends,” Harriet echoed. “These cats are the Most Interesting Cats in the World, Love Symbol.”

“And the Most Beautiful Ones, too,” said Diego appreciatively.

“And you, sir,” said Princess, “are without a doubt the Most Interesting Tomcat in the World. May we join you?” She then turned to Harriet. “Unless we’re interrupting something?”

“Oh, no,” said Harriet. “No interruption. Love Symbol and I are old friends.”

Princess’s eyes widened in surprise. “Old friends?”

“Yeah, Harriet and I go way back,” said Diego. “Way, way back.”

“Ooh, Harriet,” said Chloe. “You keep fascinating company. Very fascinating.”

“I’ve always liked you, Harriet,” said Aubrey. “In fact I just told Amy you’re probably the prettiest cat in all of Hampton Cove. Isn’t that right, Amy?”

“You said she had the fattest ass in all of—ouch! What did you pinch me for?”

“Harriet, honey,” said Princess, “why don’t we all join Love Symbol in this very nice limo? Have the party to end all parties?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check, girls,” said Harriet. “But you go ahead and have a great time. I’m sure you and Love Symbol will get along like a house on fire.”

Diego gave her a slight shrug, as if to say, ‘Your loss, babe,’ and Harriet gave him a little wave.

“If you change your mind...” said Princess as she hopped into the limo.

“I won’t,” said Harriet, and watched with satisfaction as three fleas hopped onto Princess’s silky fur, while several dozen other happy volunteers made the jump to Beca, Chloe, Aubrey and Amy. The Most Flawless Cats in the World were flea-less no more.

She watched the limo door close and the car drive off into the night, and as she walked back to her friends, she suddenly felt such a sense of relief she had to laugh. And when she saw Brutus, Max and Dooley patiently waiting, she knew she’d made the right decision. She might be a small-town cat in a small-town world but she was also a happy cat in a happy town, filled with life and love and laughter and all the friends and loving humans a cat could ever wish for.

And now she also had a flea. Then again, she kinda loved those baths Odelia, Marge and Grandma had been giving them. One stroke of the comb and that flea would be a goner. In the most humane and kindest way possible, of course.

“What happened?” asked Dooley as they walked away.

“Yeah, you didn’t give us the sign,” said Max.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Brutus. “I’m glad you didn’t get into that limo.”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “I’m glad I didn’t get in, too, snookums.”

And as they slowly made their way home, and she revealed to them the true identity of Hampton Cove’s Patient Zero, that feeling of despondency and gloom that had settled over her after meeting the Most Interesting Cats in the World gradually ebbed away.

Princess and her troupe might be interesting cats, even the most interesting ones, but they were also mean cats. And now they were flea cats, which served them right.

“You think Odelia might be persuaded to set up a cat show in town?” she asked now.

“Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “And you’ll be the star, love sponge.”

“You’ll be amazing, Harriet,” Dooley assured her. “The whole town will come out to watch and Odelia will put your picture on the front page of the Hampton Cove Gazette.”

“Yeah, it will be the best show ever,” said Max. “The Most Interesting Show in the World starring the Most Interesting Cat in the World.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll settle for the Most Interesting Show in Town. As long as you are there I’m happy.” She sighed contentedly. “You know I love you guys, right?”

“And we love you right back, Harriet,” said Dooley reverently.

In response, she gave the Biggest Harriet Admirer in the World a peck on the cheek and Dooley actually whimpered. Brutus merely shook his head good-naturedly and intertwined his tail with hers. “What brought all this on?” he asked softly as they fell back behind the others.

“The moon, probably,” she said as she glanced up at that big, white, round ball of cheese hovering in the skies over the roofs of Hampton Cove. “But now I’m okay again.”

“Welcome back,” said Brutus. “Wanna go steady?”

She laughed. “I thought we already were!”

He grinned happily. “Just checking. In case Diego had turned your head again.”

She gazed at her boyfriend earnestly. “No cat will ever make me turn my head again, Brutus. You’re my soulmate. I see that now.”

“Promise?” he asked in a small voice.

“Promise,” she said, and watched as her flea jumped onto Brutus’s back, then back to her. And for a moment she thought the flea looked at her, shook its tiny head, rolled its tiny eyes, then jumped to a passing dog. Even Diego’s fleas knew she was done with that cat.

And good riddance, too.

Chapter 11

That night we all took our positions on Odelia’s sofas, Harriet and Brutus snuggling together on the love seat, Dooley and I side by side next to Odelia, and Chase right next to her. The TV had been switched on, and the movie selection had been made.

After the stirring events of the past few days, a nice movie night was exactly what we needed. Harriet seemed herself again, and had handled the confrontation with Diego perfectly, Odelia had checked us all for fleas and had declared us flea-free once more, and things were finally settling back into their usual routine, just the way I liked it.

“I still can’t believe Diego was Patient Zero,” said Dooley. “I mean, I really thought we’d seen the last of that cat.”

“I think now we may have,” I said.

Harriet had told Marge about her encounter with the fleabag, and Marge had called her brother Chief Alec who’d called Kitty Nala and told her to give her cat the necessary anti-flea treatment or else he’d never allow him to set paw in Hampton Cove again. I didn’t think any chief of police could ban a cat from his territory, but still. After word had spread that Diego was Patient Zero, the number of Hampton Cove cats willing to step into his ‘Love Symbol’ limo had dwindled and by now had reached the nice number of... zero.

“So what movie are we watching?” asked Chase, stretching his long legs.

“I think you’re going to like this one,” said Odelia. “Grandma picked it.”

Chase started. “Grandma? I thought she was staying with your mom tonight.”

“I changed my mind,” said Grandma, joining us from the kitchen, two big bowls of popcorn in her arms. “You kids need watching, and I for one am not prepared to forgo my sacred duty just because Marge invited me to talk about moving back in with her.”

Chase gave Odelia a look of despair. “I thought... that was a done deal?”

“Oh, you thought you’d get rid of me that easy, huh?” said Grandma. “Like it or not, young Chase, I’m here to stay and keep those hormones of yours in check. Now scoot.” And she wedged herself in between her granddaughter and Chase, much to the latter’s dismay.

“So what movie did you pick?” asked Brutus, taking a break from nuzzling Harriet.

“Oh, it’s a corker,” Gran said. “You’ll love it. It’s even got cats in it.”

Dooley nudged me excitedly. “It’s got cats in it, Max! I love movies with cats in it!”

We all love movies with cats in it. The more the merrier. But as we watched, the first indication that the movie might not be what we’d anticipated came five minutes in, when a bunch of scary-looking spiders bit their human to death in a terribly graphic scene.

“What’s the name of this movie, Gran?” asked Odelia with a worried frown.

“Eight Legged Freaks,” said Gran. “There’s this great scene where a kitty cat has a fight with this big-ass spider and they both get electrocuted. Ya gotta see it to believe it!”

She was right. You had to see it to believe it. All through the movie those ‘big-ass spiders’ chased a bunch of humans all over town and even into some old mining shafts, until the heroes of the movie killed all the spiders and then the cavalry showed up and the movie was over. And while I love movie night at Odelia’s, this was not a movie I’d care to remember. Dooley, who’d kept his eyes closed throughout most of the carnage—especially after the death of Zeke, the kitty cat in question, now opened them again.

“Is it finished?”

“Yeah, it’s finished.”

“Did Zeke survive?”

“Um...”

He shivered. “Imagine what would happen if those tiny little fleas grew into giant fleas, just like in the movie. Imagine what they would do to us, Max. They’d eat us alive!”

“I don’t think I want to imagine, Dooley. Especially after watching this movie.”

“They would start eating cats, humans, dogs—everything!”

“It’s just a movie, Dooley. And Zeke is just an actor playing a part. I’m sure he’s fine.”

But Dooley had stopped listening. “Maybe Kingman was right, and Diego works for the government, and he’s here to kill all of Hampton Cove’s cats. By creating monster fleas! That’s why he was crawling with fleas—because he’s creating a new race of killer fleas!”

And as Grandma turned in for the night, happy with the damage she’d done, and Chase and Odelia moved to the back porch, to canoodle on the porch swing far from Gran’s watchful eye, and Brutus and Harriet moved into the backyard, presumably to do the same, I was stuck with Dooley spouting new and crazy conspiracy theories and other horror stories.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

This was my family. This was my home. And if this whole episode had taught me one thing it was that the things that don’t kill us make us stronger. Like the fleas. And like Diego. Or even a Deep State conspiracy that engages a Love Symbol in a white limo to harbor and foster giant killer fleas to wipe out all the cats in the country and possibly even the world.

I patted Dooley on the head. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“But the fleas!”

“I don’t care.”

“They’re here!”

“So be it.”

“But Max!”

I yawned. Put down my head. And slept.

Sleep came. And so did dreams. And guess what?

No fleas. Not even teeny-tiny little ones.

The flea episode? Was finally over.

About Nic

Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 70+ novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).

When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoiling their big red tomcat Tommy.

www.nicsaint.com

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Copyright © 2018 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.

Published by Puss in Print Publications.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Editor: Chereese Graves.

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Saint Nic Purrfectly Flealess