“I’m happy for you, Drover. If you follow those directions to the letter, I can almost guarantee that you’ll come out with a normal tail.”

  His smile slipped. “What’s an ‘almost guarantee’?”

  “I, uh . . . it’s just one peg below a Gold Plated Guarantee.”

  “I’d rather have the Gold Plated, if it’s okay.”

  “We’re out of those, Drover.”

  “Oh rats.”

  I stood up and stretched. “So get your little fanny into the water and begin your therapy. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check things out.”

  “Where you going?”

  I couldn’t help smirking. “If you recall, Drover, I have a little score to settle with the cat. While your tail is growing, Pete’s tail just might get shortened by a few inches,” I gave him a wink, “if you know what I mean.”

  “Something’s wrong with your eye.”

  “What?”

  “I said, THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR EYE!”

  “Don’t yell at me, there’s nothing wrong with my ears!”

  “I know. It’s your eye.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your eye was twitching. I saw it myself.”

  I positioned my nose right in front of his face. “I was winking, you brick, to show that I had let you in on a little secret.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll be derned. I thought . . .”

  “Yes, I heard what you thought, and it’s obvious that sharing my secret with you was a waste of time. I’m sorry I bothered.”

  “That’s okay, you couldn’t help it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, and I hope it gets better.”

  “What?”

  “Your eye.”

  “Drover?”

  “What?”

  “HUSH.”

  I left the runt sitting in Emerald Pond and went looking for the cat. My first stop was the gas tanks, to see if Pete was still occupying my gunnysack bed. Much to my disappointment, he had left.

  So I went padding up to the yard gate to check out his usual loafing spots, the main one being right beside the back door where he often lolled around in the shade, waiting for someone to come outside. Any time the door opened, you see, he would try to weasel his way into the house.

  That’s a cat for you, always trying to weasel his way into something or other.

  I didn’t see him on the back step and was about to check out the machine shed when I heard a voice that caused my bodily parts to freeze in place and the hair to rise on my back.

  It was the cat. “Mmmm, hello, Hankie. I bet you wish you were still Head of Ranch Security.”

  Ho ho! Kitty-Kitty had just set himself up for a rude surprise.

  Chapter Nine: Pete’s Mindless Senseless Vandalism of a Sheet

  That voice does something to me, causes my hair to rise and my ears to jump to the Full Alert position.

  A growl begins to rumble in my throat, my eyes narrow to slits and my lips begin to twitch and my teeth expose themselves in all their frightening glory.

  I turned toward the sound of the voice and saw him, sitting beneath the clothesline and looking up at a clean sheet that was flapping in the wind. Now and then he would lift his front paw and bat the sheet.

  “Did you just say something, cat?”

  “Mmm-hmmm. I said, I’ll bet you wish you were still Head of Ranch Security.”

  “Is that what you bet? Well, this is turning out to be a bad day for your bets, Kitty. I don’t wish I was still Head of Ranch Security, because I AM Head of Ranch Security.”

  He turned his head around and smirked at me. “No you’re not. You lost your job in a gambling accident.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. Ho, ho, ho. Hee, hee, hee. You make me laugh, Pete. And lest you get the wrong impression, let me emphasize that I’m laughing at YOU.”

  “Mmm, isn’t that interesting.” He slapped at the sheet. “I’m the new Head of Ranch Security and you don’t have a job, but you’re laughing at me? That’s very interesting, Hankie.”

  I marched down the fence. “I can see that you still haven’t figgered it out, cat. I have cancelled that bet.”

  “You can’t cancel what’s already happened, Hankie. Even you should know that.”

  “I have cancelled the bet. It’s off, it’s over, it’s suspended, it’s null and void. It’s history and it never happened.”

  “Mmmm! It’s history and it never happened. What an interesting idea.”

  “That’s correct, Kitty. On this ranch, history is whatever I say it is.”

  “But you’re forgetting one small detail, Hankie.” He hit the switchblade in his paw and his claws suddenly appeared. He admired them while he spoke. “Your bet was backed up by your Solemn Cowdog Oath. You can’t take that back.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m afraid you overlooked one small detail, kitty. The Solemn Cowdog Oath doesn’t apply to cheating situations or crooked deals. You see, I analyzed our wager and found that we were both betting on the same thing: my job.”

  He fluttered his eyelids. “That seems fair.”

  “That seems crooked, and you know it. You almost pulled it off, Pete, but I’m afraid you’ve been caught in the web of your own spider.”

  “You’re so clever, Hankie.” He yawned and came slinking over to the fence. He sat down, stared at me with his big cat eyes, and began twitching the end of his tail. “If you’ll lean a little closer to the fence, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  I caught myself just in time and pulled my face away. “Lean closer to the fence, so that you can slap me across the nose with your claws? As you’ve done before on several occasions? Sorry, Pete, your sneaky tricks are getting threadbare. That one isn’t going to fly.”

  He glared at me. Then he drew himself up, threw an arch in his back, and hissed at me. Before I knew it, a ferocious growl was thundering in my throat and I was seized by a powerful instinct to destroy the fence between us.

  But iron discipline saved me just in time. I sat down and laughed at him.

  “I guess you thought you could hiss and throw me into a frenzy of irrational behavior, right? Then I’d tear down the fence between us and chase you around the yard, right? And then Sally May would come running to save you, and I’d get pounded with the broom, right?”

  He glared daggers at me through the fence.

  “Sorry, Pete. I’ve made a few mistakes in the past, but it happens that I learn from my mistakes. Your cheap tricks just aren’t working anymore. Sorry.”

  Oh, you should have seen his icy glare when I told him that! It killed him, just by George ruined his day.

  By this time his ears were pinned down on his head and the pupils of his eyes had grown to the size of quarters. “You’re making me angry, Hankie, and when I get angry it makes me want to use my claws and tear something up.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, if it gets too overwhelming for you, Kitty, I’ll be glad to meet you down along the creek, but if you think I’m going to get suckered into a fight on Sally May’s doorstep, you’re very muchly mistaken.”

  “I’m getting angrier and angrier.”

  “And I’m loving every second of it, Pete. Keep it up. Here, try this on for size.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “I can’t control myself much longer, Hankie.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, see how you like this.” I crossed my eyes AND stuck out my tongue, all at the same time, see, and oh my, that really ripped him.

  He was yowling now, the way cats do when they’re so mad they could spit, only they can’t spit so they yowl. “Just for that, I’m going to tear up a sheet!”

  “Oh really? Tear up one of Sally May’s clean sheets? You’d better not.”

  “I will, you’ll see!”

  And with that, the stupid cat dashed back to the clothesline and climbed the sheet. I could hear his claws ripping into the cloth.

  “UMMMMMMMMMMMMM!! You’re ripping the sheet!”

  “I don’t even care, it’s all your fault, you’ve made me so angry I just can’t control myself!”

  Well, as you might imagine, I was almost beside myself with joy and happiness. At last I had pushed Pete over the edge of the brink. Now all I had to do was sound the alarm, alert Sally May to what her precious kitty was doing, and then sit back to watch the fur fly.

  I barked the alarm. “Attention please! Hank calling Sally May, come in Sally May. Red Alert at the clothesline, repeat Red Alert at the clothesline! We have spotted a deranged cat who is destroying one of your clean sheets. Report to the clothesline at once, and bring broom.”

  That would do it.

  I sat back and prepared to enjoy the show. In a matter of seconds, Sally May would come flying out that door—her eyes filled with sheer meanness and . . .

  I kept waiting. I frowned and began pacing. My eyes were riveted on the screen door. The seconds passed. No sign of Sally May.

  That was odd.

  And in the meantime, Kitty continued to climb the sheet and perform mindless acts of vandalism. Mindless vandalism has always bothered me. I mean, there’s no reason for it. It’s just . . .

  Still no sign of Sally May. Could she have gone to town? No, but she might have been taking a bath, in which case . . .

  Senseless destruction of ranch property—that’s what I was forced to watch, and before I knew it, a ferocious growl was thundering in my throat and I was seized by a powerful instinct to destroy the fence between us.

  But, of course, this was Sally May’s deal, not . . .

  My hair began to rise and my ears jumped to the Full Alert position. My eyes narrowed to slits and my lips began to twitch and my teeth exposed themselves in all their frightening glory.

  I heard a loud R-I-P! This was intolerable, unbearable. How much longer could I sit there, an idle speculator to mindless vandalism and the senseless destruction of ranch property? At what point did an idle speculator become a part of the crime?

  I mean, there’s such a thing as moral outrage. Some dogs have it and some dogs don’t, and those of us who . . .

  All at once I was finding it very hard to . . . that cat was not only defacing Sally May’s sheet, but in a deeper sense he was committing a senseless act of senseless vandalism against MY RANCH!

  Well, you know me. I take that stuff pretty serious. Nobody messes with my . . .

  Okay, that was it.

  Red Alert, full throttle, all systems go, open fire, launch all torpedoes, charge, bonzai! THIS WAS WAR!!

  I leaped over the fence like a buck deer, crossed the yard with three huge leaps, and flew right into the middle of that sheet, wrapped up old Pete in a nice little package, and was well on my way to . . . screen door?

  Ah ha, Sally May had finally answered the call and was coming to the rescue. And yes, her eyes were flaming and smoke was curling out of her nostrils and she was definitely armed with the broom, and I could see that she was ready to do some serious damage to her precious, perfect, sniveling little weasel of a cat.

  I sat up straight, held my head at a proud angle, and wagged my tail as if to say, “Welcome to the war, Sally May. As you can see, I have just arrested this . . .

  HUH?

  He’d been right there in the sheet.

  Just moments before.

  Wrapped up in a nice little package from which he couldn’t possibly . . .

  Sally May was standing over me. She looked very angry, very angry indeed. I began to develop a funny feeling about this deal.

  I lifted my eyes and tried to smile and, uh, thumped my tail on the, uh, ground.

  “Uh, Sally May,” I tried to say, “I think I can explain everything.”

  “You nasty dog, you’ve ruined my sheet!”

  “Me? No, it was the . . .” WHAP! “. . . cat, don’t you see, I caught Pete . . .” WHAP! “. . . honest, no kidding, I’m being very serious about . . .” WHAP!

  “You get out of my yard and don’t you ever come back!”

  I never argue with a loaded broom. I ran in a tight circle for a moment, dodging that deadly killer broom, and then broke away and went zooming toward the machine shed . . .

  . . . forgetting for the moment that the fence was still there, which caused a slight pile-up beside the foot scraper and actually hurt worse than the broom itself, but eventually we . . .

  I ran for my life and hid in the darkest corner of the machine shed. It was there that I straightened my neck and licked my wounds.

  And began plotting my final revenge against the cat.

  Chapter Ten: The Infamous Black Hole of Mustard

  I just didn’t understand.

  Everything had been going my way. I had sniffed out all of Pete’s sneaky tricks and had made the appropriate countermoves. I had held my temper, resisted the temptation to make hash of him, had maintained Iron Discipline throughout.

  I had even laughed at him.

  I had known from the start what he was trying to do, and yet he had somehow managed to do it anyway.

  How could one cat be so lucky, so often?

  It strained my concept of luck. It strained my concept of who I was and who I had always wanted to be. It strained my . . .

  My eyes were rolling around in circles and, hmmm, I appeared to be banging my head against the northwest leg of the workbench.

  Something bad was happening to me, fellers. I was losing control of my control. My instruments were shorting out. I felt myself spiraling toward the Infamous Black Hole of Mustard.

  In one last desperate effort to save myself, I took a firm grip on the cement floor with all four paws and fought against the tremendous swirling vacuum sweeper that threatened to swallow me up.

  And—you won’t believe this—I saved myself from vacuumization by singing a song. Why not? “Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast,” says the old saying, and here’s how the song went:

  I Must Dispose of the Cat

  I don’t understand what’s going on here.

  It makes me have questions about my career.

  I used to have pride, I thought I was shrewd,

  So how come my game plan is coming unglued?

  My countermoves backfire, my plots go awry,

  I’ve got indigestion from Pete’s humble pie.

  It’s happened so often, I’m starting to think

  This cat will eventually drive me to drink

  So to save the dignity of my ranch,

  To stop this mental avalanche

  I hereby burn the olive branch.

  I must dispose of the cat!

  It’s not that I’m bitter or violent or mean.

  I’m not in the habit of making a scene.

  I don’t take positions from which I won’t budge,

  Yet now I perceive that I’m holding a grudge.

  There’s nothing too personal in this, I submit.

  Well, maybe I’m bothered by cats, I admit,

  Their hissing and yowling and humping their backs.

  I hate them, that’s all, it’s as simple as that.

  So to save the dignity of my ranch,

  To stop this mental avalanche

  I hereby burn the olive branch.

  I must dispose of the cat!

  El Gato is rumored to have several lives,

  Nine, I believe, which is four more than five.

  But gato and gravy, served up on a plate

  Will get the grand total down closer to eight.

  A kitty for supper, a kitty for lunch,

  A kitty con queso, a kitty with punch.

  A kitty for snacks, oh my this is fun!

  And shortly the total will shrink down to none.

  So to save the dignity of my ranch,

  To stop this mental avalanche

  I hereby burn the olive branch.

  I must consider the pros and cons

  Of bumping off the cat!

  When I had finished the song, I looked around. I was standing in the middle of the machine shed. The bells and whistles had vanished. My mind had cleared.

  Best of all, the Infamous Black Hole of Mustard had swallowed itself and returned to the ethers of the vapor, or wherever it is that Black Holes come from.

  But the important thing was that I had snatched myself back from the edge of despair and had survived one of the most dangerous moments of my career.

  And, all at once, it was clear what I had to do. Heh, heh. Oh, a few details still had to be worked out, but those were small matters of procedure.

  I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Surely it was a testimony to my sweet nature and gentle disposition—and yes, to a certain dread of consequences. Sally May, for example.

  I had a suspicion that she would not think kindly of my plots and schemes, and that fact pretty muchly determined the method I finally chose for the job.

  Here’s what I did. I left the machine shed and, on silent feet, went hunting for the villain. I checked out the yard. He wasn’t there, which was good. I checked those tall weeds around the water well, and he wasn’t there too.

  I was on my way down to the corrals when I happened to glance to my left and saw something that brought bubbles of joy bubbling to the surface of my . . . something. Pete was asleep on my gunnysack bed beneath the gas tanks.

  This cat, who had been so cunning and shrewd only hours before, had made the incredibly dumb mistake of taking an afternoon nap—away from the house and on my bed! He was making it easy for me, which I appreciated.

  There are several ways of catnapping a kid . . . kidnapping a cat, I should say, and also several ways of getting your eyebrows torn off your face by a hissing, spitting, clawing little buzz saw—unless you happen to pick the cat up by the loose skin behind his neck, in which case he will hang as limp as a sock.