But as I tentatively put my head through the flap, I relaxed again and knew I had nothing to worry about. I’d once heard Odelia tell Chase, when she made him privy to some of the secrets from the mysterious world of felines, that if a cat can pass his or her head through an opening, the rest of their body easily follows. So now that my head was through, I knew my body would fit as well.

  Until it didn’t.

  And as I experienced a sudden pressure on both sides of my belly, I discovered that no, I could not pass through the pet flap, and yes, Brutus and Harriet were probably right, and I had gained a little weight. And now that I came to think of it: I had indeed been coming and going through the kitchen door lately, and not the pet flap. Out of sheer habit, I thought, but now I realized it was probably because I’d been fitting through the flap less and less, and so unconsciously I’d started avoiding the thing.

  Yikes!

  “Um… A little help here, you guys?” I said now.

  And moments later my three friends were all pushing me in the rear end, attempting to squeeze me through, unfortunately to no avail. I was well and truly stuck. And when I tried to backtrack, I discovered that my progress in both directions was hampered by my belly, which seemed to act like a cork in a wine bottle.

  “Max, I think you’re stuck,” Dooley announced, as if I hadn’t noticed the same thing myself.

  “See?” said Brutus triumphantly. “I told you that Max had gained a lot of weight lately. And I was right.”

  “It’s not weight,” I said. “It’s my bones that must have gotten bigger. I probably ate too much calcium.”

  “It’s your belly that has gotten bigger, Maxie baby,” said Brutus, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “And as far as I know, there are no bones in bellies.”

  “Aren’t there?” asked Dooley. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have eaten that last bowl,” I said. “But just you wait and see, when that kibble is digested, my belly will go back to normal, and I’ll fit through this thing just fine.”

  “In the meantime, we’re all stuck inside the house,” Harriet lamented. “And all because you allowed yourself to get fat, Max.”

  “I’m not fat,” I said in measured tones. “I’m just a big cat, that’s all. It’s genetics.”

  “Says you,” she said, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “If there’s anyone who should complain, it’s me,” I said. “I’m the one who’s stuck.”

  “At least you have fresh air. We’ll be forced to breathe this stale indoor air until someone arrives to get you out of there.”

  And so it was that moments later, when Gran arrived on the scene, and she found me stuck in the door, she said, “I think it’s time for you to go to the vet again, Max.”

  “Odelia already told us she was taking us,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, but now it also looks as if you’re going back on your diet,” she said as she took a firm hold of me under my front paws and pulled. “You’re stuck,” she finally concluded.

  “I know I’m stuck, Gran,” I said, with perhaps more heat than I intended.

  “Suck in your breath,” she advised.

  I sucked in my breath, and she pulled again, putting considerable pressure on my poor ribcage.

  “You’re not budging, Max. Why aren’t you budging?”

  “I think it’s this pet flap,” I told her. “I think it must have shrunk. I’ve heard that wood shrinks, so that’s what must have happened.”

  “This pet flap is made of plastic, Max,” said Gran. “And as far as I know plastic doesn’t shrink that much. Now let me try something different.” And this time she opened the sliding glass door and moments later I could feel her pulling my legs—both of them.

  Unfortunately I still wasn’t budging.

  “Are you actually sucking in your breath?” asked the old lady as she tried pushing now, again to no avail.

  “I’ve been holding my breath for the past five minutes,” I grumbled. “If I hold it in much longer I’ll probably expire from a lack of oxygen.”

  “That’s not such a bad idea,” I heard Brutus say. “A dead weight is easier to displace.”

  “Not helpful, Brutus,” said Gran. “Okay, this isn’t working. We probably need a stronger hand than mine.” As luck would have it, just then Marge arrived, and when she came upon the embarrassing scene, offered to push while Gran was pulling. Unfortunately, due to a miscommunication, they both ended up pulling, and I now realized for the first time how those witches in medieval times must have felt when they were put on the rack.

  “Ouch!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh, sorry, Max,” said Marge, and gave me a tickle under my chin, which, in spite of the dire circumstances, made me giggle.

  “Don’t laugh, Max,” Gran grumbled. “Sucking in that belly is what you should do. Suck it in as much as you can!”

  Easier said than done. It’s hard to suck in a belly filled with food. It makes you feel nauseous, and that’s what I was starting to experience at that moment. Definite nausea.

  “Okay, Marge, you pull and I push, okay? Now, pull!”

  And as Marge pulled and Gran pushed, I felt like one of those dolls kids like to play with, and end up removing Barbie’s or Ken’s head or limbs in the process.

  “This isn’t working,” Marge announced finally as she wiped her brow.

  “Oh, I’ve got an idea,” said Gran. “Where does Odelia keep the soap?”

  “Under the sink,” Marge said, and for a moment both women disappeared indoors.

  Dooley, Harriet and Brutus, released from their confinement, walked out to keep me company and provide moral support. Though judging from their eager looks, and the fact that they made themselves comfortable nearby, where they had a good view of the proceedings, it appeared more as if they saw this as one of those terrible car crashes people are so fond of, and were ready to practice their capacity for rubbernecking.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Max,” said Harriet. “I’m sure Marge and Gran know what they’re doing. Oh, look—here comes the brown soap.”

  I gave Marge and the bar of brown soap she was holding, along with a bucket filled with water, a look of concern. “You’re not actually going to rub me with soap, are you?”

  “Just a little, Max,” she said.

  And as I watched on, both she and Gran began massaging my midsection with a frothy mixture that smelled very soapy indeed.

  “Okay, that should be enough,” said Gran behind me, as my entire midsection had been turned into a devastated area. “Now push—or pull! Or… push!”

  It took a while for the team to coordinate their rescue efforts, but finally they were jiggling me backward and forward once more, like a tug of war, with me in the middle.

  “It’s not working!” Gran cried finally, as even the redoubtable brown soap couldn’t save me from my tricky position.

  “Ooh, I’ve got it!” said Gran. “Oil!”

  “No!” I cried.

  “Don’t worry, Max,” said Marge. “We’ll wash it out later… with soap.”

  “I think Max is probably right,” said Dooley now. “I think that pet flap must have shrunk. Pet flaps do shrink, you know. It’s the wood. It shrinks when it gets hot. Or cold.”

  “It’s not made of wood, Dooley,” said Harriet. “It’s made of plastic, and plastic doesn’t change shape that much—unless it melts, of course.”

  Dooley stared at the pet flap. “It doesn’t look like it’s melted.”

  “If there’s anything that’s changed shape,” said Brutus, who was clearly enjoying himself tremendously, “it’s Max. He’s become a lot chunkier lately.”

  “Thanks, Brutus,” I grumbled. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

  “You’re welcome, buddy.”

  “I wish I had a camera,” said Harriet. “This is pure gold.”

  “Yeah, if you posted this on YouTube you’d get millions of views,” Brutus agreed.

  “No pictures, you guys,” I said. It’s bad enough to be subjected to this kind of ignoble treatment, but I certainly didn’t want the footage to end up on the internet, and turn me into a local laughingstock overnight. I might not be the most handsome cat alive, but I have my pride and I have my dignity, just like any other cat.

  And then Gran started massaging my belly with oil, and so did Marge. The sticky substance felt very icky to me, and suddenly I was starting to think that going to Vena, and subjecting myself to her treatment, was probably a lot less bad than what I was going through now. I mean, being rubbed with oil is probably one of the worst things you can do to a cat. Can you imagine having to lick half a gallon of oil out of your belly button? Yuck!

  “Okay, push, Marge!” Gran cried. “Or pull—no, push!”

  “Oh, will you make up your mind already?!” I said.

  And so the shoving and the pushing recommenced, and before I knew it, I zipped right out of that pet flap into Marge’s arms, and found myself free of restraints once more!

  There was loud yipping and shouts of jubilation from the spectators, and as I took a slight bow to accept the applause, I realized I’d lost the bet, and when I glanced into Harriet and Brutus’s smiling faces, I said, “Okay, so you were probably right. I did gain a little weight, and I probably should start dieting again.”

  “It’ll be fine, Max,” said Marge. “Vena has been experimenting with a revolutionary new method to monitor pets’ health, and she’s asked us to include you guys in her pilot program, and of course we wholeheartedly agreed.”

  I eyed her suspiciously now. “What pilot program?”

  “Are we going to be pilots?” asked Dooley.

  “Not exactly,” said Marge with a laugh, as she put her money where her mouth was and started washing off that horrible oil. The treatment wasn’t entirely unpleasant, I must say.

  “So… what does it involve?” asked Harriet.

  Marge smiled. “Just wait and see. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” After rinsing me and rubbing me dry with a clean towel, she gently patted me on the head. “Let’s just say you’ll find it extremely beneficial. And so will you guys,” she addressed my friends.

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?” said Harriet.

  2

  “With Better Pet Yet Max will never be overweight again.”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I resent the term overweight. I feel it doesn’t apply to me.”

  But of course no one paid any attention to me whatsoever. The humans all stood gathered around Vena, who was demonstrating her revolutionary new thing, whatever it was.

  “So how does it work?” asked Odelia.

  “And how much does it cost?” asked Marge, price-conscious as always.

  “Does it work for humans, too?” asked Gran, who seemed to see potential in the thing.

  “Better Pet Yet is surprisingly reasonably priced,” said Vena, “and no, it doesn’t work for humans, though I’m sure there is an alternative. And as far as how it works, it’s very simple!”

  She spoke in her usual hale and hearty tone, as if trying to hail a cab from across the Grand Canyon. Vena is a formidable woman, with a forceful personality and considerable physical strength. When you know she can pull calves from cows and foals from horses without breaking a sweat, you can imagine bending a mere feline to her will is a cinch. In fact I’m not breaking any confidences when I tell you all cats in Hampton Cove are afraid of the woman, for whom the expression ‘force of nature’ was originally coined.

  “Okay, so you put this collar on your pet, or, if you prefer, I can also implant a subcutaneous chip, and both chip and collar are connected with this app on your phone, with a unique access code, which makes the system absolutely safe and hacker-proof!”

  I’d heard the words ‘subcutaneous’ and ‘collar’ and immediately pricked up my ears.

  “What’s subcutaneous, Max?” asked Dooley, giving me a look of concern.

  “It means this thing goes under your skin,” Harriet explained, and shared anxious glances with both me and Brutus.

  “I’m not having anything injected in me,” said the latter now. “No way. Uh-uh.”

  “Me neither,” said Harriet. “I vehemently protest against this violation of the physical integrity of my body. My body is my temple, and I won’t have it ravaged by butchers!”

  “So what is Vena going to do with this thing?” asked Dooley.

  “As far as I understand, it’s some kind of tracker,” I said. “But a smart one that measures all kinds of stuff.”

  “Better Pet Yet measures blood pressure, heart rate, blood sugar level, subcutaneous fat distribution,” Vena was rattling on, deep into her sales pitch now. She’d effectively taken off her vet hat and donned her sales rep cap. “In short, a lot of very important data that will give you the full picture of your pet’s health in real-time. It also works with a sophisticated monitoring system with a built-in proprietary and frankly revolutionary algorithm that raises the alarm the moment certain conditions are met—certain predetermined triggers like high blood pressure, increased heart rate, diminished lung capacity…”

  “So what do we do when that happens?” asked Marge.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Gran. “We call Vena, of course.”

  Vena smiled. “That’s the best part of Better Pet Yet! You don’t have to call me—the system calls me! When you get an alert, I get an alert, too—at least when you are a person in good standing and are current with your fees,” she added in a rush of words.

  “Amazing,” said Marge as she nodded her full endorsement of the scheme.

  “I just wish this existed for us, too,” said Gran. “Imagine having my blood sugar level and my blood pressure automatically monitored without having to go to the doctor.”

  “You go to the doctor every day, Ma,” said Marge.

  “No, but see, with this system I wouldn’t have to. This thing does everything for me.”

  “It… doesn’t actually work like that,” said Vena, the vet in her rearing its head once more.

  “I gotta tell Tex,” said Gran as she rummaged in her purse for her phone. “He needs to get on board with this thing. And I even got a name for him: Better Pensioners Yet!”

  “I’m a little concerned with security and privacy,” Odelia said. “How sure are you that these can’t be hacked?”

  “Better Pet Yet is part of Intended2, the well-known software giant, so you don’t need to be concerned with cybersecurity. Intended2 has the best software developers in the world. They wouldn’t launch this app if they weren’t a hundred percent sure it was safe.”

  “Intended2?” said Marge with a frown. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  “They also created the popular Mokemon universe,” said Vena.

  “Oh, right,” said Marge vaguely. “I’m not much of a gamer.”

  “Gaming is only one of the many things the company does.”

  And as our humans discussed the pros and cons of these nifty new and revolutionary trackers, the four of us awaited the verdict with bated breath.

  “A tracking collar is better than a subcutaneous chip,” said Harriet, “but not by much.”

  The last time they made us wear a tracking collar had been a minor disaster, as all the cats in Hampton Cove had been provided with the gadgets, and all of a sudden their owners had realized what their precious cats were up to at night: roaming far and free. They hadn’t liked it then, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t like it now.

  “At least our humans don’t mind when we wander off at night,” I said.

  “Yeah, but still,” said Harriet. “I don’t like the idea that Vena knows everything about me.” She regarded the collars on the veterinarian’s desk with a great degree of suspicion. “And who knows what she’s not telling us. That thing might be able to listen to our conversations, track our movements, know what we’re up to at all times.” She shivered. “Doesn’t that sound pretty creepy to you guys?”

  “There’s a word for this thing,” said Brutus somberly. “Big brother.”

  “I didn’t know you had a big brother, Brutus,” said Dooley. “That must have been a lot of fun growing up. Do you see a lot of him? Where does he live? Does he look like you?”

  “He’s not just my big brother, Dooley. He’s your big brother, too.”

  “You mean I have a big brother? Cool!”

  “Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t like this one bit.”

  “I don’t like it either,” said Harriet.

  “Well, I think it’s great,” said Dooley, providing the voice of dissent. “If Odelia knows how healthy or unhealthy we are, it’s a lot easier for her to take care of us. Like with Max’s big belly. All that belly fat is floating around in his bloodstream, and that’s very bad.”

  “No need to concern yourself with my belly fat, Dooley,” I said stiffly.

  “It’s not my health I’m worried about,” said Brutus. “It’s my privacy.”

  “But you guys!” said Dooley. “They already know everything about us!”

  “I don’t care,” said Harriet. “It’s still a new level of creepy.”

  “Plus, whatever Vena says, I’m sure these things can be hacked,” said Brutus.

  “What do you think, Max?” asked Harriet.

  “Yeah, you haven’t said anything,” Brutus added.

  “Oh, well,” I said with a shrug. “I say let’s wait and see.”

  “Always the diplomat,” said Brutus with a disgusted gesture of his paw.

  “Yeah, just say what you really think, Max,” said Harriet.

  “I’m skeptical, too, you guys, but until we know what this is all about, I think we need to defer judgment. Like Dooley says, it might be beneficial for our health, if it means Odelia or Marge or Gran will immediately know when something’s not right. Or it could be another disaster, like that time they outfitted us with tracking collars. Too soon to tell.”