Dooley thought about this for a moment, then said, “But then why don’t humans simply let their beards grow out? That way they can cover their faces with fur, too.”

  “Oh, but they do,” said Kingman. “Haven’t you noticed that when men get older, they suddenly decide to grow a beard? It’s simply so they can hide that sagging jawline under an inch of fuzz.”

  “So why don’t women do the same thing?”

  “Because women don’t grow beards, Dooley.”

  “But they do,” said Dooley. “Gran has a mustache, but she waxes it. I’ve seen her do it. I’ve asked her why, but she won’t say. She just said she doesn’t want to look like a Yeti.”

  Both Kingman and I laughed heartily at this, but since Dooley kept staring at us, clearly expecting an answer to his unasked question, I finally said, “Look, Dooley. Bearded women aren’t as universally accepted as bearded men.”

  “But why not?”

  “Because humans like to adhere to certain standards of beauty, and a woman with a beard simply doesn’t fit into that concept.”

  “Well, it should,” said Dooley. “It would solve all of their problems. They could hide their jawlines when they sag and they could also hide the wrinkles around their mouths.”

  “Great,” I said. “You tell Gran, and maybe she can start spreading the word.”

  “Oh, but I will, Max,” said Dooley. “I think it’s a lot less painful than pulling up your face and then chopping off the excess skin. Or ripping out those hairs with hot wax.”

  “What excess skin?” asked Kingman, clearly at a loss.

  “Didn’t you know, Kingman? People have their faces lifted and the excess skin surgically removed.” His eyes went wide. “That’s probably why people lose their hair when they’re older: it’s simply chopped off at the top, along with all that wrinkly skin!”

  “You just might be right, Dooley,” said Kingman, as he glanced over to his human. I followed his gaze, and saw how Wilbur was indeed getting thinner on top, and how the beard he’d started growing had moved up his face. It used to start around his Adam’s apple but now started just below his chin, and had almost reached his eyes.

  “Soon his eyebrows will be on top of his head,” said Dooley in hushed tones, “and his beard will cover the place where his eyes used to be. He’ll have to part the hairs to see.”

  I shivered, and I think we all praised a benevolent god who’d made sure that cats never had to go through the terrible ordeal of the so-called facelift.

  And as we said goodbye to Kingman, he reminded us to talk to Odelia, and to tell Rosa not to be afraid to confront her blackmailer. She would be just fine if he told the whole world about her secret, and I can’t say I didn’t think Kingman was right on the money.

  Chapter 6

  That night, a veritable welcoming committee was awaiting the blackmailer and lying in wait for his arrival. The particular trashcan the blackmailer had told Rosa Bond to dump the bag of money in was located directly underneath a lamppost… which was out of order.

  “I think he must have picked this spot for this exact reason,” said Chase, who was located in the bushes directly opposite the trashcan, along with Odelia. “Which means he thought this out in advance.”

  “I still think we should have asked Uncle Alec to dispatch a couple of his officers,” said Odelia. “What if he manages to escape?”

  “No way,” said Chase. “He’ll have to run really fast if he wants to beat me.”

  “Chase sounds very confident, Max,” said Dooley. “Do you really think he will be able to catch the blackmailer?”

  “I’m sure he will, Dooley,” I said. “Chase is very fit.”

  “Chase is very fit,” Dooley admitted.

  We gave the man a look of admiration. Chase looked in fine fettle tonight, and even seemed eager to confront Rosa’s blackmailer.

  “That’s why he’s such a great cop,” said Dooley.

  “Because he’s so fit?”

  “Because he’s never afraid to confront the bad guys.”

  Just then, a lone figure came wandering along the path. Rosa didn’t look left or right, but immediately dumped a small plastic bag into the trashcan, placed there by the town council for the purpose of receiving cigarette butts, candy wrappers, chewing gum, dog excrement, but most definitely not five thousand dollars wrapped in one of the General Store’s generic plastic baggies. Then again, humans have always been very creative in thinking up ways to repurpose household objects like plastic bags. Nowadays they turn them into park benches, backyard decks and fences and even playground equipment. So this particular plastic bag might one day make its way back to the park—minus the cash.

  Rosa quickly walked on, as she’d been instructed to, and now the long wait began for the crook who’d forced her to pay up to avoid her past becoming common knowledge.

  And we didn’t have to wait long: suddenly a man came trudging up that same path, looked left and right, then dipped into the trash receptacle, took out the plastic bag, and then tucked it into his coat and was off at a nice clip! All in all a very smooth operator!

  “Let’s grab him!” Chase said, and was out of those bushes and proving his parents correct in naming him Chase: he hurried in the direction of the blackmailer, and made haste doing so. Unfortunately the blackmailer must have seen him coming, for he, too, quickened his step, then broke into an outright run. Odelia had sprang from the bushes like a coiled spring, and even Dooley and myself were giving chase, though at a much more sedate tempo. And as the chase was on, we could see Chase gaining on the blackmailer, and I anticipated an imminent capture any moment when all of a sudden, out of the bushes Gran and Scarlett appeared, followed by Harriet and Brutus. They crossed Chase’s path as the cop was in the homestretch to tackle the blackmailer, and their timing was thus that Gran collided with Chase, Scarlett collided with Odelia, Harriet collided with Dooley, and Brutus collided with me. So on the whole you might say that it was one serendipitous collision, and the upshot was that by the time all the limbs had been disentangled, and all the heads had been screwed on right again, and the loud and vociferous recriminations had died away, of our blackmailer there was not a single trace.

  In other words, the neighborhood watch—or should I call them the Neighborhood Cat Watch now?—had effectively been instrumental in allowing the bad guy to get away.

  Not a propitious start for Gran and Harriet’s latest harebrained scheme!

  The conversation that followed wasn’t a very fruitful one, either.

  “You let him get away!” Chase cried.

  “Let who get away?” asked Gran, massaging a sore spot where the large and muscular cop had bumped into her. It was in fact a small miracle that all her body parts were still attached and that she was still breathing. If a man of Chase’s dimensions had bumped into me, going at that speed, I would have been flattened. Like running into a bulldozer.

  “Can’t tell you,” Chase grunted, scanning the horizon for the elusive blackmailer.

  “Can’t tell me what?”

  “Sorry—it’s classified,” the cop announced.

  “Classified? Who are you? James Bond? Do you have a license to kill, too? Cause you tried to kill me just now!”

  “As if,” Chase scoffed. He was clearly annoyed that he’d lost his man.

  “Chase is probably right,” said Dooley. “I think Gran is very hard to kill.”

  “Oh, don’t say things like that, Dooley,” said Harriet. “It’s upsetting.”

  “No, but it’s true. She reminds me of a certain bug.”

  “What bug?” asked Harriet.

  “Well, it was in a Discovery Channel documentary the other night. There’s this bug that can survive anything. They’ve even shot it into space and it survived. Now what are they called?”

  “Tartigrades,” I said. I’d also seen this particular documentary.

  “That’s it!” Dooley cried.

  “Also called water bears or moss piglets.”

  “Who are you calling a moss piglet?” asked Gran, giving me a dangerous look.

  “So who were you chasing?” asked Brutus, getting back to the point at issue.

  “Oh, you know, Brutus,” I said. “You were in Odelia’s office this morning.”

  “Oh, that,” said Brutus, as if suddenly remembering what was the most important case that had come our way in weeks.

  “Who were they chasing, Brutus?” asked Gran.

  “Umm…” said Brutus, cutting a quick glance to Odelia, who placed a finger to her lips in the universal sign of ‘Shut up if you know what’s good for you!’ And so Brutus did shut up, because he did know what was good for him–and who.

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” said Gran. “We’re all part of the same neighborhood watch now. And us neighborhood watchers don’t keep secrets from each other. That’s immoral.”

  “Immoral!” spat Chase. “Wanna know what’s immoral? Sabotaging our operation!”

  “If only you’d told us about your ‘operation,’ Mr. Bond, we could have helped you!” said Gran, getting a little hot under her collar.

  Dooley uttered a giggle, causing all eyes to turn to him. “Mr. Bond,” he said. “It’s funny, because we’re working for Mrs. Bond.”

  “Mrs. Bond? Who’s Mrs. Bond?” said Gran.

  “Rosa Bond?” asked Scarlett. “The wife of Tilton Bond?”

  “Who’s Tilton Bond?” asked Gran. “James Bond’s brother?”

  “He used to run an internet business, then sold it for a lot of money and since then he’s set up a foundation and has been giving a lot of his money to charity.”

  “Nutjob,” Gran grunted. Clearly she couldn’t understand why anyone would give their precious millions to charity.

  Odelia turned to her husband. “Maybe we better tell her,” she said.

  “I thought your client had sworn you to absolute secrecy?”

  “Yeah, but Gran won’t tell anyone, will you, Gran?”

  “Me? Tell anyone? Never has there ever been anyone as discreet as me.”

  Scarlett made a scoffing sound at that, but when Gran gave her a look that could kill, she quickly shut up.

  “Look, this has to remain between the four of us, all right?” said Odelia.

  “Absolutely—now spill.”

  And so Odelia proceeded to explain to her grandmother and Scarlett the circumstances of our nocturnal stakeout. It caused the two friends to utter a whistle of surprise.

  “Five million dollars,” said Scarlett. “No wonder she had to change her name and move out here to the sticks.”

  “Why?” asked Odelia.

  “Honey, whenever that kind of money is involved, all kinds of vermin comes crawling out of the woodwork wanting a piece of it. Just look at this blackmailer. I’m sure there will be others just like him. In fact it’s a small miracle she’s been able to keep this a secret for so long. People are bound to find out, and if you think like a criminal, you probably figure that Rosa Bond is still in touch with the father of her kids, and if she is, why not give an enterprising crook his coordinates in Mexico, so they can organize a ‘rescue party.’ Rescue what’s left of that five million dollars, not the man himself—who’ll probably find himself on the operative side of a deadly gun and then in a shallow grave—him and his secretary.”

  I turned to Dooley. “So maybe Kingman was wrong to figure it would be best to share Rosa’s secret with the world.”

  “Yeah, he probably was,” my friend agreed.

  “What was Kingman’s advice?” asked Odelia, curious.

  “Well, he figured that since Rosa didn’t do anything wrong, people would be sympathetic if they found out about what happened.”

  “He’s got a point,” said Gran. “Except that Scarlett also has a point. That kind of money brings out the worst in people, and so maybe it’s best if nobody finds out.” She smiled at her friend. “Now tell me, honey. How much of this conversation have you picked up?”

  “To be honest? Not one iota.”

  “Not a single word?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Don’t worry, Scarlett,” said Chase. “I don’t understand them either and that’s fine. Lucky for me I’ve got my sweetheart to translate for me.”

  “Yeah, but it’s very important that I learn their language,” said Scarlett.

  “Important why?” asked Odelia.

  “Um…” Scarlett looked to Gran, who shook her head decidedly.

  “I’m sorry,” said the old lady. “I’m afraid it’s a secret.”

  “A secret!” Odelia cried. “But I just told you my secret!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s where you and I are different: you can’t keep a secret, but I can. Now let’s skedaddle, Scarlett.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Chase.

  “Scarlett is going to attend cat choir, and see if she can’t pick up a few words.”

  And before Odelia had recovered from her indignation, the two friends had indeed skedaddled, and so had Brutus and Harriet.

  And since cat choir is indeed a very important social event, Dooley and I took our leave as well.

  I mean, why stick around? That blackmailer was probably on the other side of town by now, counting his money and thanking his lucky stars.

  And wondering how much he was going to ask the next time.

  Ten thousand? Twenty? Thirty?

  Easy pickings.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning I woke up from a peaceful slumber, lying at the foot of my human’s bed, and yawned and stretched, as one does, when I noticed a pair of eyes fixed on me. I gave the starer a kindly smile. “Hey, Brutus. Sleep well?”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Max?” my friend said.

  “Um, yeah, I think so,” I said. Of course one never really knows if one is all right, does one? I mean, there can be any number of things wrong with you and you’ll never know. The feline body is, after all, a complex machine, and difficult even for its inhabitant to fully fathom. But I had a feeling Brutus wasn’t interested in these philosophical ruminations, so I didn’t go into all that. Instead, I said, “Why? Do you think something is wrong with me?” Oftentimes it’s the outsider who can see things you as the so-called insider cannot.

  “Just that when you ran into me last night you may have sustained permanent damage. Then again, the effect might be delayed, of course.”

  “What effect?” I asked, now thoroughly bewildered. “What permanent damage?”

  “Are you permanently damaged, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d also woken up now and was following the conversation with rising concern.

  “It’s just that when you run into a muscular cat like me, it’s almost like running into a brick wall,” Brutus explained. “And the damage, if not immediate, could manifest later on.”

  “You mean like when Road Runner falls off a cliff and only breaks up into a thousand little pieces after there’s been a delay for comedic purposes?” said Dooley, who’s big on the Cartoon Network, at least when he’s not diligently watching the Discovery Channel.

  “Something like that,” Brutus allowed. He was still regarding me with marked concern. “Watch my paw, Max, can you do that for me? Just your eyeballs—keep your head still.” And to demonstrate what he meant, he moved his paw in front of my face from the left to the right and back again. I followed his paw eagerly, without moving my head.

  “How am I doing?” I asked finally.

  “Mh,” said Brutus. “Everything seems to be in order. Though to be absolutely sure you probably need to see a neurologist. They can do some more extensive testing to see if you didn’t suffer any brain damage.”

  “Brain damage!” Dooley cried. “Max, do you think you have brain damage?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, and shook my head a little, just to make sure my brain was still present and accounted for. “I don’t have a headache, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

  “Yeah, a headache would be a clear indication that your brain is all shook up,” Brutus agreed.

  Harriet now also woke up and stretched languorously before opening her eyes and taking in the scene. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you all looking as if somebody died?”

  “Brutus thinks Max has brain damage from running into him last night,” said Dooley.

  “It’s like running into a brick wall, see,” said Brutus, reiterating his earlier point. “And I have to say I take full responsibility, Max. When you have the kind of otherworldly physicality I have, your body turns into a lethal weapon, even if you don’t mean it to.”

  “Oh, pookie bear, Max didn’t run into you that hard,” said Harriet.

  “Yeah, you probably have a point,” said Brutus. “Max is big and sluggish, so he probably isn’t capable of reaching the kind of speed required to do serious damage when suddenly brought to a stop by hitting an unyielding rocklike object like myself.” He clapped me on the shoulder, almost making me topple off the bed. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Max,” he said, giving me the smile a doctor would give a cancer patient who he knows only has a couple of weeks to live and doesn’t want to worry.

  “But… I did hit you pretty hard last night, Brutus,” I said.

  “Yeah, but like Harriet pointed out, you weren’t going that fast, Max, so I’m sure everything is fine up there underneath that ivory dome of yours.” And to show us he meant what he said, he gave me a hard rap on the noggin.

  “Ouch,” I murmured. “I felt that.”

  “I’m sorry, Max,” he said, immediately rueful. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He sighed. “That’s the problem when you’re as strong and muscular as I am: you end up hurting your friends and loved ones, even though you simply can’t help it. The Rock must have the same problem. And Superman, of course.”

  “I bumped into Harriet last night,” said Dooley. “Do you think I have brain damage, too?”

  Brutus smiled at this. “You need to have a brain before it can get damaged, Dooley.”

  “Don’t be mean, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet as she yawned once again.