“Oh, but they do work, only not as advertised.”

He reluctantly handed over a couple of the cans, and then took the entire suitcase along with him. He’d pay the couple later. If they really had been arrested, they probably wouldn’t mind if he used their stash to rid the hotel of a clear and present danger.

He dragged the suitcase out of the room and then down the elevator this time, to arrive in the lobby. He then proceeded to hand the members of his staff who were on hand to try and get rid of those flies several cans of the stuff, and instructed them to apply them liberally.

“But sir,” said the head of his housekeeping department. “Isn’t this bad for our guests?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, remembering the sales pitch Carlos Perks had given him. “It’s only lethal for the bugs, but perfectly safe for humans and pets both. So spray these to your heart’s content, and let’s get rid of those damn flies!”

And to set the right example, he directed a nice cloud of bug repellent at a flock of flies that had chosen the reception desk as their landing strip. They immediately dispersed, and his heart made a little jump for joy in his chest. Victory!

The moment he had distributed all the cans among his staff, he hurried to his office, hoping to put in a phone call to the exterminator. Mostly the guy assisted them when they had mice or rats in the kitchen, or cockroaches or lice or bedbugs in the rooms, but this time he’d have to handle a more mundane pest: a fly invasion!

The moment he swung wide the door of his office, a swarm of the creatures attacked him, and he reeled back in horror. The beasts were everywhere: on his face, in his hair, even in his nostrils, his ears, his mouth! He fell to the floor, and tried to get them off him—to no avail!

“Aaaaah!” he cried in dismay. “Aaaaaaaah!”

And as he lay there, a victim of this attack, he was vaguely aware of four cats traipsing all over him and then taking off. They were the cats he had captured and locked up in his office. More pests! But at least they weren’t as obnoxious or pestilential as those flies.

Oddly enough, the moment those cats had left his office, the flies all took off, and before long his office was free of them. But as he glanced around, he saw they had pooped on every available surface—even his laptop and the pictures of his wife and kids he had on his desk.

He sank down onto his chair and buried his face in his hands. What a day. What a day!

CHAPTER 16

We escaped the hotel through the lobby, which was teeming with Norm’s family members. For some odd reason, several hotel staff members were emptying cans of bug spray throughout the lobby, saturating the atmosphere with the concoction and creating an unpleasant and frankly toxic air quality. It didn’t stop the flies from buzzing around the lobby, though. On the contrary, instead of dropping dead like… flies, they seemed to love the stuff, and more and more of them were flocking to have a whiff of the aerosol.

“Odd,” said Harriet. “The more they spread this bug spray, the more bugs arrive.”

“We shouldn’t call them bugs, though, should we?” said Dooley. “They are Norm’s family, so we should treat them with the respect we owe him—especially since he saved our lives.”

“How do you figure that?” asked Harriet.

“Well, that manager is clearly colluding with the bug spray people, who are rabid killers, so he could have murdered us, and cut us up into little pieces and fed us to the dogs.”

“Do dogs eat cats, though?” asked Brutus. “I doubt it.”

Dooley had to think about that one. “No, I guess you’re right,” he said finally. “Dogs would never eat cats. We might not always get along, but they wouldn’t want to be any part of that.”

We had arrived on the street and I was glad to breathe some fresh air again—insofar as the air on Main Street can be called fresh, of course, as there were still plenty of cars zooming past, making our crossing of the street a hazardous venture. But we made it across in one piece, and decided to recover from our harrowing adventure by paying a visit to our friend Kingman.

“Hey, you guys!” he said, and gestured to two bowls of kibble placed at his feet. “Take your pick. One is a new brand called Brand A and the other is a new brand called Brand B. Not the real names, of course. Pick what you like best and I’ll inform Wilbur accordingly.”

I stared at the two bowls, and couldn’t see a single difference between the two types of kibble. I then took a sniff and they smelled exactly the same. Finally, I took a nibble and had to admit that I didn’t taste any difference either. I turned to our friend. “Are you sure these are two different brands? I mean, they are exactly alike in every respect as far as I can tell.”

My friends had all taken the sniffing test, the tasting test, and the visual test also, and were busy devouring some of the kibble so they could make up their minds.

“Just tell me what you like best, Max,” said Kingman.

“It’s a trick question, right?” I said. “Brand A is exactly the same as Brand B.”

“No, it’s not,” Kingman insisted. “They’re different brands, and your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to decide which one is the better choice: A or B. And please don’t tell me you can’t choose. It’s a task Wilbur has given me, and I want to give him my full report.”

In this case, Kingman’s full report consisted of him eating the remainder of the most popular kibble, so Wilbur knew which one he had to order from his supplier. It was a simple method, not unlike the screen tests Hollywood studios like to organize for their movies: testing different endings or cuts of their films so the audience can choose which one they like best.

“I think I like Brand A the most,” said Dooley. “It’s got more flavor.”

“But they’re exactly the same!” I cried. “They both have the same flavor!”

“I don’t think so,” said Dooley. “I think Brand A has more flavor than Brand B.”

“How about you, Harriet?” asked Kingman. “What do you think?”

“I like Brand B the best,” said Harriet, smacking her lips.

“I prefer Brand A,” said Brutus, putting his vote in the hat.

They all turned to me. “Looks like you’ve got the deciding vote, buddy,” said Kingman. “‘Cause I also vote for Brand B. So that’s two against two, with your vote breaking the tie.”

“But I like them both!” I said, not comfortable being put in this position.

“Well, you can’t choose both. You have to choose one. So which one is it going to be?”

I glanced from Dooley to Harriet to Brutus and back to Kingman. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “They both taste exactly the same to me, they look the same, and they smell the same. In other words: they are the same!”

“They are not,” Kingman insisted. “I saw the bags myself. They were different brands!”

I was shaking my head and wondering how to respond. I didn’t want to deceive anyone by choosing the wrong brand, but finally, I had it. “So how about you ask a couple more cats? Then maybe you’ll have a large enough sampling to really make an informed choice.”

“Excellent idea, Max,” said Kingman, pointing his paw at me. “And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing all morning. I’ve asked every single cat that’s passed by to have a taste, and you know what they said?”

“That they’re both the same kibble?” I asked.

“No! That they’re both equally bad, so Wilbur shouldn’t order either.” He sighed. “Which is a message he won’t like to hear.”

Just then, Gran and Scarlett came ambling up. They both looked pleased as punch for some reason. Which never bodes well, as Gran can sometimes be accused of having a mischievous mind. “What’s going on here?” she asked as she saw us gathered around two bowls of kibble.

“Kingman wants us to choose between these two different brands of kibble,” I explained. “Only I don’t taste any difference. They’re exactly the same to me.”

“Let me have a taste,” she said, and stooped over and picked up a piece of kibble and put it in her mouth. We all watched on, consternation written all over our features.

“But Gran, you can’t eat that!” I cried.

“And why not?” she asked. “It’s made from meat, isn’t it? With some extra ingredients thrown in to provide a balanced diet for you guys. So why shouldn’t I eat it?”

“But… it’s made for cats!” Dooley cried.