“So what do you think?” asked the large cat as he gave me a critical look. “Tastes just the same, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” I confirmed. “It is the same. Exactly the same.”
“And yet it comes in two different bags!” he cried, pointing to the bags in question, located inside the store. We followed him, and he showed us the bags in question. One was called ‘Perfect Pet Food For The Discerning Cat,’ and the other was called ‘Pet Food To Make Your Cat Go Giddy.’ Though it could have been something different.
“Two different brands, and yet they’re identical,” he said. “Now isn’t that something?”
“It certainly is,” I said. I didn’t know what it was, but it was something for sure.
“I like them both,” said Dooley. “I honestly don’t know what to choose this time, Kingman.”
“That’s because it’s the same kibble, buddy,” said the big cat.
“Oh? But then why did you put it in two different bowls?”
Kingman smiled and placed a paw on Dooley’s shoulder. “It’s a long story, and not one I’m sure you want to hear. Suffice it to say that I didn’t put that kibble in those bowls. Wilbur did, and since he doesn’t know what this stuff tastes like, since he’s not a cat, he trusts our judgment. The problem is that we can’t convey our opinion, so we do it by emptying one bowl and not touching the other, do you see?”
“Not really,” said Dooley with a frown. “You’re right that it all sounds very complicated, Kingman. So can you give us the gist?”
“The gist is that we’re being hoodwinked, buddy!” said Kingman, throwing up his paws. “And I want you to talk to Odelia and tell her, so she can tell Wilbur not to buy from these people again. Or maybe she can launch an investigation and write about it in that paper of hers. It sure sounds like something people should know.”
“I guess,” said Dooley, though he still didn’t look as if he understood what was going on.
Kingman directed a curious look at Harriet. “You didn’t touch the kibble. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel so good,” said Harriet, and coughed.
“Gran sprayed her with bug spray,” Brutus said. “She wanted her to have kittens, but that didn’t work out so well.”
“Instead of kittens, she got cooties,” said Dooley.
“I feel sick,” Harriet confessed. “But at least I didn’t lose my voice,” she added proudly. “Wanna hear?”
“Well…” said Kingman, giving me an uncertain look. When I shook my head, he plastered a forced smile on his face. “Sure. Why not.”
“Pick a song,” said Harriet. “Any song.”
“Um… how about I Want to Know What Love Is?” he suggested.
Harriet smiled, closed her eyes, and launched into a heart-wrenching—and gut-clenching—rendition of the popular ballad. All around us, people stopped to take notice, and the customers inside Wilbur’s store all came out to see what was going on. Possibly expecting another drive-by shooting. Instead they all formed a circle around our friend, who sang her little heart out. When she had finished, they all clapped, and she took a curtsy in response.
“Amazing,” said one customer. “What a voice.”
“It sounded as if someone had stepped on her tail,” said another one.
“Is she ill, do you think?” asked a third. “She sounds ill.”
“I think she’s lost,” said a fourth. “She’s screaming for her human to come find her.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” said another one. “Or the pound?”
“Let’s… not call the pound,” said Wilbur, deciding to step in before someone took Harriet and carted her off to the pound. He picked her up and carried her inside. “Best not to start screaming in front of my store. People take it the wrong way. Think I’ve been torturing you.”
“But I wasn’t screaming,” said Harriet. “I was singing.”
He carried her into the private space at the back of the store, and we all followed, just to make sure she would be all right. When we passed through the string curtain at the end of the store and found ourselves in Wilbur’s kitchen, it immediately became clear that Harriet wasn’t doing so well. She sneezed up a storm and looked even sicker than before.
“Wilbur said I was screaming, you guys,” she said, “but I wasn’t. I was singing! A beautiful song!”
“And it certainly was beautiful,” I told her soothingly. “It’s just that these humans can’t understand you, you see.”
“And also, they have no taste,” Brutus added.
“No taste whatsoever,” said Kingman.
“And stay there,” said Wilbur as he pointed to the floor where he had placed Harriet. “Unless you want to clear out my store again.” He shook his head as he walked away and disappeared through the door.
“He’s not very nice to me, is he,” said Harriet. Then she turned to Kingman. “How you can stand to be around that man is a mystery to me, Kingman.”
“You’re a real hero,” I told the big cat.
“I know,” said Kingman modestly. “But then I guess you can get used to anything.” He grinned. “I’m just kidding. Wilbur isn’t so bad. He takes some getting used to, that’s true, but that can be said about all of us. Even me, the most agreeable cat on the planet.”
Harriet sneezed again. “I’m also very agreeable. I have to be, for it’s tough to break into show business. You have to be a real people’s cat. At least in the beginning. Once you’re a star you can let your inner diva out, but until then, you have to get along with people or they won’t give you a chance to shine.” She sneezed once more and groaned. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Looks like that medicine Vena gave you isn’t working so well,” I said. I looked over to Kingman. “Maybe we better alert our human. She should take Harriet back to the vet.”
“No vet!” said Harriet. “Once a day is quite enough, wouldn’t you say? No, I’m fine. Especially since I still have my voice.” She sneezed again, really loud this time. “Oh, God. I don’t like to be sick,” she said. “In fact, I hate it.”
