“I’m sure they do, Mr. President,” said Odelia.
“I always wanted cats, you know, but my wife prefers dogs. And so do the kids. And Mac and Cheese haven’t disappointed. They’re the loveliest pair of mutts around. They spend more time in this office than I do!”
They all laughed politely at the President’s little joke, and then it was time to go. He assured us that he would take the matter up with the king of Abou-Yamen, and that there would be no more killings of innocent people—though in the case of Carlos and Mindy, their innocence had yet to be determined. But then adulterating pet kibble and selling bad bug spray doesn’t carry the death sentence. Otherwise, a lot of people would be on death row right now.
We said our goodbyes to Mac and Cheese and got ready to make the long trek home from Washington D.C. to Long Island. We all felt that the trip hadn’t been in vain, and the atmosphere in the car was jubilant to a degree.
But then all of a sudden Harriet produced a tiny burp, and for some reason a bubble emerged from between her lips.
Odelia turned around in alarm. “Who was that?”
“Me,” said Harriet, and produced another burp and another bubble. And as we watched in horror and surprise, she started hiccupping a storm, and a series of bubbles emerged from her lips. Before long, she looked like one of those bubble machines that are a big hit at kids’ parties.
Odelia’s lips turned into a thin line and she growled, “When I get my hands on Gran I’m going to kill her!”
Looked like the President would have to extend his executive powers to prevent murder and mayhem of American citizens on domestic soil to Grandma Muffin!
CHAPTER 36
Harriet wasn’t feeling very well, but being the brave trooper that she was, she soldiered on in the face of this latest calamity that had befallen her. She was, after all, a diva, and any diva worth her salt doesn’t allow a slight hiccup in the form of some medical malady to stop her from doing what she does best: to shine and to give people their money’s worth!
And so after they had paid a visit to the President in his white house, and in spite of the fact that she had suddenly turned into a bubble machine, she wanted to give vent to her satisfaction with the way the case had been handled by singing a song. So she asked Brutus to pick a tune, and he selected It’s All Coming Back to Me Now by Celine Dion. An excellent choice, and one of her personal favorites. And so she collected herself for a moment, closed her eyes, took a deep breath—diaphragm, diaphragm, diaphragm!—and… produced more bubbles!
Instead of Celine’s wonderful song, out came bubbles and more bubbles, and as they popped, oddly enough, sound seemed to erupt from them. A bubble flew against Odelia’s head and as it popped a note was heard. More bubbles floated through the car and popped and more notes were heard. All in all, it was quite the spectacle, and as those inhabiting the car expressed their surprise, she felt that maybe she had just invented a new genre: the bubble song!
“Shoot a video!” she urged between two bubbles. “Odelia, quick!”
Odelia did as she was told, and as Harriet sang more of the inimitable Miss Celine’s big hit, the bubble musical festival continued unabated.
At the end, she smiled contentedly. When Odelia posted this video, she had good reason to suspect it would go viral and cement her reputation as America’s foremost feline soprano. Fame and fortune awaited her! Now if only she could get rid of this hiccup and these bubbles! Though maybe she shouldn’t wish to be cured. Maybe this would be the hallmark of her art. Maybe a year from now she would be performing her bubble songs in Madison Square Garden!
As she harbored this roseate dream, she finally fell asleep. It had, after all, been a long day.
We watched as our friend finally found sleep. From time to time, little bubbles escaped her lips and her nostrils, and I wondered how she could sleep while having been turned into a feline bubble machine, but then she was probably so exhausted after everything that had happened that nothing could keep her from visiting the land of dreams.
“I’m worried about her, Max,” Brutus confessed. “Now with this bubble business. Are these strange side effects going to go away or is this just the harbinger of worse things to come?”
“No idea,” I confessed. “But I have a feeling that gradually she will return to normal.”
We had no way of knowing what Carlos Perks had put in his bug spray. If it had indeed been instrumental in causing a famine in Prince Abdullah’s home country of Abou-Yamen, it didn’t bode well for the future of anyone who had been in contact with the stuff. But since we had accepted that Vena Aleman might not be the terrible monster that we had always taken her for, we hoped she would be able to find a solution for Harriet’s ailments, many as they were.
“Do you think the President will be able to stop Rogelio from being shot?” asked Brutus.
“I’m sure he will,” I said. “You can’t go around murdering people in other countries without facing some kind of blowback. I think they were hoping to get away with it. That nobody would find out. But now that their plan has been exposed, most likely they will back down. They don’t want to face international criticism over this business with the prince.”
“At least they didn’t put a contract out on our lives,” said Brutus with a shiver.
“Now why would they go and do that? We didn’t have anything to do with the bug spray disaster.”
“No, but we were instrumental in stopping the attacks on Rogelio, their sworn enemy,” said Brutus. “So they might figure that as we stand in the way of the happy ending, they should take care of us first before they can get to Rogelio and Carlos and Mindy.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “They’re not going to start murdering people willy-nilly. I think they’ll suffice with the promise that Carlos and Mindy will face serious consequences for their actions, and since Prince Abdullah is no longer with us, they’ll consider the problem dealt with and the threat eliminated.”
“Good,” said Brutus. He glanced over at Dooley, who seemed to be ruminating on something. “Everything all right with you, buddy?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Dooley assured him. “Just thinking about Rogelio, you know. And how if Max hadn’t figured it out, that hotel manager would have shot him. Good thing we were there to stop it from happening.”
“Yeah, I guess Rogelio is lucky to be alive,” I said.
Dooley turned to me. “Max?”
“Yes, buddy?”
“Can you do me one big favor?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Next time when you have a brainwave like that, can you take me through it?”
“What do you mean, take you through it? Take you through what?”
“Your brainwave. I would like to have brainwaves like that myself, you see. So if you can take me through it, I’ll know how it works, and then next time I can have my own brainwave. I think it would be good for there to be more than one pet detective in town, you know.”
“Sure thing,” I said. I didn’t know if explaining my thought process would help Dooley in any way, but if it made him happy I was certainly prepared to go into the details—if I could. Brainwaves are tricky things. It’s not always easy to catch them and explain how they work.
