“But… where exactly is this great place?”
He vaguely pointed in the direction of the garden house. “Norma found us a good spot right over there. Plenty of high-quality nosh to tide the little ones over until they hatch.”
It suddenly dawned on me that Marge keeps a nice stash of our food in that garden house. Several bags, in fact, for safe storage. “High-quality nosh?”
“Yeah, bags and bags of the stuff. I don’t know who put it there but Norma and I are very grateful. There’s enough food to feed an army.” He laughed happily. “An army of flies!”
I slapped my brow. Looked like our ‘great nosh’ would soon be crawling with maggots!
“Okay, much as I enjoy these conversations, I have to be off,” said Norm. “Norma wants to go for another batch.” He grinned. “Better keep my strength up, you guys.” And with this, he settled on the pork chop that Tex had dropped in my bowl, dribbled some saliva on it, and sucked the liquified piece of pork chop into his mouth. Then he was off, to make more flies!
Brutus and I shared a look. “No good deed goes unpunished, Max,” he said.
And ain’t that the truth.
THE END
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EXCERPT FROM PURRFECT HEIST (MAX 89)
Chapter One
Dooley had been keeping a close eye on his human for the last couple of days, and when he saw her traipsing through Blake’s Field in her underwear, he knew that his concerns had been justified all along. Even his best friend Max had told him that he was exaggerating and that Gran was fine. Obviously she wasn’t fine. She was anything but fine. But since Max was home, he couldn’t tell him that he had been right and that Max was wrong. Not that he would have done so, since that wasn’t Dooley’s style.
He followed Gran from a little distance, making sure she didn’t notice she was being followed. She wouldn’t have liked it since she was a proud old lady and wouldn’t have condoned a chaperone in the form of her own kitty. He wondered where she was going and why she would venture out of the house in the middle of the night, only dressed in her undies. The situation was certainly cause for grave concern. He followed her all the way to the small derelict shack that was still located on the field and hadn’t been taken down, even though the entire neighborhood had asked the field’s owner many times.
He watched from a safe distance as Gran took a seat in front of the shack, on a crooked bench that had seen better days, and folded her hands in her lap, sitting prim and proper. Then she reached into her pocket and took out a bag containing something he couldn’t quite make out. She reached into the bag, and the next moment started singing softly to herself. “Feed the birds,” she sang. “Feed the birds. Tuppence a bag. Tuppence a bag.” And as he watched on in amazement and a rising sense of concern, she started strewing breadcrumbs from the bag. But since it was the middle of the night, there weren’t any birds present to partake in this moderate feast. Instead, a couple of the mice that lived in the old shack emerged from their hiding places, sniffed the air for a moment, and then descended on the breadcrumbs, gobbling them up with relish.
So now Gran had taken to feeding the mice? But why? He simply didn’t understand what was going on, except that he should probably tell somebody before one of the neighbors noticed Gran’s strange behavior and had her locked up in an institution.
He wondered for a moment if he shouldn’t approach the old lady and tell her to go back to bed. He had been lying at the foot of her bed when she had ventured out, but when he had asked her where she thought she was going, she hadn’t replied, but had simply slipped her feet into her slippers and had left the house. And since he didn’t want her to get into trouble, he had decided to follow her and see where she was going.
As he watched, she crumpled up the bag and put it back into her pocket, then rocked back and forth for a moment, humming the same tune under her breath, a happy smile on her face. She was staring before her, seemingly looking at nothing in particular.
The mice had dispensed with the last pieces of bread and returned to their nest to deliver the good news that a new benefactor was in town and that they might be looking forward to many more nights like this, with Gran delivering food to their little home.
Dooley knew the mice since he had made their acquaintance on several occasions, and he could only applaud their good fortune. It still didn’t allay his general sense of unease at this type of behavior from one who he had always admired and loved.
He now wondered if he should tell Marge that her mother had developed this strange new habit of feeding the mice. Marge would worry, of course, since she was that kind of person. But that couldn’t be helped. At least she would tell Tex, and the doctor could take a closer look at the strange behavior his mother-in-law had started displaying lately.
For this wasn’t the first time Gran had ventured out like this, though mostly she had limited her nocturnal sojourn to the backyard. This was the first time she had ventured out beyond the perimeter of her own home. If this kept up, pretty soon she would start wandering all over Hampton Cove, or even the entire island or maybe the state.
As he watched on, he saw that a dark figure had appeared, hiding behind a nearby tree. The dark figure was watching Gran, biding his time. Dooley’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized that his human might be in some kind of grave danger.
Gran hadn’t noticed the dark figure, but then she wasn’t in a state to notice much of anything right now. He wondered if he should warn her that she was being watched.
Then again, it might be one of the neighbors walking their dog in the middle of the night and wondering what Gran was up to. They could be excused for wanting to know what was going on—the same way Dooley wanted to know what she was up to.
He saw that the figure detached themselves from that tree and approached Gran. He still couldn’t make out their face or other distinguishing features, but it was clear that the figure was just as curious to find out what was going on as he himself was.
The figure walked right up to Gran and stood before her. Gran still didn’t react in any meaningful way, and that’s when Dooley understood: she was sleepwalking!
He had heard about this kind of behavior, where people get out of bed in the middle of the night and do all kinds of stuff that they later don’t remember. It was not a good thing, especially since she was away from home and vulnerable, as the situation showed.
His words of warning were stuck in his throat, or he would have called out to Gran to wake up and get out of there. For the person had taken out what looked like a great big knife and now stood wielding it in front of Gran’s face. The old lady was still smiling and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.
The figure must have realized that she formed no threat whatsoever, for he or she put the knife away again, waved a hand in front of Gran’s eyes, then shrugged and took off.
Dooley breathed a sigh of relief, and even more so when Gran finally got up and started on the short trek home.
It wasn’t long before she was crawling back into bed and dragging the covers over her ears. Dooley eyed her for a few moments from his vantage point at the foot of the bed. But when he heard his human’s slow and even breathing, he finally lay down his head and slept.
Tomorrow he would tell Marge. Clearly, something had to be done.
Chapter Two
Kurt Mayfield was walking his dog Fifi and wondering not for the first time if his time couldn’t be better spent some other, more productive, way. After all, Fifi had the use of the entire backyard, and if she wanted to, even the field behind the house, though he normally didn’t condone that she snuck underneath the fence.
Still, dogs needed to be walked, or so common sense dictated. And it was true that there was an added benefit in that he got to satisfy one of his secret pastimes: spying on his neighbors. Nobody appreciated it when you blatantly took up position in front of their homes and stared into their living rooms and watched what they did. But when you held a dog on the leash, it was accepted behavior. What he didn’t like about dog walking was that you ran the risk of bumping into other dog walkers, and invariably they would engage him in conversation, asking questions about this or that, generally making a nuisance of themselves. This is why he had adopted the practice of walking Fifi very early in the morning, at six o’clock, and late at night, just before he went to bed. That way, the risk of running into his neighboring blabbermouths was a lot less. Some of them had even started a WhatsApp group and arranged to walk their dogs together. To Kurt, that was what hell must be like. He had kindly declined to be added to the group.
