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“Catnapper my ass,” said Gran. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. I offered those ingrates our special concoction this morning and do you think they said thank you? They refused to eat it! Said they were going on a hunger strike unless I served them up some gourmet soft food instead. So I chucked everything down the garbage disposal and walked off. And now of course they’re out there somewhere sulking and complaining to anyone who’ll listen that their humans are inhuman and yadda yadda. Always the same story.”

Odelia quickly crossed into the kitchen and checked the four bowls. Three of them had been eaten from: Max, Brutus and Dooley’s, but not much. “You’re probably right, Gran,” she said, elation spreading through her like balm. “They must be throwing another one of their temper tantrums and stalked off on a huff as usual.”

“Of course! I know those cats. So don’t you worry about a thing, honey. They’ll be back here tomorrow morning, with their tail between their legs, begging for food. Just you wait and see. Now write this down and write it down exactly as I’m telling you. ‘Distinguished medical assistant Vesta Muffin was attacked by well-known looney tunes Scarlett Canyon. Mrs. Canyon, who is seventy-five but claims to be on the pill and sexually active, tried to steal Mrs. Muffin’s sausage and when she didn’t get what she wanted went nuts and bit Doctor Poole in the ankles. In the process she lost her dentures.’ Why aren’t you writing? This should all be in your article. Verbatim.”

Chapter 22

Dooley wasn’t your typical volunteer. Even though he’d been all in favor of Max’s brilliant idea of a cat pyramid, he hadn’t envisioned himself in the role of escape artist. And if he’d known his friend would be at the bottom of the pyramid and he at the top, he’d have politely turned down the job. Besides, he was no hero. And even though he’d pointed this out to Clarice, who’d taken charge of the proceedings, she hadn’t paid his protestations any mind. She’d simply told him he was the smallest, the lightest, and the only one in his weight class able to communicate with his human, and able to get a message across enemy lines.

So he’d reluctantly agreed in principle, but then the pyramid had been formed and he’d been given a shove in the patootie by Clarice, and before he knew what was happening he was crawling through that opening and now here he was, crawling through this dark and creepy house, in search of the exit.

He was on the ground floor, or so he thought, but as luck would have it he was in a closed room, with no way out. So he’d only gone from one prison to another, and while down below he was with his friends, up here he was all alone. He’d looked down through the hole and could see Max down there. He’d even hollered, but of course they were all chattering so loudly nobody could hear him.

So he’d heaved a deep sigh and had decided that if he was chosen for the part of the hero, he might as well try and play the hero. And so he’d gone in search of the exit. It had taken him several attempts to open the door before he finally discovered a fatal flaw the architect who’d built this place had made: next to the door was a small hole, presumably having served a purpose at some moment in the distant past—possibly a power plug had been placed there, before being stripped by treasure hunters—and so he’d simply clawed away at the thing until the hole was big enough for him to crawl through.

And he’d just managed this daring feat when he smelled sweet victory: a window was open in this next room. So he jumped up onto a rickety old chair, then onto the windowsill, and he was just about to jump through the broken window when he saw that the drop to the ground was a lot longer than he’d anticipated so he balked. No way was he going to make that drop. Plus, there were only brambles down there, and pieces of brick. So even if he survived the drop, his fall wouldn’t be a gentle one.

Then again, his friends were in danger, so shouldn’t he take the chance? What mattered a few brambles compared to the horrors that awaited his dear friends in that dungeon down below? So he took a deep breath, carefully navigated the broken glass and… took the plunge.

He actually landed pretty well, narrowly missing the brambles. His paws hurt a little, but he was still in one piece, and that’s what counted. He raced to a nearby bush, and saw that the van that had brought them was there, just returning with possibly another load of cats, and was now backing up against what he assumed was the hole that led into the scary and smelly dungeon—or cellar.

He slowly backed away from the van, making sure the driver didn’t see him, when suddenly someone pinched him and he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.

“And what do we have here?” a rumbling voice said with audible glee.

He protested up a storm, but to no avail. He tried using his claws, but the man held him at some distance, and seemed to enjoy seeing him dangle and claw.