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And to add credence to his claim, suddenly Gran cried out,“Me! I’m your grandmother, my sweet, dear boy. It’s me!”

Philippe’s face cleared and he opened his arms to hug his newfound relative.

Uncle Alec appeared confused.“How can you be his grandmother? Wouldn’t you remember giving birth to a second son?”

Gran shrugged.“You try to remember everything that happened to you when you’re my age.”

“Don’t you believe her! Vesta is not your grandmother!” suddenly cried Scarlett, rearing up from the sofa like an opera star and approaching Philippe. “My precious boy. You finally found me.” She then threw out her hands and without warning clutched the kid to her ample chest. “My lovely, beautiful boy! My precious, precious grandson! My beloved Pierre!”

“Philippe,” the kid managed from between the massive mammaries.

“Whatever.”

Uncle Alec blew out a sigh.“Oh, boy.”

Chapter 7

Dooley and I were wandering along the street. It had been tough to get Dooley to relinquish his spot on the ground and return animation to his listless form but finally I’d managed. I’d told him Kingman, whose owner runs the General Store on Main Street, was the town’s expert on fleas, and that if anyone would know how to fight this infestation it was him.

“Do you really think Kingman can help us?” Dooley asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, I really think Kingman can help us,” I replied. In actual fact Kingman couldn’t save us if his life depended on it. But I had to get away from Harriet and Brutus who were the perfect double act to lead me straight into a nervous breakdown. As if the fleas weren’t bad enough, now I hadto cure Brutus’s performance anxiety? Give me a break.

So a nice walk was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Soon I felt my mood lift. The slight breeze ruffling my furry flanks. The sun casting its golden rays upon a near picture-perfect world. Sidewalks full of happy people pushing strollers. Kids gurgling cheerfully. Moms merrily gossiping about other moms. I even liked the sight of all the dogs that pranced around, restrained by those nice sturdy leashes and collars.

That’s how you can tell the difference between a dog and a cat: a cat will never allow a human to put a collar or a leash on them. Cats are free-roaming spirits, not slaves like dogs.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” I told Dooley. “Odelia will fix this.”

“I thought Kingman would fix this?”

“Someone will fix this,” I said, my confidence in the happy solution returning.

“I wonder who patient zero is.”

“Patient zero?”

“Don’t you remember from the movie? Gwyneth was patient zero. She got the virus from bat and pig poop after she shook hands with the chef who hadn’t washed his hands.”

“I don’t think it was bat and pig poop, exactly.”

“It was some creature’s poop.” He turned to me, his tail swishing excitedly. “We need to find our patient zero so we can save the world.”

“Maybe we should focus on saving ourselves.”

“It’s too late for us, Max. Even Rose fromTitanic didn’t make it.”

“Oh, will you please forget about Rose fromTitanic! It was just a movie!”

He didn’t speak for a moment, then said somberly, “I’ll bet I’m Rose. And I’ll bet you’re Morpheus fromThe Matrixand you get to live. Or maybe you’re Matt Damon.”

“I’m not Matt Damon and you’re not Rose! It’s fleas, Dooley. Stupid fleas!”

“It’s an infestation,” he said stubbornly. “And we saw that movie for a reason.”

“Not everything happens for a reason, Dooley.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“Not everything.”

“Everything.”

“Oh, God!”

We walked on in silence for a moment. My happy mood dampened, I suddenly wished that instead ofContagionwe’d seen Ratatouille. It was also about a group of critters but these critters lived in Paris and they could cook. I was pretty sure Dooley’s outlook would improve if I could convince him fleas were happy little critters who enjoyed cooking.

We’d arrived downtown and were walking along Main Street, with its throngs of shoppers, honking cars and busy shops, when we noticed a peculiar scene. The hotel across the street from Kingman’s General Store had one of its windows blown out, as if a fire had raged through it. And down on the sidewalk a sort of tent had been put up, with funny-looking people in white coveralls hovering about. They looked like astronauts.

“What’s going on over there?” I asked.

Dooley barely glanced up.“Who cares?” he said. “We’re all going to be dead soon.”

“Nice attitude.”

“It’s true. Nothing Kingman or anyone else can do about it.”

“Shall I tell you something that will cheer you up?”

He shrugged.“Nothing can cheer me up.”

“Do you want to know what Brutus told me in confidence?”

He sighed.“What?”

“He’s having trouble with his cathood.”

Dooley frowned.“Trouble with…”

“His machinery.”

He gave me a blank look and I could see I would have to spell this out.

“His pee-pee has stopped working.”

He blinked.“He can’t go wee-wee anymore?”

“I suppose he can—it’s the other thing he can’t do anymore.”

“What other thing?”

“Sex, Dooley. Brutus can’t have sex anymore.”