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“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, Vesta. I can’t do this—it’s impossible!”

“No, it’s not. You’re simply not trying hard enough. Now repeat after me. My name is Harriet.”

“Meow meow meow,” said Scarlett, rolling her eyes.

“No, that’s not it. I clearly said ‘My name is Harriet.’”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Then you heard wrong.” Gran glanced to her friend’s ears. “Maybe it’s your hearing. Are you sure you don’t need a hearing aid?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my ears, Vesta.”

“You’re not as young as you used to be, you know. Many women your age need a hearing aid. Have you seen a doctor?”

“I don’t need to see a doctor! My ears are fine!”

“Then I really don’t know what the problem is.”

“The problem is that this… gift you have, isn’t something you can teach. It’s probably genetic.”

“You think?”

“Of course!”

The two women stared at Harriet, who looked concerned, and so did Brutus.

“But, Gran,” said Harriet. “If we can’t teach humans to talk to us, this whole Baker Street Cats project is useless!”

“Yeah, if we don’t have a human operator who can interpret the messages my soldiers send in,” said Brutus, “the app won’t work.”

“Nonsense,” said Gran. “We’ll just have to find a way to make it work. Look, if they can put Jeff Bezos in space, how hard can it be to create an app that makes sense of what you’re saying?”

“There’s only one solution as I see it,” said Scarlett.

“Which is?”

“That you and Marge and Odelia work around the clock to man the command center where all the information from the Baker Street Cats comes in, and work as dispatchers.”

“I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as a dispatcher,” said Gran. “No way.”

“Well, if you want this to work, you’ll have to.”

“Marge can do it,” said Harriet. “I mean, how many people go to the library nowadays?”

“Yeah, kids don’t read books anymore,” Brutus chimed in. “They all play computer games, or chat with their friends on WhatsApp or watch TikTok. They don’t need books.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Harriet. “Libraries are a thing of the past, Gran, so Marge should come on board, and become the world’s first Baker Street Cats dispatcher.”

“I very much doubt she’ll want to do that,” Gran grunted.

“Well, she’ll have to, or otherwise this project will be a bust!”

“Odelia is going to have a baby,” suddenly Dooley interjected, sounding gloomy.

All those present, except for Scarlett, regarded him with astonishment. Though the responses were markedly different: Gran looked elated, Harriet was frowning and didn’t look happy, and Brutus looked pretty much indifferent.

“A baby!” Gran cried.

“What baby?” asked Scarlett.

“Odelia is pregnant!” Gran said.

“She’s not pregnant,” I said, hastening to put the record straight before the whole town was buzzing with news that wasn’t news. “All she said was that she wants to start a family.”

“So she’s not pregnant?” asked Gran.

“No, she’s not—at least not as far as I know.”

“Oh,” said Gran, her face sagging.

“So is she pregnant or isn’t she pregnant?” asked Scarlett.

“I’m not sure,” said Gran. “Dooley says she is, and Max says she isn’t.”

“Let’s ask her,” said Scarlett, closing her notebook, visibly relieved her lessons for the day were over. “Odelia!” she hollered, getting up. “Oh, Odelia!”

Odelia’s head popped through the opening in the hedge. “Yes?”

“Is it true that you’re pregnant?” asked Scarlett.

Odelia frowned.“Of course not—why do you ask?”

“Your cats seem to think so.”

“Do they now?” said Odelia, cutting a curious glance in my direction.

I was shaking my head, but before I could deny the charge, Gran said,“It would be great if you were pregnant, honey. It’s what we’re all waiting for, you know.”

“Frankly whether I’m pregnant or not is none of your business, Gran,” said Odelia, “or yours, for that matter, Scarlett.”

“Well!” said Scarlett, taken aback.

“But for your information, I’m not pregnant, and even if I was, the first person I’d tell would be my husband.” And with these words, she turned on her heel and disappeared again.

“She’s pregnant,” said Scarlett knowingly. “Only a pregnant woman would be so catty.”

“She’s not catty,” said Gran. “Or is she?”

“Oh, she’s catty all right. Did you see the way she was looking at me? Hormones.”

“I’m not sure,” said Gran. Then a keen look came into her eyes. “Let’s ask Marge. If anyone knows, it’ll be Marge.”

“Marge!” Scarlett bellowed. “Marge, come here a minute, will you!”

Marge’s head now popped through the kitchen window. “What?” she asked, looking a little harried. Libraries might be a thing of the past, but the library where Marge worked still seemed to give her plenty of work.

“Is it true that Odelia is pregnant?” asked Scarlett, not beating about the bush.

Marge frowned.“What?

“Pregnant,” said Scarlett.

“We have it on good authority that you’re going to be a grandmother soon,” said Gran.

“And you a great-grandmother,” Scarlett pointed out, causing a slight lessening of Gran’s exuberance.

“Great-grandmother,” she repeated. “Oh, my…”