Bunnicula Strikes Again! by James Howe

Author:James Howe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

[ SIX ]

Tomato Juice, Togas, and Trouble

IF Pete said “Gross!” once, he said it a hundred times.

I tried not taking it personally. After all, it was pretty gross. Not to mention humiliating. Especially when Mr. Monroe bathed Howie and me in tomato juice. Chester had managed to escape the skunk’s assault, but Mr. Monroe considered giving him a regular bath just to be on the safe side. Knowing how much Chester hates baths, he spelled it out.

“I think I should give Chester a b-a-t-h, too,” he told Mrs. Monroe.

To which Chester’s response was, “I’m out of h-e-r-e,” and he was gone.

The Monroes haven’t figured out that Chester can spell.

Cats, in case you don’t know it, do not care to be bathed by anything other than their own tongues. Dogs, on the other hand, have an entirely different philosophy of life. Simply stated, it’s this: Never do for yourself what you can get others to do for you. I call this “conservation of energy.” Chester has a less exalted name for it. “Laziness,” I believe it is.

In any event, after our tomato juice baths, Howie and I were plunked in the tub for a nice long soak. Howie got to practice his backstroke and I got to practice my lifesaving skills each time he sank to the bottom.

It was after Mr. Monroe had left us swathed in towels to dry off that Chester poked his head around the bathroom door, looked to the left and right, sniffed the air to be sure we no longer stank, and cautiously entered the room.

“Chester,” I said, “I’d like a few words with you.”

“All right, all right,” he said, “so Plan A didn’t exactly work out.”

“It didn’t exactly work out?” I repeated. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“No,” said Chester. “I also want to tell you about Plan B.”

I am not normally prone to violence, but at that moment I might have been tempted to tie Chester’s whiskers in a bountiful array of knots had I not been so tightly wrapped in my towel. At the very least I would have pressed for an apology, but I was beginning to see that there were more similarities between Chester and Pete than I’d ever noticed before. Being a cat or an eleven-year-old boy, I surmised, must mean never having to say you’re sorry.

“Okay, lads, here’s what I’m thinking,” Chester said as he began to pace in front of us. Howie loves it when Chester gets going like this and he panted appreciatively. I, on the other hand, tried rolling my eyes but only succeeded in noticing that my bangs needed trimming.

“Let’s say I’m right about Bunnicula’s mother,” Chester said, “which of course I am. My guess is that Bunnicula hasn’t figured out where she is. Maybe he hasn’t even made the connection between his mother and the movie theater. Otherwise, he would have broken out of this joint a long time ago. So he’s still waiting for her to come to him. Fine. Here’s what we’ve got to do.

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