Purrfect Son: The Mysteries of Max 27 by Saint Nic

Author:Saint, Nic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Puss in Print Publications
Published: 2020-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

24

The moment Chase had returned from walking Rambo, Odelia had swept us all into her car and rushed off. Perhaps swept is too strong a word, as it’s probably hard for any human to sweep a two hundred pound dog into a car. Cajole is perhaps the better description, and so there we were, on our way to a destination unknown, four cats in the backseat, while Rambo took up space in the trunk of the car.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My uncle gave me a secret assignment yesterday,” Odelia announced, sounding happy and excited in equal measure. “You remember Charlene’s uncle who died?”

“Yeah, he fell into his own pool, right?”

“Right. Well, Uncle Alec isn’t the kind of cop who likes to accept the most obvious explanation about anything, and so he wants me to look into this death a little closer. Make sure there’s nothing suspicious about it.”

“You think Charlene’s uncle was murdered?” asked Harriet.

“I don’t know. But I’m sure I’ll find out.”

“I like this,” grunted the dog who was breathing down my neck. “Just like the old days: out on patrol, catching the bad guys.”

“Did you go out on patrol a lot when you were on active duty?” asked Brutus, who, technically at least, was also a police animal, as he’d once belonged to a cop.

“Oh, yeah. All the time. Until they figured I was too old for the job, and they retired me. I’m too young to retire, so I didn’t like that,” he said. And then he sneezed, causing big gobs of goo to hit the back of my neck and even the back of Odelia’s head.

Even if Rambo was too old to chase the bad guys, he could always hit them with his goo and make them surrender, I figured as I extracted the worst of the sticky goo from my precious blorange fur.

“Eww,” Harriet whispered. “Eww, eww, eww!”

“Oh, can you have that talk now, Max?” said Odelia. “About the bowl situation, I mean?”

“What bowel situation?” said Rambo. “My bowels are just fine, in case you were wondering.”

“Not the bowel situation—the bowl situation,” I clarified.

“What about my bowls?” he grunted, looking annoyed.

“The thing is, Rambo,” said Harriet, turning to face the large dog, “that in our household we each have our own designated bowl—two, in fact. One for water and one for kibble. And at night usually a third bowl comes out when Odelia doles out the wet food. And you can multiply that number by two, since we occupy two homes.”

“Ooh, wet food,” said the big dog, licking his lips with an extremely long tongue. “Rambo likes himself some wet food.”

“Yes, well, so the whole point of this setup is that we only eat from our own bowl, you see? And for convenience’s sake our bowls even have our names on them. So Max has his bowls, I have my bowls, Dooley has his bowls, and so does Brutus and so do you!” She gave him a beaming smile, but the dog shook his head, causing some of his saliva to sprinkle around.

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