25. PURRFECT COVER
Chapter 1
“Max?”
I lazily opened one eye.“Mh?”
“I have a question for you,” said Dooley. “And I want you to think long and hard before you give me an answer.”
I found myself intrigued.“Okay,” I said therefore. “What is the question?”
“Who can run faster, a hare or a fox?”
I frowned at the questioner. It was a tough one, granted, but even more than that, I failed to see the significance.“I have absolutely no idea,” I said. “Why do you want to know?”
Dooley frowned before him in an idle fashion.“It’s for this quiz show I want to go on.”
“What quiz show?”
“Well, not Jeopardy, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a new show that Gran likes to watch. They ask you all these questions, and if you give the right answers you can win a car. Or even a house.”
“A house!” I said, properly impressed. “That must be some quiz show, if they’re giving away a whole house.” What with property prices the way they are, winning a house is not a small deal. But I still wasn’t fully satisfied with my friend’s answers. “So… why do you want to win a car? Or a house, for that matter?”
Dooley shrugged.“I just think it would be great if you and I could have our own place, you know. Far away from certain… pets.”
And there it was. And I understood all. Lately Harriet had been throwing her weight around to some extent. Used to be she more or less accepted that as a family of felines we were all equal under the sun. As of late, though, she’d started assuming the role of leader of the pack—telling us what to do, where to go, and, even more importantly, whom to associate with. I could see how this would create the kind of environment that would cause a sensitive cat like Dooley to bridle, and to look for a route of escape.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Dooley,” I said, as gently as I knew how, “but I don’t think they allow cats to participate in game shows. Not the ones I know of, anyway.”
“They don’t?” asked Dooley, with not a little bit of disappointment. “But that’s not fair.”
“Well, seeing as there aren’t a lot of humans out there that can understand what we say, it wouldn’t make for very interesting viewing,” I explained.
This gave my friend some food for thought, and as he mulled this over, I placed my chin on my paws again, and took up my refreshing morning nap where I had left off.
After a while, though, animation returned to Dooley’s form, and he said, “So why don’t we suggest to Gran that she organize a quiz show? She could be the show host and ask all the questions, and all the candidates would be cats. I’m sure it would be a big hit.”
“I’m not so sure,” I muttered. I’d just been dreaming about a fine feline who’d been giving me a look that said she liked what she saw, and I was reluctant to throw off the blanket of sleep just to listen to my friend’s ongoing ramblings about quiz shows.
“Of course!” he said, his excitement building as he thought more about his latest brainwave. “With all the cats in the world, it would be huge. How many cats are there?”
“Not sure,” I said, yawning. “A lot, I guess.”
“Millions, maybe even billions! And since there are no other shows for cats to watch, they’d all tune into our quiz show, wouldn’t they? It would be the biggest hit in history.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Dooley,” I said, once again being forced to play the party pooper, a role I did not enjoy, I can tell you. “Cats don’t own televisions, and they don’t always control the remote controls. In fact I’d hazard a guess that in most cases they don’t have control over what they can and cannot watch at all. The humans are the gatekeepers to whatever is on offer on the television, and humans would be bored to tears within five seconds at having to watch a bunch of caterwauling cats on display.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”
And once again he fell into a deep reverie as he contemplated ways and means of dealing with this new obstacle I’d put on his path to a successful career in television.
This time it took him a little while longer to work out the details of his new proposal, but when finally he woke me again from my slumber, I could tell from the tremor in his voice and the feverish gleam in his eye that he’d managed to come up with a real gem.
“I have one word for you, Max,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked, sighing a little, as that formidable female feline hadn’t returned in my latest dream. Instead I’d dreamt of a rabbit popping out of a hat and playing hide and seek. You’ll agree with me that rabbits aren’t as fascinating as formidable felines giving you that look. Rabbits simply don’t have thatje ne sais quoi.
“The internet,” he said, thrusting out his chest with an air of accomplishment.
“That’s two words,” I pointed out.
