The next morning, bright-ish and early-ish, we drove into New York for a chat with Clive Balcerak. Jeff’s colleague had agreed to meet us in his favorite coffee shop, which was just around the corner from Capital First, the bank where the two men had shared duties and responsibilities but also locked horns.
“Cat choir was fun last night, wasn’t it, Max?” said Dooley.
“It was, yeah,” I said. “One of the better ones.”
Though ever since Shanille’s return, every cat choir we were having and were ever going to have was going to be stellar. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that it took Shanille to go missing for us to appreciate her for who she is?” said Dooley.
I had come to the same conclusion myself.“It’s true,” I said. “Everybody seems to shower so much attention on Shanille it’s becoming a little embarrassing.”
“She seems to love it, though.”
“She does. She’s clearly loving every minute of it.”
Shanille had told us the story of how she had prevented Father Reilly from making a grave mistake, and how grateful the priest had been for her intervention. Clearly the FuSSy mission was going strong. And then Harriet had told us a similar story about Gran and Scarlett, and Brutus had clinched it by entertaining us with the story of how Tex had almost wet his pants when Brutus caught him sneaking a drink from a bottle containing some pink alcoholic liquid!
“Maybe we should get in on Shanille’s mission,” said Dooley.
“We can’t. We’re on this murder investigation,” I said. Though I wouldn’t have minded becoming a FuSSy pussy myself, to be honest. Since this murder inquiry didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and being a feline AA sponsor was about saving lives, perhaps our energies would be better spentkeeping an eye on our alcohol-inclined humans. Then again, we couldn’t abandon Odelia and Chase, now that they were facing what was without a doubt a pretty tough investigation.
“I think we should get the dogs in on Shanille’s FuSSy project,” said Dooley now. “We all know that unlike cats dogs like to stick to their humans like glue, and if they see that they’re about to take a drink, they can make them stop by putting their paws on their shoulders and bringing their faces very close to theirs.”
I grinned.“I like your thinking, Dooley. Let’s suggest it to Shanille.”
“I think it’s the breath. Dogs have bad breath. And humans can’t stand bad breath. So when a dog breathes into their face, they will always associate the terrible smell of the dog with the taste of alcohol, and it will cure them.”
“It’s not a bad theory,” I said. “Reminds me of Pavlov’s dogs.”
“Do they have smelly breath, too?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if they had. We should tell Odelia. Maybe she can write an article about it, and maybe even get it accepted as a new AA step.”
“Step thirteen: every time you want to have a drink, smell your dog’s breath.” He became animated. “It’s going to revolutionize the treatment of alcohol addiction, Max, I just know it will.”
“They’ll call this thirteenth step the Dooley Step,” I said with a smile.
“Ooh, I’d like that. My contribution to the world. Maybe I’ll win a Nobel Prize!”
“I’ll bet you will. For outstanding work in physics. Or chemistry. Or physiology or medicine. Maybe you’ll even win all of them!” After all, alcoholism touches on all of those disciplines.
“And peace, Max. Without drunks the world would be a much more peaceful place. No more noisy people waking you up in the middle of the night.” But then his face fell. “There’s only one problem. Where am I going to put five Nobel Prizes? I don’t have a nightstand.”
“I’m sure Odelia will make room on hers.”
“What are you guys talking about?” asked Odelia.
“The Nobel Prizes Dooley is going to win,” I said. “For coming up with a revolutionary new way to treat alcohol addiction.”
Odelia turned to us.“Dad told me about his close encounter with Brutus yesterday. How he made his hair turn white.”
“Wasn’t Tex’s hair white already?” said Dooley.
“I mean, even whiter than it already was. Who came up with this idea to use cats as AA sponsors?”
“Shanille,” I said.
“Understandable,” Odelia nodded. “After what happened to Father Reilly. That must have really shaken her.” She suddenly turned serious. “If I ever start showing signs of addiction, promise me you’ll be as tough on me as Shanille is on Francis?”
“You’ll never become an addict,” I said. “You’re not the type.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said our human. “We all have our weaknesses. Mine, as it happens, is chocolate,” she added with a wink.
Dooley blinked at this, then nodded thoughtfully.“Understood,” he said.