“I caught Tex on three different occasions,” said Brutus, shaking his head. “Yesterday he tried to sneak a drink from the fridge, and this morning he actually dropped by the liquor store when he thought I wasn’t looking. And finally he called Wilbur and asked him to deliver a six-pack to the office. But from what I could gather Wilbur has instituted an alcohol ban on all AA members.”
“But I thought AA members were supposed to be anonymous?” asked Dooley.
“Not in this town, they’re not,” said Brutus with a grin. “You know what Hampton Cove is like. If it’s news, it will travel—and fast!”
“Being an alcoholic is hardly news,” I said.
“Depends who it is,” said Brutus. “Ever since Father Reilly joined up, there’s been a lot more scrutiny.”
“He should have gone to an AA meeting in Happy Bays,” said Harriet. “That way he could have stayed anonymous. Now the whole town knows about him.”
“Poor Father Reilly,” said Dooley. “He’s a Famous Alcoholic now. An FA.”
“Oh, and just so you know,” said Harriet, “Shanille wanted to let you know that cat choir has been canceled until further notice. FuSSy takes precedence.”
“What?!” I cried. “But I like cat choir. It’s my way to unwind!”
“I guess you’ll have to unwind some other way,” said Harriet. “Or don’t you agree that helping our poor humans stay sober and healthy is more important?”
“I guess so,” I said, but I think she could tell that I didn’t. Not really.
“Oh, and also,” said Brutus, “dog choir has decided to join the fight. So Rufus and Fifi and all of their friends have also started their own FuSSy team.”
“It won’t be called FuSSy, though,” I said. “Will it?”
“They’re calling it CaSSy,” said Harriet proudly. “Which stands for—”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Canine Sponsor System.”
“Exactly! FuSSy and CaSSy to the rescue, you guys!”
“But no more cat choir,” I said morosely.
“Oh, will you stop fussing already!”
“Very funny,” I muttered.
CHAPTER 42
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
Dooley and I decided to head into town anyway. Maybe there were still some cats who were going to get together—just for old time’s sake. Not all cats’ pet parents are alcoholics, you see. Some of them drink coffee or soda.
I felt a little downcast not only because cat choir had been canceled, but also because of the state of our investigation. Clearly we weren’t getting anywhere fast, and it was affecting my mood.
We passed into the backyard, and from somewhere nearby sounds of cussing came. When we took a peek through the hedge, we saw that it was Kurt Mayfield, our next-door neighbor, and his shirtfront was awash with an effervescent substance that our powerful noses ascertained could only be beer. On the grass an empty can of Heineken lay, the final remnants of the fermented brew leaking into the ground and no doubt soon giving an earthworm delirium tremens.
“What did you have to go and do that for!” Kurt cried in dismay.
But Fifi merely winked at us, then whispered,“CaSSy to the rescue!”
We passed through the hole in the hedge and into Marge and Tex’s backyard, wanting to take a gander at the food bowls in Marge’s kitchen. Before one sets out on a long walk, it’s important to strengthen the inner cat with plenty of grub, you see. But when we got there, loud sounds of a quarrel reached our ears. It sounded like Ted and Marcie Trapper, and when we hurried in that direction, we saw that two wine glasses had been smashed on the patio floor, a red liquid spreading out. On Ted’s shirt, the same red liquid was creating a big stain that bloomed out across the man’s chest.
“Salt!” Marcie cried. “Or that will never come out!”
“My good shirt!” Ted bleated. “My very best shirt!”
Rufus, apparently the instigator of the incident, sat on the floor looking as cool as Clint. He was actually licking his butt, not a care in the world. Then he must have spotted us, for he gave us a grin.“The alcohol ban is in effect, you guys.”
“I can see that,” I said, as Marcie came hurrying out of the house carrying a plastic container of salt. She then started dumping it on her husband’s chest and rubbing it into the red spot, with Ted whining all the while about his nice clean shirt that was now for sure ruined—and it was allRufus’s fault!
We decided not to stick around for the sequel. Somehow it didn’t interest me all that much to know if Marcie would be able to get Ted’s shirt spotlessly clean again. Some mysteries simply aren’t deep enough to plumb.
So we moved along, and made the trek into town.
“Maybe we should have joined FuSSy, Max,” said Dooley. “It looks like a lot of fun.”
“It looks like a lot of trouble,” I said. “Not to mention those humans are going to strike back at some point. You can’t separate man from his drink, Dooley. Somehow they will always find a way.”
“But we’re clever, Max. Cleverer than our humans.”
“That may be so, but they have something we don’t have.”
“What is that?”