“They control the purse strings, and so they control our food supply. What if they get fed up and decide to put all of those FuSSy and CaSSy members on a diet? There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth, Dooley, mark my words. And a lot of it.”
And we didn’t even have to go far to see my observation borne out. We passed by the General Store, hoping to catch Kingman and convince him to head to the park with us, or maybe just shoot the breeze. But when we got to the back, there he was, looking forlorn. And when we asked him what was going on, he said that the pet flap was locked.
“Wilbur locked me out!” he lamented. “He had just poured a beer into a glass and was going to drink it in front of the television. So naturally I jumped up onto the couch and swiped the glass from his hand. And then when he grabbed another beer, and this time didn’t even bother with a glass, I swiped that one from his hand as well. He looked at me for a moment, sort of stunned. But finally he got himself a third can, popped the top, and so I did it again. And that’s when he got mad and kicked me out of the house.” He gave us an intensely sad look. “He kicked me out of my own house, you guys! And then he locked the pet flap. Locked it! With my food still inside! And my nice warm blanket. Now what am I going to do!”
“Now you’re going to wait until Wilbur has a change of heart,” I said.
“I’m not touching that man’s beer again, that much I can tell you. If he wants to get drunk, that’s fine with me. Locking the pet flap? It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is!”
“Maybe you can call the Secretary-General of the United Nations,” Dooley suggested. “And tell him that a crime has been committed against humanity.”
“Not exactly against humanity, though,” I said. “Against catdom, maybe.”
“I’m sure you have a case, Kingman,” said Dooley.
“I don’t care!” the big cat wailed. “I want my home back!” And at this point he lost all pretense of dignity and independence by pounding on the pet flap. “Wilbur, let me in!!!” He actually reminded me of a character in the Flintstones.
I patted his shoulder consolingly, and we watched him jump up onto the windowsill, looking into the kitchen, which was on the ground floor.
“I don’t see him, but I know he’s there,” he said. “He’s ignoring me, isn’t he? Wilbuuuuuuur!” he yelled as he started patting the glass. “I won’t do it again!”
It was a sad scene to see one as strong and independent as Kingman being reduced to this. And a harbinger of things to come if these dry advocates kept this up.
“He’s going to hurt his paws,” said Dooley as we watched the spectacle. Unfortunately for Kingman Wilbur wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, for the pet flap remained closed for business. So finally he came back down from his perch.
“If you want you can walk home with us,” I said. “There’s plenty of food in our bowls, and you can have my favorite spot if you want. You can even sleep at the foot of the bed. We’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Thanks, Max. That’s very kind of you. But it’s not the same, is it?”
I knew what he meant. If I had to spend the night at the foot of Wilbur’s bed I probably wouldn’t like it either. There’s simply no place like home, is there?
“If only Wilbur had kids,” Kingman lamented. “Then he wouldn’t have such a hard heart.”
“I don’t think Wilbur is hard-hearted,” I said. “I think he wants to have a drink in peace, without having to clean beer stains out of his carpet or his clothes.”
But Kingman wasn’t listening. “If he had kids, he would have grandkids by now, and his heart wouldn’t have turned to stone. He would be a grandpa, and would spoil those kids rotten. He’d do anything for them, the way grandparents do. And then he wouldn’t lock me out, same way he wouldn’t lock those kids out.”
And as he kept yammering on about Wilbur and the man’s heart of stone, something seemed to click inside my big noggin. It had been a long slog, this investigation, but for the first time I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or did I?
CHAPTER 43
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“Are you sure about this, Max?” asked Odelia for the hundredth time.
“Let’s say I’m almost sure,” I said, hedging my bets.
“If we do this and you’re wrong…”
The implication was obvious: if we accused the wrong person, there would be hell to pay, and perhaps even Uncle Alec wouldn’t be able to protect Chase from certain disgrace and perhaps even dismissal.
“These are some pretty important people,” Odelia continued.
“Okay, look,” I said. “If I’m right, you’re going to save lives. If I’m wrong, you simply tell them that you’re members of the AA and have fallen off the wagon.”
“Very funny, Max,” said Odelia.