“You’re right, Max,” said Harriet. “In fact that’s exactly how I feel about it.”
Our words didn’t miss their effect. At least temporarily. But then Brutus said, “I still think we should get first dibs on Desmond. We discovered that he’s the killer, and so we should get another crack at the guy.”
Okay, so maybe it’s a good thing that cats can’t actually talk to witnesses. Otherwise a lot of cases would probably get thrown out of court!
That night, as we roamed the Happy Home hallways, I’m happy to report that nothing much happened. No more residents were being murdered in their beds—or died of natural causes—and the residents that we did see were all regulars. Kate was wandering around, muttering something about being late for work, and as we passed Ester Teasle’s room, we could see that she was still up, even though the hour was late.
The woman was gazing at a picture of her grandkids, and I wondered why they still hadn’t come to visit the poor woman.
“Maybe her family died,” Dooley suggested now. “And maybe she doesn’t remember, and she thinks they’re still alive. You know, like Kate thinking she’s still a schoolteacher and has to get ready for work?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “Though she doesn’t strike me as confused.”
“No, she seems lucid,” Harriet agreed. “And I think it’s terrible what her son and his new wife are doing. Cutting her off like that, and refusing to come and see her.”
“But what about those grandkids?” asked Brutus. “Why don’t they come and visit? They don’t need their dad’s permission, do they?”
“Maybe they fell out or something,” I said. “I’m sure Ester hasn’t told us the whole story. Maybe they had some kind of row—possibly over the fact that Ester’s son decided to get married again. And now they’re not on speaking terms anymore. It happens.”
“It does,” Harriet said. “Sometimes families fall out over the silliest things, and end up not talking to each other again for years. Sometimes forever. It’s all very strange.”
We directed a compassionate glance at Ester, and could see that she was really suffering from this separation.
Moving on, we looked in on Bob, who was sitting in his armchair, staring into space.
“He’s probably thinking about his daughter,” said Dooley. “All he does is think about his daughter. And his daughter’s fianc?.”
We saw how Bob took his phone, looked up a number, then put it down again.
Clearly he was still wondering whether to follow Gran’s advice and call his daughter’s ex-fianc?. It was a hard decision, of course: did he want to get involved in what was clearly a private matter, potentially upsetting his daughter when she found out he’d been talking to this Pete person behind her back? Or did he simply leave things alone, with Sharon possibly never finding happiness. And as he picked up his phone again, then grimaced and put it down, I made a mental note to tell Gran to give the man another little nudge in the right direction.
Though what was the right direction in this case? Hard to know!
“Human relationships are tough,” said Dooley.
“Yes, they are,” said Harriet with feeling.
33
The next morning, we were all in the breakfast room enjoying a nice breakfast—the humans seated on chairs and eating from tables, and the four of us on the floor and eating from our bowls.
“It’s not actually fair when you get right down to it, is it?” said Brutus suddenly.
“What isn’t, sugar plum?” asked Harriet, licking her lips with relish.
“Well, they’re on chairs, and we are on the floor. Why not the other way around? Why can’t we sit on those chairs and eat from those tables? And the humans can sit on the floor and eat from our bowls? I mean, it’s a form of discrimination, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s much easier to eat from a bowl that’s on the floor,” I pointed out. “Imagine having to eat from a bowl on a table, and having to sit in a chair. It’s all very uncomfortable.”
“That’s not the point, though is it, Max?” said Brutus. “The point is that we should be given a choice. Table or floor. And not like things are now, when everyone simply ‘assumes’ that cats have to be on the floor, and humans have to be at the table.”
“I think it’s probably tough for Gran to eat from the floor,” Dooley mused. “I think she has something called lumbago, and if she eats from the floor she’ll be in a lot of pain.”
“Also, humans aren’t used to licking their food from a bowl,” said Harriet. “Their tongues aren’t trained for that kind of activity. They might strain something.”
“Okay, I hear you,” said Brutus, speaking with exaggerated patience, “and I appreciate the point you’re trying to make, but that’s all irrelevant! It’s the principle of the thing.”
“I like eating from my bowl,” said Dooley. “It’s exactly at the right height for me. If I have to eat from a table I’m sure I’d drop most of my food on the floor. And then I’ll have to get down from the chair and eat it from the floor anyway.”