Once upon a not so long ago Gran had dated a boy toy—or toy boy—or at least pretended she had, and he’d dumped her. Besides, Wilbur didn’t look like a boy toy to me. He actually looked older than Gran, even though he was younger. Wilbur Vickery runs the General Store, and is also a member of the neighborhood watch Gran operates. I guess sitting in cars together for their regular stakeouts, and going on patrols together must have lit the spark that had led to this unexpected romance.
“If Gran dates Wilbur, and the two of them hit it off, it’s not inconceivable that they’ll want to move in together,” said Harriet. “And when they do, it means she’ll move out.”
That hadn’t occurred to me, or Brutus—or Dooley. “Gran move out? But why!” Dooley cried. Gran is his human, you see, which means if she moves out—he moves out, too!
“It’s only natural that when two people are in love, they want to live together,” Harriet explained with a shrug.
“But can’t they move in next door?” asked Brutus.
“Do you really think Wilbur would want to live under the same roof as Tex and Marge? He’s got his own place, Brutus. And he’ll want to live there with Gran. Have some privacy—like any young couple would.”
“They’re not exactly what I would call a young couple,” I said. “Gran is seventy-five, and Wilbur is probably sixty-eight or so. Not exactly two spring chickens!
“Look, all I’m saying is that things are about to change around here,” said Harriet. “And I think it’s only sensible to be prepared. So when the announcement is made we’re not caught by surprise.” She eyed my friend closely. “And Dooley is ready to move out.”
“But I don’t want to move out!” said Dooley. “I like it here. I don’t want to go and live with Wilbur… and Kingman.”
Kingman is Wilbur’s piebald. He’s very large and very nice, but maybe not the best housemate to have around, especially since he’s something of a ladies’ cat. And ladies’ cats are only interested in finding themselves a wingcat so they can go and chase lady cats together. And let me just say that Dooley is not exactly wingcat material.
“Max, I don’t want to go,” said my friend now, giving me a panicky look. “They can’t make me, can they?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “Gran hasn’t even gone out with Wilbur once. And chances are they won’t hit it off, let alone decide to move in together.”
“If I know humans, though,” said Harriet, “and I think I do, things can move very quickly. First date today, marriage tomorrow, and buying a place of their own the next day.” She cocked an eyebrow at Dooley. “So better start packing up, little buddy. Cause your human might be moving housein exactly three days.”
“Well, she can’t,” said Dooley. “Because in three days Randy will die, and a wedding and a funeral can’t happen on the same day. There’s rules about that kind of thing.”
Little Randy, who’d pricked up his ears at the mention of the word funeral, now came trotting over. “What’s all this about a funeral?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Dooley quickly.
“Your human will do whatever she can to save my human, right?”
“Oh, sure,” said Dooley. “Odelia is the best at what she does. The very best.”
“He’s right,” I said. “If anyone can save your human’s life it’s our human.”
“Good,” said Little Randy. “Cause if Randy dies, I’m sure he’ll ask your human to adopt me. Which means I’d be sticking around indefinitely.” And with these words, he trotted off again, then plunked himself down in the exact same spot he’d vacated.
Dooley gave me a look of alarm.“You know, Max,” he now whispered, “maybe when Gran moves out, and I move out, you can move out, too. That way we’ll still be together—but not here!”
“I heard that!” said Little Randy. “And if you want to get rid of me, cat, all you have to do is save my human from certain death!”
Oh, boy. Suddenly things were getting very complicated, weren’t they?
Chapter 12
Tex found himself in a bit of a pickle. How do you fire your mother-in-law, even if she never shows up for work, and you have every reason in the world to send her packing?
And as he sat down for dinner, along with his wife and Vesta, he was brooding on how to broach the subject all through the degustation of his meatloaf, his fried potatoes, and his onion rings with mustard sauce. To the extent that Marge said at a certain point,“It’s that bad, huh?”
He looked up.“Mh?”
“You’ve said nothing all through dinner, honey. So it must be worse than I thought.”
“Well, that depends,” he said cautiously. For him it would be wonderful not having to work with his unreliable and crusty mother-in-law anymore. For Vesta it would mean taking a pay cut. “But I think it’s all for the best, don’t you?”
“For the best! Don’t you think it’s horrible to have to go at such a young age?”
“Some people go a lot sooner, honey.” In fact he didn’t know anyone who still worked at the age of seventy-five—if you could call what Vesta did work, of course.