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For make no mistake: Eric might be the meekest, kindest man on the planet, but he was also determined to make a go at playing Cotton Karat. Even though he loved his job, it hadnÆt escaped his attention that here was the opportunity of a lifetime: the opportunity to make a great deal of money.

He could buy a house in the suburbs. He could get a decent car. He could take Maisie on the kind of holiday she deserved, instead of taking her camping again. In other words: if he played his cards right, this unusual request could completely turn their life around.

He entered the barn where the ducks were kept and wondered why they were meeting here. ItÆs not as if he didnÆt have a perfectly nice condo where they could meet.

The odor of the ducks filled his nostrils and he grimaced. All around him, there was a kind of soft quacking, produced by the thousands of ducks gathered in the barn. Subdued light filtered in through grimy windows, and since he was afraid to make his presence known, and hadnÆt brought his phone or a flashlight, his well-shod right foot suddenly trod in something soft and squishy that he instantly knew was duck dung.

Yuck.

Sidestepping the first turd, he stepped in another turd with his other foot, to even things out.

Double yuck.

One nice thing about being Cotton were the fine clothes the man wore. HeÆd been granted access to CottonÆs wardrobe, and he had to admit that whatever his faults were, the guy had taste. He checked his expensive watch and frowned when he noted the time.

ôWhere isùö he started to mutter, when suddenly he heard the sound of a footfall behind him. But when he whirled around to face the person, suddenly pain shot through the back of his head, a pain so sharp and unexpected that he cried out in agony.

And as he sank down to his knees, the last thought that passed through his mind was that now his five-thousand-dollar Tom Ford pants were going to be ruined, too.

Chapter 8

I woke up early again the next morning. Once again a loud scream tore me from a pleasant dream about a soft couch and a favorite blanket.

ôDooley!ö Odelia yelled, and immediately I was wide awake.

I searched around, fearing the worst, but when my gaze encountered my friendÆs, and he looked back at me guiltily but very obviously alive and well, I let out a sigh of relief.

ôWhy!ö Odelia cried. ôJust tell me why!!!ö

I frowned when I took in the scene. On OdeliaÆs pillow this time no mouse, thank God. But when I looked closer, I saw that a tiny feathered thing had found its way thither. I had to really approach to discover what the little present was that Dooley had picked out for our human.

It was a bird. A tiny bird, but still a bird.

ôI-I found it lying outside,ö Dooley explained timidly. ôAnd I thought youÆd enjoy the present.ö

ôWhat is it?ö asked Chase, yawning. Then he frowned. ôIs thatà a bird?ö

ôIt is!ö Odelia said. She was sitting bolt upright in bed and had folded her arms across her chest and was giving Dooley a look that brooked no contest. ôWell? IÆm waiting for an explanation.ö

ôItÆs my USP!ö Dooley said, a little lamely, I thought.

ôYour what?ö

ôMy USP. Max is the brains of this family, Brutus the brawn, Harriet the beauty, and I like to bring you little presents. ItÆs what cats do,ö he added helplessly. ôItÆs what I do.ö

ôWell, I want you stop doing it, Dooley. I want you to stop bringing me little presents in the morning, especially if they consist of dead mice and dead birds!ö

ôDid Dooley kill a bird?ö asked Chase with a note of concern to his voice.

ôI didnÆt kill it,ö said Dooley. ôIt was already dead.ö

A worm now came poking its head to the surface of the dead birdÆs chest and both Odelia and Chase cried out in horror. It wasnÆt unlike that chestburster scene inAlien, only on a much smaller scale, of course.

ôLooks like this bird has been dead a couple of days,ö Chase remarked dryly.

ôJust get rid of it, will you?ö said his wife.

ôWant me to bury it, like I buried the mouse?ö

ôYes, please do!ö said Odelia, sounding out of sorts.

Then again, it probably isnÆt a pleasant sensation to find a dead bird on your pillow first thing in the morning.

ôI thought youÆd enjoy the present,ö said Dooley dejectedly.

ôWell, I donÆt,ö said Odelia in a voice that brooked no contest.

And as we watched, the whole ritual started anew: after Chase had found a box appropriate for the mortal remains of the bird to be buried in, Odelia tore off the cover of her pillow, then tore off the cover of the duvet, and finally shoved covers and pillow and duvet into the washing machine, giving the knob a vicious twist as she did.

ôLooks like that didnÆt hit the spot,ö said Dooley finally.

ôNo, it clearly did not,ö I agreed with him.

ôWell, IÆll just have to keep looking for my USP.ö

ôNo, Dooley, you donÆt,ö I said, but the mulish look on his face told me that I could argue until the cows came home, it was no good. He was going to look for his USP if it killed him. Or us. Then again, dead mice and birds probably arenÆt a health hazard. Or are they?