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“There are no killer fleas, Dooley,” I insisted. “If there were, don’t you think the streets would be littered with dead cats by now?”

Just then, we spotted a dead cat lying in the gutter and Dooley squeaked,“I knew it! I knew Kingman was right!”

But when we moved closer, I saw it wasn’t a dead cat but a dead opossum. And when I gave it a tentative nudge with my paw, it opened one eye, then quickly closed it again.

“I know you’re just pretending,” I told the opossum.

“I’m not pretending,” said the opossum. “I’m really dead.”

“Dead opossums don’t talk.”

This seemed to have stumped him, for he opened both eyes now.“Is the coast clear?” he asked in a low voice.

I shrugged.“The coast is always clear.” I really don’t understand that expression.

He breathed a sigh of relief and lifted his head.“I thought I saw a human.” Then he happened to glance across the street, uttered a high shriek, and dropped dead again.

“You’re in downtown Hampton Cove,” I told him. “There’re humans everywhere.”

“Just like there are killer fleas everywhere,” said Dooley somberly.

“For the hundredth time, there are no killer fleas,” I said emphatically.

“Only there are.”

“Not.”

“Kingman knows!”

“Kingman is nuts!”

“Look, if you’re going to keep yapping like this I’m gonna go ahead and move to the next gutter,” said the opossum. “How can I play dead with all this yapping going on?”

“Tell him there are no killer fleas,” I told the opossum.

“There are no killer fleas,” said the opossum. “There. Happy now?”

“You’re just saying that to get rid of me,” said Dooley.

“You’re right. He’s right,” he told me. “I do want to get rid of him. Both of youse, actually. Then again, every idiot knows killer fleas don’t exist. Who put that crazy idea in your noggin?”

“Kingman,” we both said in unison.

“Kingman as in the fat cat that squats in front of the General Store?”

I nodded.“He seems to think the Deep State sent a limo to Hampton Cove that contains a cat that infests the local cat population with killer fleas as a test case for a national pandemic to occur at some point in the near future that will kill all cats everywhere.”

The opossum, contrary to its desire to remain inconspicuous, emitted a raucous laugh.“And you morons believe that load of crap? Cats are even dumber than I thought!”

“Dooley believes that load of crap—I don’t,” I clarified.

“I’m starting to have my doubts,” Dooley said now. It’s never fun to be insulted by an opossum, and it appeared this particular opossum was having better luck convincing Dooley Kingman was an idiot than I was.

“Mind you, getting rid of all cats nationwide is something I can only applaud. Then again, since it’s a bogus notion, there’s not much sense yapping about it. So why don’t you both move right along and I can go back to doing what I do best: playing dead opossum.”

“But what about the limo?” asked Dooley. “It sounds so… specific.”

“Oh, there is a limo out there, all right,” said the opossum. “I’ve seen it. But no killer fleas, unfortunately.”

“You’ve seen the limo?” I asked.

The opossum sighed.“If I tell you will you finally go away?”

“I promise we’ll go away and you can do what you do best,” I said.

“Every night, a limo passes through town. Its windows are tinted, its lights are dimmed, and inside is a lustful roving animal, hunting the streets of Hampton Cove in search of females. Once he’s set his eyes on a particular prey, the limo driver pulls over, the door opens, and Limo Cat inviteshis clueless victim into the limo. And since all cats are idiots, all cats accept the offer, step into the limo, and are never seen or heard from again.” When he saw the horrified looks on our faces, he laughed. “That last part’s not true. I made that up. But I did see that limo pull over a couple of nights ago, and I did see a cat get in and the limo take off. What I didn’t see were killer fleas or government spooks or any other crazy stuff.”

“So… where did you see that limo, exactly?” I asked.

But I was talking to a dead opossum. Or a method actor playing a dead opossum.

Chapter 5

We met up with Brutus and Harriet on the roof of The Hungry Pipe, one of Hampton Cove’s cat population’s favorite hangouts, mainly because the owner likes to store his restaurant’s trash on the roof before transferring it to the alley below for collection.

“Nothing!” Brutus said when we’d finally navigated the fire escape and arrived up top. “We talked to everyone we know up and down the street and they all told us the same thing: whoever or whatever caused this infestation will always remain a secret.”

“No, it won’t,” I told him, and proceeded to clue him and Harriet in on the little secret Kingman had shared.

“The opossum said that,” said Harriet, not concealing her disbelief. “A dead opossum. Seriously.”

“It wasn’t dead,” said Dooley. “It was just pretending to be dead, like opossums do.”