Dooley could imagine dozens of worms moving around inside his gut, and when he glanced down at his belly, he could almost see them, wriggling underneath the skin!“G-get them out of there!” he cried. “Milo! Help me—you need to help me get rid out of them!”
“I want to help you,” said Milo earnestly. “But Max told me not to.”
“Max told you what?!”
“Yeah, he said you’re such a crybaby it’s better just to leave you to your own devices. He said he’s tried to help you out before, but you end up making life a living hell for him, so nowadays he simply prefers not to tell you anything at all, and hope you won’t notice that you’re sick and…” He grimaced. “Maybe I should just follow Max’s advice.”
“Tell me!”
“I don’t know, Dooley. Max said I shouldn’t bother. Then again, I’m of the opinion that a true friend always tells his friends the truth—even when it’s just… terrible, horrible.”
Dooley stared at this newfound friend of his.“Tell me the truth, Milo. Just… tell me.” Milo placed a paw on Dooley’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. One of those earnest, heartfelt looks. The kind of look a real friend gave his best friend and compatriot. And Dooley remembered the cold look Max had given him and he knew. Max was not his friend. No matter what Gran said. Max was simply a liar. “Just… tell me?” he whispered.
“You’re dying, Dooley. This is the end of the line for you, pal. I give you two more days—three, tops—and then it’s bye-bye, baby for Dooley.”
“Oh, no!” he cried. “But-but is there nothing I can do? Milo—please!”
Milo looked doubtful, like a doctor after giving his patient the final verdict. Then he softened.“You need to get rid of those worms, buddy. Either you live, or those worms do. Only one of you can live. Just like Harry Potter and his old chum Voldemort, remember?”
“How-how do I get rid of these Voldemort worms?”
“There’s only one way.” He squeezed Dooley’s shoulder. “Cat Snax.”
“Max’s favorite snack.”
“That’s right. Cat Snax contain a secret ingredient that worms hate. The more Cat Snax you eat, the greater your chance of survival.”
“But Max hates it when we snack on his Cat Snax.”
“Come on, Dooley. This is do or die, buddy. If you don’t get rid of those worms you’ll be dead inside the day.”
“The day! You just said two or three days!”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Cat Snax,” said Dooley thoughtfully.
“Cat Snax. And you need to scoot.”
“Scoot?”
“Wipe your tush across the floor.”
“Why?”
Milo sighed.“Isn’t it obvious? When those Cat Snax kick in, those worms are flushed out of your system. But they hang on for dear life, digging their little pincers into your butt. So you need to boogie-woogie those suckers. Crush them and turn them into poop smears.”
“Poop smears,” repeated Dooley, thinking that this sounded like music to his ears.
“Yeah, so don’t you go poopy doopy in the litter box now, you hear? Those blood-sucking parasites love litter. They snack on that litter. And then they jump right back onto your fur, burrow their way through your skin, and you’re right back where you started.”
“You mean I have to… poop on the floor?”
“The floor, the rug, the bed, heck, you can poop on the kitchen table for all I care. As long as you scoot.”
“Scoot.”
“Scoot like your life depends on it, Dooley.” He nodded seriously. “Cause it does.”
Chapter 12
I’d been wandering along aimlessly, and finally reached downtown and I still had no idea where I was going. The idea that Dooley had been saying those horrible things about me, and so had Brutus and Harriet, had cut me to the quick. How could they even think that stuff? Me, in love with Harriet. Or possessive of Odelia. Or the dumbest and ugliest cat in Hampton Cove. So ugly, in fact, that no female cat had ever shown an interest in me.
A sneaking suspicion now entered my mind. The suspicion that Brutus and Harriet were right. That I really was that dumb and that ugly. I mean, why else was I still single while everyone else was involved with someone? The thought had never occurred to me before.
And as I finally reached my destination, Wilbur Vickery’s General Store on Main Street, I looked around for Kingman, Wilbur’s plump piebald. To my elation he was right where he always was: holding forth to three female cats who hung on his every word.
“Hey, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting.
Then, to my surprise, the three females gave me a furtive glance then stalked off without even so much as a hello.
“And hello to you, too,” I said as I stared after them.
“Hey, Max,” said Kingman. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little… out of sorts.”
“Did those girls say something about me?” I asked, still staring at the three females sashaying off, their heads close together and clearly sharing a tasty morsel of gossip.
“Nope. Why would they?”
“Just wondering,” I said, frowning to myself.
“Did you hear about that murder case?” Kingman asked, changing the subject.
“What murder case? What are you talking about?”
“TheNational Star dude that got smothered in duck poop?”
“Duck sauce?” I asked, figuring I’d misheard.