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“I’m Jayme,” said Jayme, holding aloft her hand. “But it’s Ziccardi, not Ricardo,” she corrected the very irate-looking lady. Apart from her furious expression, she was really pretty. Long blond hair that had clearly benefited from the attention of a very expensive hairstylist, a nice camel coat, and a Louis Vuitton bag that must have cost a fortune.

“I want a word with you, young lady,” said the woman, and Mr. Cabanes, though clearly not happy with this intrusion, gestured for Jayme to join them outside.

Reluctantly, Jayme did as she was told, and trudged in the direction indicated. The woman and the teacher both left the class, and as she joined them in the hallway, Mr. Cabanes carefully closed the classroom door so they had a certain measure of privacy.

The woman gave her a once-over, her eyes traveling the length of her body, from the top of her head to her shoes and back again. Judging from her foul expression and the fire shooting from her expressive eyes she didn’t like what she saw.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Seventeen,” said Jayme.

“Seventeen!” the woman cried.

“This is Mrs. James,” Mr. Cabanes said, making the introductions. “Veronica James.”

Jayme frowned.“Veronica James, as in…”

“The wife of Dave James, yes,” said the woman as she continued to look at Jayme as if she was a piece of dirt that had accidentally attached itself to her shoe.

“I’m a big admirer of your husband’s work, Mrs. James,” Jayme said.

“Oh, I know,” said the cartoonist’s wife. “I know you’re a big fan.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but I want you to stop seeing my husband, Miss Ricardo.”

“Ziccardi,” she corrected the woman once more.

“What?”

“My name is Jayme Ziccardi, not Ricardo.”

“Oh, don’t get cute with me, young lady. How long has this been going on?”

Jayme stared at the woman in confusion.“Going on?”

“The affair! How long have been sleeping with my husband!”

Jayme blinked.“Sleeping… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know Dave has been paying for your classes. And I know he’s got big plans for you. So let me ask you again: how long have you been sleeping with my husband?”

“But I haven’t,” she said. “I’ve never even met your husband.”

“Jayme is only seventeen, Mrs. James,” said Mr. Cabanes.

“I know! Why do you think I’ve come down here in person to find out what’s going on!” Dave James’s wife straightened, and gave Jayme the kind of look a gardener reserves for the offensive slugs assaulting his best and most promising roses. “I’m only going to say this once: stay away from my husband, Miss Ricardo.” She accentuated these words by poking her finger in Jayme’s chest, causing Mr. Cabanes to make soft protesting noises.

And before Jayme had recovered from the shock the woman’s words had caused, Veronica James turned on her expensively shod heels and stalked off, her feet click-clacking on the checkered stone floor until she had turned a corner and was gone.

Jayme’s mouth, which was still open, now closed as she slowly turned to her teacher. “What just happened, sir?”

Her teacher regarded her with a mixture of compassion and contrition, then finally said,“I think you and I need to have a little talk, Jayme.”

Chapter 1

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the concept of the Lazy Saturday. In fact when Chase told Odelia how he enjoyed their lazy Saturdays it was my introduction to this fascinating phenomenon. Then again I think I may be excused for my lack of awareness of this particular human habit, since for catsevery day is a lazy day. Though we don’t like to use the L-word. We simply call it common sense.

“What are you reading?” asked Odelia, who occupied one part of the couch while her husband occupied the other half. Both were reading the same newspaper, only divided into different sections, with Odelia having taken charge of the section dedicated to international news while Chase had decided to immerse himself in sports and comics.

“Tollie the Turtle,” said Chase with a grin, indicating that he liked what he saw.

“Oh, I love that cartoon,” said Odelia.

“Comic strip,” I corrected her.

She glanced down at me.“What’s that, Max?”

“Tollie the Turtle is not a cartoon,” I said, “but what is commonly termed a comic strip. A cartoon is a single drawing, whereas a comic strip is a sequential series of drawings.”

“What is he saying?” asked Chase as he turned the page.

“He’s just showing off,” said Odelia as she devoted herself to an article about some trouble in the Middle East.

“I’m not showing off,” I said. “I’m merely making sure you use the correct term. Comic strips are a national treasure, especially Tollie the Turtle.”

“What’s Tollie the Turtle, Max?” asked Dooley, who was lying next to me on the carpet, most of his body concealed underneath the coffee table, while only his nose was visible. Like all cats, he likes to provide himself with some measure of cover, just in case some big bird might swoop in and try to abscond with him.