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“Look, nobody wants to read about a stupid turtle. They’re dumb creatures that crawl around and eat lettuce and bugs. But what if he made a cartoon about us? People love cats, so if Dave James managed to become a multimillionaire by drawing turtles, can you imagine what he could do with cats? I’m talking billions, you guys! And since he’d be drawing us, we’d share the profits and start a new life. I’m thinking a ninety-ten split in our favor, since we’d be doing all the work, though of course I’m open to negotiations.”

“I like my old life,” I said.

“Me, too,” said Dooley.

But Brutus, even though I was pretty sure he liked his old life, too, said,“We’re listening.” In the strictest sense of the word that was true, of course.

“Okay,” Harriet said, her eyes bright and shiny now. “So the four of us have had our fair share of exciting adventures, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“So we simply ask Dave James to turn them into an entertaining cartoon and become even bigger than Tollie the Turtle.”

“He’s so funny,” said Dooley. “As old as time—ha ha ha.”

“I don’t think Dave James will agree to create a second daily comic,” I said. “He probably has his hands full with Tollie. Besides, most comic strip artists both write and draw their strip, and Dave James is no exception.”

“Oh, but he can write and draw Harriet the Cat as much as he likes,” said Harriet. “Only I’ll provide him with the inspiration he needs, see?”

“Harriet the Cat?” I asked.

“Sure. Obviously I should star in the cartoon, since this is my idea in the first place. Besides, you all know I was born to be a star, and this could be my big break.”

Well, that part at least was true. Harriet has always suffered from the diva syndrome.

“Why not Harriet, Brutus, Max and Dooley?” asked Brutus.

“Too much of a mouthful,” said Harriet. “No, it has to be Harriet the Cat. Just like it’s Tollie the Turtle and not Tollie and…” She consulted the comic strip and added, “Finkus.”

“Finkus is the little turtle?” asked Brutus.

Harriet nodded.“He’s Tollie’s dimwitted little friend. Dimwitted but lovable.” She patted Dooley’s back. “Great news, Dooley. You can be my Finkus.”

“And who am I going to be?” I asked.

“And me?” asked Brutus.

“We’ll figure it out,” said Harriet. “Or Dave James will. He needs to do something for his ten percent. Besides, he seems to know what he’s doing, otherwise he wouldn’t have managed to turn a dumb turtle into a global phenomenon.”

“Turtles are actually—” Brutus began.

“I know they are, sugar bear,” said Harriet, giving her mate a sweet smile.

And then she gave herself up to thought, and I could see she was already dreaming of a world where Harriet the Cat was the biggest comic strip franchise in existence, with movies, TV shows, and plenty of merchandising, effectively a brand-new global empire.

Just then Gran walked in, and when she found our humans stretched out on the couch, she frowned and said,“Look at this bunch of lazybones. Don’t you got nothing to do?”

“It’s Lazy Saturday, Gran,” said Odelia, as she yawned and placed the final piece of her newspaper on the floor and rubbed her eyes.

“Lazy Saturday? What is the world coming to?” the old lady cried as she raised her arms heavenward. “There’s cars that need to be washed, floors that need to be vacuumed, bathrooms that need to be scrubbed and laundry that needs to be done.” She clapped her hands. “Chop, chop. Let’s get up off your asses and let’s go-go-go!”

Just then, the doorbell chimed, and Odelia reluctantly picked herself up from the couch and shuffled over to the door to open it. She was in yoga pants and a sweater and looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. And since I’m even more curious than I’m lazy, I decided to take a peek myself and see who would dare interrupt Lazy Saturday.

It was Bambi Wiggins, our mailwoman. Turns out not everyone gets to spend their Saturdays being lazy.

“Letter for your hubby,” said Bambi. “Sign here.” So Odelia signed there. For a few moments, both women exchanged the latest gossip, and since nothing they said held any particular interest to me, I returned to the living room, where Harriet was trying to drum up support for her latest scheme.

“Multimillionaire, huh?” said Gran as she held the comic strip section in her hand. “I wouldn’t mind becoming a multimillionaire. You, Chase?”

“Mh”, said Chase, who hadn’t followed the discussion since he doesn’t speak our language.

“Harriet got this great idea about starting a cartoon of our own, featuring her, to replace this lame Tollie the Turtle that’s been in the paper for God knows how long.”

“You want to create a new comic strip?” asked Chase as he stretched his brawny arms.

“Thank you, Chase,” I said. Finally someone who cared about themot juste.

“Sure,” said Gran. “And I for one think we don’t even need this Dave James. Why split the profit if we can do it ourselves and keep all the money?”

“I like your thinking,” said Harriet. But then her face sagged. “Only problem is: nobody in this family knows how to draw.”