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“No, I’m fine,” said Elsa, nibbling her piece of cheese daintily, while stretched out on my favorite pillow, which I’d gratefully offered her.

“Do you want to watch some television?” asked Dooley. “An episode of Tom and Jerry, maybe?” He turned to me, and explained, “Just to get her in the right frame of mind.”

I nodded seriously.“Good thinking, Dooley. Mindset is everything.”

“I’m fine, you guys,” said Elsa with a laugh. “Stop fussing.”

I’d more or less hoped that she would simply sweep into the place, talk to the mice like a Dutch uncle—or, as in this case, a murine aunt—and we could wrap the whole thing up before sunset. But Elsa was obviously one of those mice who liked to do things properly. With forethought and careful planning.

And she was right, of course. No general goes into battle without a good meal and a good night’s rest, and Elsa was no different.

“If you want I can give you a foot massage,” Harriet offered now.

“Or a back rub?” Brutus suggested.

“I’m fine!” Elsa said, and munched down the final remaining piece of cheese with visible relish. She wiped her mouth and looked around. “Nice place you got here. I really like what you’ve done with it.”

“Yeah, Odelia has great taste,” I said. “She’s the decorator in our family. Chase hasn’t really made his mark yet since he moved in.” Except for the gym equipment he’d lugged upstairs, of course, but that was more of an eyesore than an improvement, to be honest.

“So… do you have a strategy in mind?” asked Harriet.

“Nah, I think I’ll just wing it,” said Elsa, licking her paws.

“What do you want us to do?” asked Brutus. “Or do you prefer to go in alone?”

“Actually I do think I’ll go it alone. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh, no, by all means,” I said, happy that I wasn’t going to have to face that hostile pack of mice again.

“One very important thing, though,” said Elsa, stifling a yawn.

“Anything,” I said eagerly.

“I’m going to need your written authorization to deal with the matter of the mice.” When we merely stared at her, she added, more slowly, “Power of attorney? I am going in there as your official representative after all, so this needs to be official all the way.”

“Oh-kay,” I said. I didn’t want to point out to Elsa that cats can’t write, and that it would be a little hard for us to draw up a letter of attorney just like that, but I was frankly prey to that strange awkwardness that comes upon a person—or cat—when they feel indebted to another person—or mouse. “Um…”

“Though in your case,” Elsa went on with a little frown, “it would probably be best if Odelia signed the papers, absolving me of all responsibility if something goes wrong. She is, after all, the homeowner, and you’re merely guests in this house, am I right?”

“Um, I guess so,” I said. I’d never looked at it that way before, but Elsa made a valid point. Cats, as a rule, can’t actually own a property, since they don’t exactly earn a living, and banks are therefore often reluctant to set them up with a mortgage.

“So you want us to ask Odelia to sign a paper absolving you of all responsibility?” asked Harriet, in an attempt to make things clear.

“Yeah, I think that would be for the best,” said Elsa, settling back with a contented sigh. “Now if you could give me some of that cream cheese I saw in the fridge, that would be just swell.”

While Dooley went in search of the cream cheese, I asked the question I was sure was on everyone’s lips: “Do you think something could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure it won’t,” said Elsa. “But you never know. And my mama always said better to be safe than sorry. So it’s best if we do this by the book, don’t you agree, Max?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I said quickly. “Yeah, I’m all for doing things by the book.” It did strike me that if we needed Odelia to sign a power of attorney it would push back the event we’d all been looking forward to with so much anticipation: the great evacuation. Then again, Elsa was absolutely right. If you’re going to do something, better do it right.

So while Elsa enjoyed her cream cheese, I went in search of Odelia, whose signature had suddenly become very important indeed.

Chapter 31

Vesta was scribbling something in her little notebook.“So what did they look like, these thieves?” she asked, directing a penetrating glance at Ted Trapper, who was rubbing his tummy for some reason.

“Like I already told you, I never saw them. I only heard them.”

“Mh,” said Vesta censoriously. She liked her witnesses more helpful than this, but then beggars can’t be choosers and Ted, even though he was a lousy witness, was also one of her only witnesses. “So what did they sound like?” she asked.