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“If they want the mouse problem taken care of, they should do it themselves,” said Harriet stubbornly. “We’re cats, not hired assassins.”

“It’s common knowledge that cats catch mice,” I explained.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It isn’t!”

“I’m not a killer, Max,” said Dooley. “And I don’t want anything bad to happen to that sweet little mouse.”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to the mouse either!” I said. “But it needs to go.”

“So what if some nice Mickey Mouse chose Odelia’s basement as its new home?” said Harriet. “Odelia should be happy. She should be glad. She should roll out the welcome mat! A new little friend for us to play with, and a source of joy for the Poole family.”

“The mouse has been stealing food,” I pointed out.

“Because it’s hungry!”

“Maybe Odelia could feed it?” Dooley suggested it. “I wouldn’t mind sharing some of my kibble with a sweet little Mickey Mouse.”

“It’s not a sweet little Mickey Mouse!” I said. “It’s a thief, and if there’s one there’s probably others.”

“I don’t see the problem,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe we should go and talk to the mouse,” Brutus now suggested.

“Exactly!” cried Harriet. “If Odelia really wants that mouse to behave, we should talk to the mouse and make it see reason. Tell it to say no to stealing. Reform. But then we also have to talk to Odelia and make her see reason, too. Tell her to adopt the mouse.”

I rarely put my paws to my head but I did so now.“Adopt the mouse!” I cried.

“Why not? The Pooles love cats, why can’t they learn to love mice, too?”

I leaned in.“Because they specifically told us to get rid of them!”

“We could always ask that sweet little mouse to move,” Dooley now suggested. “That way we don’t commit mousicide, and the Pooles will still be happy.”

It seemed like an acceptable compromise, though I could tell Harriet wasn’t entirely happy. “I’m still going to have a crack at Odelia and make her see the error of her mouse-hating ways,” she said now.

“I think you’re wrong,” I said, drawing a hissed hush from Brutus. Never tell Harriet she’s wrong, he clearly meant to say. But I was getting a little worked up myself.

Harriet drew her nose closer to mine, her eyes like slits.“And when have I ever been wrong about something?” she asked now.

She was going full Terminator on me now, and I almost expected her to shed her white furry skin and reveal the metal exoskeleton underneath.

“Okay, fine,” I said, relenting. “But let’s first have a chat with the mouse. And then you can have a crack at Odelia and the others.”

“Great,” said Harriet, smiling now that she’d gotten her way. “Let me talk to the mouse first, though. I’m sure I can convince it to play ball.”

“What ball, Harriet?” asked Dooley, interested.

“Any ball!”

“You would expect that with four cats on the premises this mouse would have chosen another house to make its home,” said Brutus.

“Maybe mice are not that smart?” Dooley suggested.

“Oh, I think mice are very smart,” said Harriet. “Just look at Jerry. Jerry tricks Tom every time.”

We all fell silent. In feline circles mentioningTom and Jerry is considered sacrilege. A cat consistently being bested by a silly little mouse? That show has given cats a bad name. It has made people see us as lazy, dumb, vindictive, vicious and downright nasty. No, Messrs. Hanna and Barbera have a lot to answer for, let me tell you that.

We all moved back into the house, single file, then passed through the pet flap. As usual I was the last one to pass through. There’s a silent understanding among the Poole household cats that I always walk through the pet flap last. I’m big-boned, you see, and sometimes the flap refuses to cooperate with my particular bone structure. And as this impedes the free passage of my fellow cats, I’m always last. It was so now,and wouldn’t you know it? I got stuck just as I tried to squeeze my midsection through that darn flap.

“Um, you guys?” I now called out. “Can you give a cat a helping paw here, please?”

“Oh, Max, not again!” cried Harriet, sounding exasperated.

“It’s not my fault Odelia keeps feeding us primo grub!” I said.

We’d recently been catnapped, Dooley, Harriet, Brutus and I. In fact the entire cat population of Hampton Cove had been catnapped, and after that, to add insult to injury, we’d all been forced to eat vegetarian for a while, on account of the fact that the local populace had discovered they’d been fed cat and even human meat for a long time, an important ingredient in the local delicacy, the Duffer. The Duffer is—or was—a popular sausage, and its creators had taken a few liberties with food safety laws. As a consequence all of Hampton Cove had gone on a veggie kick, which hadn’t lasted long.

Also, Vena, who is our veterinarian, and who seems to hate cats so much she likes to poke us with needles and pump us full of something called a vaccine, warned Odelia that cats shouldn’t be deprived their daily ration of meat, or else they’ll get sick and die.