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“Then don’t go,” I said. “Tell her you’ll join her later, and then don’t.”

“Good advice! Snow pea! I’ll join you later!”

“Don’t be too long!” she hollered back, and then she was gone.

“Phew. Narrow escape,” said Brutus. “Now tell me about this Marion you were talking about, Dooley. In fact, tell me all. So she was pretty, was she?”

“The prettiest girl in all the world,” said Dooley with a wistful smile. “But B?bel—”

“Don’t mention B?bel. Not just yet,” said Brutus. “First tell me more about Marion.”

“Well, it all started the day we arrived, you see. There she was, looking at us from behind the reception desk. She had green eyes. Or chocolate eyes. Or no, green eyes…” He frowned. “Max? What color were Marion’s eyes? I don’t think I ever got a good look at her in the daytime, now that I think of it.”

“She had green eyes,” I said.

“So there she was, looking at us from behind the reception desk, and suddenly I felt hot, you know. As if the temperature in the room was raised a few degrees?”

“I like the story already,” said Brutus, settling in for the duration. “Tell me more.”

And so Dooley told us more. A lot more. Then again, since I’d actually lived the story, I soon fell asleep. Oddly enough I dreamed not of sausages and burger patties and chicken nuggets, as I usually do, but about a Parisian cat with green eyes and a saucy smile… Odd, that. Especially since my name isn’t even B?bel.