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And it was exactly here that this unknown sender of that message wanted to meet yours truly. I don’t know if you’re at all familiar with the expression ‘Curiosity killed the cat?’ The inference being that cats are too nosy for their own good, and their innate sense of curiosity tends to get them in trouble more than is good for them and their sense of wellbeing. Then again, it has also made us the number one sleuthhounds in our small town, regularly assisting our humans in word and deed in solving the most baffling of crimes and misdemeanors by a wide variety of the denizens of the criminal underworld who would otherwise step wide and plentiful and perform their acts of lawlessness unimpeded.

“So that’s settled then, isn’t it, Max?” said Brutus. “You go ahead and keep your appointment with this stranger while the rest of us lurk in those bushes over there and make sure we’re ready to take off the moment danger pops up.”

I nodded, still not entirely convinced that Brutus’s idea was a sound one. “So what if this person or persons unknown grab Max and shove him into the boot of their car and take off?” asked Harriet, showcasing sound reasoning, I thought.

“Look around, tootsie roll,” said Brutus with a wide sweep of his paw. “There’s no cars anywhere. No sign of danger of any kind. Probably this is the work of an admirer who wants to meet our buddy Max in the flesh—God only knows why.”

“An admirer?” asked Dooley, glancing around excitedly. “You think they’ll want to take a selfie with Max? Is that what this is all about?”

“I very much doubt it,” I said, adding my two cents to the discussion. “Who in their right mind would want to take a selfie with me?”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Brutus grunted as he gave me a pat on the back that almost made me buckle. “But then we shouldn’t discard the fact that there are a lot of weirdos out there, and maybe one of them has gotten it into their nut that Max is their personal hero. I mean, some women write to prisoners on death row, expressing their admiration, and even Charles Manson had a fan club of adoring fans.” He shrugged. “It’s a funny old world out there, you guys.”

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or bucked up by being compared to a well-known psychopath, but I decided to let the comment slide. “I still think you should come along with me. Four are better equipped to deal with this unusual situation than one.”

“No, no, no, Maxie!” said Brutus. “This person is obviously of the timid persuasion. Otherwise he’d have simply rung the front doorbell and asked for you instead of sending this homing pigeon to get in touch with you.”

I would have pointed out that whoever it was that had set up the meet and greet was probably a pet, just like us, and so not in a position to ring any front doorbells. Also, I had a strong suspicion the bird who had delivered the message wasn’t a homing pigeon. Then again, I’m not an ornithologist, so I said nothing.

“Better get a move on,” Brutus urged. “Or else whoever is meeting you will figure you’re a no-show and skedaddle. And we’ll never know what they wanted.”

“Maybe he’s a distant uncle and wants to include you in his will,” Dooley suggested.

“How do you figure that?” asked Brutus with a frown.

“Well, maybe he feels death closing in, and before he dies wants to leave his little bundle of worldly possessions to Max, his only living relative. Only since he doesn’t know Max from Adam, due to a rift in the family, he first wants to ascertain whether Max is a worthy recipient of his treasure.”

“Treasure!”’ Harriet cried, a sudden gleam of interest appearing in her eyes.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, holding up my paws. “First off, I don’t have any distant uncles, as far as I know, or even not-so-distant ones, and second, who has ever heard of a cat amassing treasure?”

“It’s possible,” Dooley said, not wanting to let go of his exciting theory without a fight.

“Yeah, just think about Diego,” said Harriet. “Diego is probably bursting at the seams with treasure by now.”

Diego is a cat we once encountered, who had been adopted by Kitty Nala, daughter of the president and founder of Feline’s Gold, manufacturer of Cat Snax, and now presumably lived like a prince in one of Kitty’s many mansions.

“Cats don’t amass treasure,” I pointed out. “By definition any wealth a cat possesses belongs to his or her human.”

“Mh,” said Harriet dubiously.

“Just go and take your appointment, will you?” said Brutus, clearly getting tired of this pointless discussion. “And if there’s treasure to be had,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “don’t forget that I’ve always been your best friend, Max.”

“I thought I was Max’s best friend,” Dooley piped up.

“If Max has a best friend, surely it’s me,” said Harriet. “Isn’t that so, Maxie?” she cooed, and gave me a gentle nudge with her shoulder, causing Brutus to produce a low guttural growl of displeasure.

Oh, boy.

CHAPTER 4

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