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Our humans had at least agreed on one thing: where to buy the kitchen, and so we found ourselves in the showroom of Kramer Kitchen Kreation, the company owned by Fred Kramer, also known as the Kitchen King, faced with an impossible choice.

“So many kitchens, Max!” Dooley said with words of hushed awe.

He was right. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many kitchens in the same room, and a big room it was, too. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to reconstruct dozens of different kitchens in one big showroom, and plenty of people were milling about, potential customers all in the same position as our own humans: faced with the near impossible task of picking just one of these gorgeous kitchens.

“Look, it’s very simple,” said Gran. “Just give me carte blanche and I’ll pick the right kitchen for us. In fact I’ve picked the right kitchen already, so you really don’t have to bother anymore.” She smiled, and added the magic words: “Trust me!”

Magic in the sense that they worked on Tex like a red rag on a bull.

“And how much is this going to cost me?” asked the good doctor as he eyed his mother-in-law with an expression that betrayed his lack of trust in her judgment.

“Oh, not that much,” said Gran. “In fact it’s a real bargain, if you ask me.”

“This is my kitchen as well as yours, Ma,” said Marge, glancing around and looking for a salesperson. “So excuse me if I’m going to have the final say in this.”

“And since I’m the one who’ll have to pay,” said Tex, “excuseme for having final say.”

A salesperson had come charging to, and he must have realized he had a couple of real buyers before him, and not just window shoppers, for he displayed the wide smile your real salesman likes to display when he’s about to make a killing. “Excellent choice,” he said, as he nodded at the kitchen we just happened to be standing in. It was all dark wood and gleaming new appliances, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Nancy Meyers movie, preferably starring either Diane Keaton or Meryl Streep.

“We’re not buying this,” said Tex immediately. He’d taken a gander at the price tag which was displayed on a stand near the entrance, and there was a finality to his voice that told of his reluctance to pay through the nose for what he considered an exercise in futility. Tex had long arguedthat they didn’t need a new kitchen, that the old one was perfectly fine, that it had at least another fifteen years left in the tank, and he wasn’t budging from this point of view, juxtaposed with that of his wife and mother-in-law.

“So what did you folks have in mind?” asked the salesman, smile still firmly in place.

“Why is he smiling like that, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d been studying the man like one studies an animal at the zoo.

“Because your true salesperson believes that a smile allays some of that sales resistance,” I explained. “A smile says: I have absolute faith in your ability and your willingness to pull your wallet and hand me your credit card so I can swipe it.”

“Tex doesn’t look like he’s ready to pull his wallet.”

“No, he certainly does not.”

In fact Tex looked like he was ready to pull a gun on the salesperson and make him go away, like a bad dream—or a highway robber.

“We want a new fridge,” Tex explained. It was one point on which he was willing to concede.

“We want a newkitchen,” Marge countered.

“We want the whole enchilada,” said Gran, rubbing her hands. “And in fact I already have the perfect combination in mind, picked from your website.” And to prove she wasn’t lying, she took out her phone and showed them the design she’d picked.

“Ma!” said Marge. “I told you I want light colors. Light and modern!”

“This is a timeless design,” said Gran.

“It looks like something from the forties!”

“The forties are coming back,” said Gran. “In a big way.”

“I suggest we sleep on it,” said Tex.

“And I suggest we pull the trigger,” said Gran.

Tex’s eyes narrowed, and his index finger twitched. It was clear he was definitely ready to pull the trigger—and then bury his mother-in-law in a shallow grave.

“Why don’t I show you folks some of our more contemporary designs?” the salesman suggested, proving his mettle by focusing on the most important person here: Marge.

And so for a while we moved from one kitchen installation to the next, while the salesman explained the ins and outs of every installation in great detail. And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, the door opened and Harriet and Brutus walked in on the heels of more customers.

“What’s the situation?” our Persian friend asked.

“Tex doesn’t want to buy a kitchen, Marge wants something light and modern, and Gran wants something old and timeless,” I summed things up in a single sentence.

“I think Tex is probably right,” said Brutus. “Why spend money on a new kitchen when the old one is perfectly fine?”

“It isn’t fine,” I told him. “The wood is chipped and the fridge is broken and the whole thing looks like it’s seen better days.”

The butch black cat shrugged.“Looks all right to me.”