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Odelia directed a scathing look at her grandmother and Scarlett, who both shrugged and gave her their best look of absolute innocence.

Chapter 14

“So maybe we exaggerated,” said Harriet as she surveyed the four empty bowls, positioned neatly in a row. Even the few kernels of kibble that had fallen by the wayside in the process of eating had been snapped up, and the part of the kitchen devoted to the cats’ dietary needs was now so neat and clean it looked as if a cleaner had dropped by to give it a good once-over.

“Do you think Max and Dooley will notice we’ve eaten all of their food?” asked Brutus sheepishly.

They’d first emptied out their friends’ bowls at Marge and Tex’s place and then, when they got bored sitting at home waiting for their humans to show up, had moved over to Odelia’s home and finished the job there.

“Of course they’ll notice,” said Harriet. “So you’ll do well to stick to the story, all right?”

“The story?” asked Brutus, who’d already forgotten what excuse he’d dreamt up for this culinary carnage.

“That the dogs snuck in and ate everything.”

“What dogs?” asked Brutus, who liked to get his lies nailed down in all their stark specificity. Someone who was good at lying had once told him that the secret to a good lie is the telling detail, and it had stuck in his head ever since.

“Who cares what dogs? We don’t know, and nor will they. Any dog can sneak in here and clean out those bowls.”

“It would have to be a small dog,” he said as he eyed the pet flap with a critical eye. “No way Rufus, for instance, would ever be able to sneak in here through that pet flap.”

Rufus was Ted and Marcie Trapper’s sheepdog, who lived right next door. And judging from his size he had inherited some DNA from the woolly mammoth.

“So it was Fifi, then,” said Harriet, referring to their neighbor Kurt Mayfield’s Yorkie.

“Fifi would never come in here and steal our food,” said Brutus. “She’s too straight-laced. Besides, I’m sure she gets plenty of food at home. Kurt spoils her rotten.”

“So it was some other dog,” said Harriet. “It doesn’t matter what dog it was, Brutus,” she stressed. “In fact the less we know the better. Any dog could have snuck in from the street. All we need to do is pretend that we got home, saw that our bowls were all empty and keep a straight face! Now this is very important. Show me your poker face.”

Brutus blinked.“My what face?”

“That’s just about the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. Try again.”

Brutus frowned.“Um…”

“Big fail! Brutus, if you don’t get your act together you’re going to get us both caught. Okay, so I’ll pretend to be Max.” She lowered her voice an entire octave. “Oh, dear goodness me, Brutus, will you look at that. Someone cleaned out our bowls. Now I wonder who that could have been—why are you laughing?”

“Max doesn’t sound like that!”

“It doesn’t matter! So what are you going to say?”

“Um… I don’t know what dogs were in here and besides, it doesn’t matter?”

“No! Just repeat after me, ‘I know nothing.’”

“I know nothing.”

“I know nothing.”

“I know nothing.”

“Now keep repeating that to yourself so that by the time Max and Dooley come home it will roll from your tongue like the most natural thing in the world.”

Brutus nodded. These were simple instructions. In fact they were so simple he figured even he could commit them to memory. He was terrible at lying. It was one of the areas of improvement he needed to work on.“I know nothing,” he murmured.

“Exactly. And whatever they say, you just keep repeating the same thing over and over again, like a mantra. Is that clear?”

“Uh-huh. I know nothing.”

“Which dog stole our food, Brutus?”

“I know nothing.”

“Was it Fifi, you think? Or Rufus?”

“I know nothing.”

“Or maybe it could have been some neighboring cat?”

“I know nothing.”

She smiled and patted her mate on the back.“Excellent, my snickerdoodle. I think we’re just about ready to face the firing squad.”

Brutus gulped.“The firing squad! Y-y-you don’t think—”

“Just a manner of speech, sugar bear. Cats can’t handle a firearm. Everybody knows that. But they will grill us to within an inch of our lives, so we need to be ready.”

“I know nothing,” he murmured.

“Make that your life’s motto from now on,” Harriet advised, “and I will do the same. Now let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the social event of the season, just because our humans are too lazy to drop by to feed us—or to pick us up.”

“You mean Odelia’s wedding? But I thought that was next Saturday?”

“Not Odelia’s wedding, doodle bug. Lord Hilbourne being handed the keys to the city.”

And so they set off on their journey into town. Max and Dooley might have bought into some delusional snail’s crazy ramblings, but Harriet and Brutus were going to collect those precious few nuggets of information that have your star reporter yipping with delight: not a snail’s folly, but actionable intel, straight from the horse’s mouth.