Purrfectly Slim, page 3
When I finally came to a full stop at the bottom, my face planted against the floor, I muttered, “Ouch!”
“Max! Are you all right!” Dooley cried.
“I’m fine,” I said, as I got up and dusted myself off. Dooley, who was fussing over me now, gave me one of his worried looks that told me exactly what he thought.
And maybe he was right. I had experienced a little trouble walking up and down those stairs recently. Then again, what pet parent in their right mind chooses to live in a house? Couldn’t the Pooles simply have bought two adjacent apartments? With a nice big comfy elevator with those big easy buttons? After all, Gran was getting on in years, and everyone knows that stairs are a health hazard for the elderly. And then there’s Grace, of course. We all know that stairs are dangerous for kids and toddlers, too!
I explained all this to Dooley, but I could tell that he wasn’t convinced. And his next words proved this. “You need to lose weight again,” he said gently. “And if you don’t want Harriet to be your diet coach, maybe I’ll be your diet coach. What do you say? I’ll use the calorie calculator she talked about, and we’ll calculate your ideal food intake and take it from there, okay? Max?”
He said it so sweetly, and with such genuine concern in his voice that I didn’t have the heart to say no.
And that’s how I got roped into another diet!
CHAPTER 6
Brutus was starting to feel a little neglected. Still lounging under the rose bushes which were his favorite spot, he wondered now if he hadn’t made a tactical mistake in roping in Max. He probably should have asked someone else—anyone—to supply him with the kind of nourishment he needed to keep up his impressive physique. After all, Max had so many other things going on that it was probably too much to ask for him to also organize a rescue mission for the dietary challenged. Now if only he’d asked Fifi, the next-door Yorkie, or even Rufus, the sheepdog belonging to the Trappers. Then again, both were dogs, and he might be in trouble but he wasn’t desperate enough to ask a dog to help him out.
And as he was lying there, thinking about ways and means of getting out of this predicament he now found himself in, he suddenly saw Gran race past, run a couple of laps around the backyard, and then disappear again through the opening in the hedge between both backyards. All the while she was carrying a flaming sort of napkin in her hands, and screaming like a banshee!
Now as a resident of La Maison Poole for these past couple of years he was used to seeing all kinds of weird stuff, but this particular incident took the cake. Now why would Gran be running around the backyard with a burning napkin in her hands? No matter how hard he thought, the answer frankly eluded him, and it was only when Harriet came into view, and made a beeline for his hiding place, that he knew the answer was forthcoming.
He might not be happy that she had put him on a diet, but at least she might provide him with some answers.
“Did you see that?” he asked the moment she had joined him. “Gran was running around and she was on fire.”
“Oh, that,” said Harriet, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “She was messing around with the Better Bib and she must have done something wrong for it suddenly caught fire. Now where are we on this diet of yours? Have you lost weight already, you think, my snickerdoodle?”
“Better Bib? What is a Better Bib?” he asked.
Harriet made a gesture of annoyance. “Some overpriced gadget Chase bought. Which just goes to show that all of those pounds he’s been packing on recently must have done something to his brain. Clearly he’s not thinking straight if he thinks that this toy will keep Grace from spilling her food.”
“Chase? Packing on the pounds? What are you talking about? That man’s body is his temple. He’s at the gym every day, and usually for hours at a time.”
“Correction: he used to be at the gym all the time. But ever since Grace was born he’s been putting in less and less time at what used to be his home away from home. And as we all know, those muscles turn into flab if you’re not careful, which is exactly what happened to Chase.” She eyed him critically. “I think you lost weight, snookums. I’d have to put you on the scale, but if my eagle eye doesn’t deceive me, you’ve lost a couple of ounces already.”
“Ounces? Not pounds?” he said, much disappointed.
“It takes time, stud muffin. Time and careful monitoring by your favorite diet coach: moi. Now why don’t we go for a long walk, mh? Lose some more of that excess weight?”
“Oh, all right,” he said, getting up with some reluctance. Between the flaming grandma and the Better Bib and Chase getting fat he suddenly felt there were no more certainties in life. And on top of that he was feeling weak. Must be lack of food. But when he said as much, Harriet dismissed his thoughts instantly.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You’ve only been dieting since last night. No way you can be feeling weak already.”
“Well, I do,” he assured her. “Weak and dispirited.”
“Nothing a nice, brisk walk won’t fix,” she said in a chipper tone, and set off for the street, followed by a reluctant Brutus.
He glanced around for his support team—the ones who had promised to provide him with some much-needed supplementary nourishment. But of Max and Dooley there was no trace.
“Traitors,” he muttered bitterly.
“What did you say, my sparky star?” asked Harriet.
“Nothing, sugar pumpkin. Nothing at all,” he said, and shuffled after her in a dejected sort of way.
It had taken Vesta the better part of an hour to get the Better Bib to work. First she had poured some apple juice onto the thing, then had fed it a steady diet of peas and potatoes, and finally had lowered an entire pork chop onto the bib. All of them had been dealt with expediently and efficiently, vanishing into thin air like Houdini’s handcuffs. Having solidly established that the Better Bib did what it advertised to do, she had proceeded to try and reverse the process. Pork chops cost money, and so does apple juice and peas and potatoes. She wanted them back, and had poked and prodded the bib, inducing the thing to give up the food it was fed.
But no matter how hard she tried, the bib stubbornly refused to play ball. So she had done what any right-minded person did nowadays: she had googled the bib, and had looked on different blogs and forums for the answer to the riddle that frankly confounded her: how to put this darn Better Bib in reverse!
But if anyone had ever thought to do what she was trying to accomplish, they hadn’t blogged about it, or otherwise revealed the secret online. So finally she decided to employ drastic measures and try to dissect the thing. Somewhere inside the bib the answer surely lay. Now all she had to do was find it. So she had taken a screwdriver and a pair of pliers and had started unraveling the fabric that made up the bib, looking to uncover its secret.
As she saw it, some kind of chip must be lurking inside the device. And if only she could get at it, she was on the right path to cracking the code. And she had just started to pluck at the stitches in an effort to make it cooperate, when all of a sudden there was a sort of spark and a soft popping sound, and the bib caught fire!
And since she didn’t want to douse it in the sink, instead she decided to take it outside and try to put out the flames by flapping it around a bit. Too bad that the more she flapped, the more it burned—and soon her sleeve caught fire and she was seriously starting to panic! She didn’t know a lot about warranties, but she was pretty sure that destroying the bib would probably void its warranty. Which would mean Chase would not be happy!
So she ran around the backyard like a headless chicken, then through the opening in the hedge and into Odelia’s backyard, hoping to find her granddaughter. But the moment she arrived there, she thought better of it. No use waking up sleeping dogs! So she returned to her own backyard, and flung the bib into Tex’s garden house and closed the door. Out of sight, out of mind. Plus, lack of oxygen would for sure put out that fire. But as she watched, there was a loud crackling noise, and moments later she could see flames eagerly licking at the little garden house window. Uh-oh!
By the time Tex came running out of the house, the garden house was fully aflame and burning right down to the ground.
CHAPTER 7
“Why did Gran put the garden house on fire, Max?” asked Dooley.
“I don’t know, Dooley.”
“You don’t think she’s one of those pyromaniacs, do you?”
“I doubt it. Unless pyromania is something that develops late in life.”
While Tex was examining the remnants of his nice garden house, Gran was looking around for something. Finally she must have found it, for she held up some smallish item with a triumphant air. “Got it!” she cried, and handed the item to Chase, who had assisted his father-in-law in putting out the flames with the aid of the garden hose.
Chase studied the ragged thing. “Thanks,” he said. “What is it?”
“Don’t you recognize it? It’s your Better Bib!”
“Oh, is that what it is?” said Chase. He held up the item, which was tattered and half-burned, between thumb and forefinger. “I’m afraid to ask, but what was it doing in the garden house?”
Gran gave him a sheepish sort of look. “You know when there’s a fire the fire department always looks for the source of the fire?”
“To find the cause, you mean?”
“Exactly. Well, if they would look for the cause here—which they won’t—they might conclude that this here bib had something to do with it.”
“You mean my bib caused the fire?”
Gran nodded earnestly.
“You mean… it short-circuited?”
“Exactly!” she said, pointing a finger at the cop. “It short-circuited. Now don’t ask me why—probably because it was a piece of junk—but that’s exactly what happened. I was playing around with it a little, as one does, you know, when suddenly there was this popping sound. And before I knew it, the thing caught fire!”
“See, Chase?” said Odelia. “You should never have bought it. Imagine if that bib had been fastened around Grace’s neck and caught fire.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t even want to go there—it’s too horrible to imagine.”
Chase studied the charred bib for a moment, then made a sound of disgust and threw it back on the remnants of the garden house. He then turned to Gran. “Thank you, Vesta. If it wasn’t for you, it might have been our house that burned down instead of Tex’s garden house. And with Grace and us in it, no less.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Gran with a modest little shrug. “After all, it’s a great-grandmother’s duty to keep her great-grandkid safe. Testing these silly gadgets is all part of the service.”
“Thank you, Gran,” said Odelia earnestly, and gave her grandmother a grateful hug. “You may well have saved our lives.”
“You’re welcome, honey. If I could do it again, I would.”
“My garden house,” Tex said as he eyed what was once a perfectly nice lawnmower. “Why does this keep happening to me?”
“Must be your karma,” said Gran. “Maybe you were a mosquito in a previous life and kept harassing people.”
Marge had sidled up to her daughter and said, “Is it my imagination or has Chase gained weight?”
“It’s not your imagination,” said Odelia. “He’s been so busy lately he had to let his gym subscription lapse. But he’s still eating as if he’s lifting those heavy weights and going for his ten miles.”
“Tex and I are trying this new diet,” Marge confessed. “It’s from a book called ‘Think and Grow Skinny.’ You think slimming thoughts and your body will automatically follow. And I think it’s working. We only started this morning but already I’m feeling a lot lighter.”
“So how does it work, exactly?”
“Well, you simply picture yourself losing weight, and you keep repeating the mantra ‘Every day in every way I’m getting slimmer and slimmer and slimmer.’”
“But you change your diet as well, right?”
“Oh, no, absolutely not. It’s not that kind of diet. You can eat anything you want and as much as you want.”
“Huh,” said Odelia. “Interesting.”
“Isn’t it? Your dad and I love it.”
“See, Dooley?” I said. “I don’t have to go on a diet. All I have to do is think slim thoughts.”
“Isn’t it slimming thoughts, Max? Slim thoughts are probably thoughts without a lot of substance, whereas slimming thoughts are thoughts that make you slim.”
“Every day in every way you’re getting smarter and smarter and smarter, Dooley,” I said.
“It’s because I’m thinking clevering thoughts,” he said proudly.
Just then, Brutus and Harriet returned from their walk. Brutus looked absolutely bushed, while Harriet was fresh as a daisy. “What happened here?” asked Harriet.
“Gran saved our lives by proving that the Better Bib was actually a dangerous piece of junk,” Dooley explained. “And in the process she set the garden house on fire.”
“Food,” said Brutus brokenly. He was panting and had collapsed on the grass. “I need food.”
“You’ll get food tonight,” Harriet assured him. “Right now your body is consuming those superfluous fat cells, of which you have plenty. So you won’t starve, snow bunny, no matter what you might think.”
“Oh, but I am starving,” he assured us.
“He doesn’t look so good,” I told Harriet. “Are you sure he’s all right?”
“Of course he’s all right!” said Harriet. “A little bit of fasting has never hurt anyone. Now man up, Brutus, and stop whining.”
“Foo-o-ood,” the black cat wheezed. “I need foo-oo-ood.”
“Marge’s new diet is working,” I told Harriet. “She’s been thinking slimming thoughts all morning and she says she’s feeling a lot slimmer already.”
“And the best part is that she can eat anything she likes,” said Dooley. He glanced over at me. “I was thinking about putting Max on a diet and acting as his diet coach, but now with this revolutionary new diet I’m not sure it’s necessary.”
“It’s not necessary at all,” I was quick to say. “I’m going to do like Marge and think slimming thoughts and I’ll be just fine.”
“A lot of poppycock,” said Harriet. She darted a worried look at her mate, who looked ready to pass out.
“Feeeeed me,” he bleated weakly. “Please fee-ee-eeeed me.”
“Maybe we should all go on Marge’s new diet,” I suggested. “Me, Brutus…”
“Oh, no, not me,” Harriet was quick to say. “And not Dooley either. The both of us are perfectly fine just the way we are.”
“Fee-ee-eed meeeee,” Brutus bleated.
He sounded like a sheep. A sheep that was about to expire.
“Mh,” said Harriet, wavering.
“What’s wrong with Brutus?” asked Odelia as she crouched down next to us. “Is he sick? Does he need to see the vet?”
“No!” we all cried in perfect unison.
“He’s on a diet,” Harriet explained.
“Oh, did you hear about this revolutionary new diet my mom has discovered?” said Odelia excitedly. “You simply think—”
“Yes, yes, we know all about that!” Harriet said.
Odelia gave Brutus a look of concern. “Maybe you should consider feeding him, Harriet. We don’t want him to die on us, now do we?”
Harriet’s eyes went wide. “Die?”
“He really doesn’t look good,” I said.
Harriet gulped a little, then hurried over to where her mate was lying. “Tootsie roll?” she said, giving him a gentle poke. “Superman?” When he still didn’t react, she cried, “Odelia! Help! I think he’s dead!”
Odelia immediately made her way over to Brutus, and after giving him a quick once-over, she declared, “He’s either asleep or passed out. But whatever the case, I think it’s best if I take him inside and try to give him some nourishment.” And so she picked up our friend and carried him into the house, followed by the three of us. Harriet was in the lead, looking very much concerned.
“Diets are dangerous, Max,” said Dooley.
“Now you tell me,” I told the self-professed diet coach.
It didn’t take long for Odelia to revive our friend. She simply sprinkled some water on his face and placed him next to his bowl of food and before long he made a miraculous recovery.
“Food,” he said between two bites. “Delicious, wonderful food.” He smacked and he chewed and generally looked like a ravenous cat—which perhaps he was. “Yummy yummy food in my tummy!”
“Oh, my little muppet,” said Harriet. “I’ll never put you on a diet again—ever! To think I almost lost you!”
“I’m fine,” Brutus assured her after he’d polished off the final remnants of food from his second bowl in ten minutes with his tongue. “Absolutely fine. In fact I’ve never felt better.”
“Thank you for saving him, Odelia!” said Harriet passionately. “If not for you I might have killed the love of my life!”
“You be careful with those diets,” said Odelia. “And maybe try Mom’s diet from now on. You know, think slimming thoughts.”
“Brutus isn’t fat, though, is he, Max?” said Dooley. “I mean, not as fat as you. He’s probably half your size.” His critical gaze traveled between me and Brutus and back again. “Yeah, that seems about right. Brutus could fit twice in you. Maybe even three times.”
I gave him a vicious look, which went right over his head, but decided to keep quiet. I didn’t want to add to the drama by kicking my friend in the butt. But I have to tell you I came this close!
CHAPTER 8
Tex didn’t know what to think. Even though the others all seemed convinced that Vesta had done a great thing by burning down his garden house, he had his doubts. Yes, sir, he definitely had his doubts about the woman’s motives. Vesta was clever. She was smart. She was cunning. If she burned down his garden house it wasn’t by accident but by design, just like everything she did was by design. But why? Why would she torch his beloved little garden house that had never done her any harm in its much-too-short life?
