Purrfect nap, p.1
Purrfect Nap, page 1
PURRFECT NAP
THE MYSTERIES OF MAX 59
NIC SAINT
CONTENTS
Purrfect Nap
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
About Nic
Also by Nic Saint
PURRFECT NAP
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To Nap or Not to Nap, That is the Question
Lately my friends and I had been suffering from insomnia, which is when I suddenly remembered the existence of the so-called Master Soporific Word, a word that when uttered puts you right to sleep. The problem was that I couldn’t remember the word itself, which is why I decided to take a moment and reflect. A little solitude. Some peace and quiet. Of course I should have known that the moment I removed myself from the scene, all hell would break loose. And so before long I was hot on the trail of a gang of kidnappers. At least until they started targeting me!
CHAPTER 1
“Ho-mer.” Dooley looked up from the tablet computer with a frown. “Who is Ho-mer, Max?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I said. And frankly I couldn’t be bothered. I was trying to perfect my napping technique, you see. It’s no easy feat to enjoy the perfect nap, but I was gradually working my way up to it.
“It’s something to do with Greek mythology,” my friend said.
“It sounds sleep-inducing,” I murmured. “Could you repeat that a couple of times? See if it does the trick.”
“Ho-mer,” Dooley said obligingly. “Ho-mer. Ho-mer. Ho-mer.”
“Mh. No, it doesn’t work,” I said, shaking my head.
“What are you looking for?” asked Dooley.
“Well, I’m not sure where I heard this, but rumor has it that there is a certain phrase, or a very specific word that works as the perfect soporific, in the sense that once you hear it, you immediately fall into a deep, profound sleep. The problem is that it’s a different word for every cat, though there’s supposed to be a master word, a word that can put anyone to sleep, whether man or beast, and works across all the different species.”
Dooley looked up. “Ho-mer,” he repeated softly, but then shook his head. “I don’t feel sleepy at all.”
“That means it’s not the right word. Once uttered it should put you to sleep within seconds—milliseconds even.”
“Darn it,” said Dooley, for once going to the extreme lengths of using a curse word. It just goes to show how perturbed he was.
“Let’s ask Odelia,” I suggested. “She’s very smart. I’m sure if anyone knows who this fellow Homer is, it’s her.”
“All right,” Dooley agreed. “We’ll ask Odelia once she gets home from work.” And so he placed his head on his front paws and endeavored to go to sleep. Of course sleep wouldn’t come, and I could have told him why this was: he hadn’t discovered the soporific word yet. And as long as he hadn’t, sleep would elude him—and me, of course.
I probably should have mentioned that the four of us—Harriet and Brutus being the other members of Odelia’s feline menagerie—had been having trouble sleeping for a little while now. I didn’t know why this was, but it certainly was very annoying, since cats need a lot of sleep. Eighteen hours, at last count, whereas humans only need a fraction of this. But then humans are a busy breed. Always busy, busy, busy. And before you know it, they burn up. Or out. Or something along those lines. Cats rarely suffer burnout. It might happen, but I’d say it’s rare. And that’s because we never bite off more than we can chew. We know our strengths but also our limitations. Our strength is our capacity for napping, and until very recently my personal limitation was that I don’t have a limitation. In theory I can sleep forever—taking into account the occasional bathroom and meal breaks, of course.
Harriet and Brutus now joined us. Harriet, a white Persian who invariably looks as if she just walked out of a pet salon, now appeared haggard and bleary-eyed. Even her fine white fur had lost some of its customary luster. And Brutus looked even worse: the big black cat was actually swaying on his paws, and collapsed the moment he reached us.
“This is just too much,” he groaned. “I can’t take much more of this, you guys. Why, oh why can’t I have a decent day’s sleep!”
“It’s a mystery,” I admitted.
“This has never happened to me before,” said Harriet. “Never, ever ever. Never!” she added for good measure, making sure we got the drift. “So why is it happening to me now? Why, Max—why!!!”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The weird thing is that it’s only happening to the four of us. As far as I can tell, none of our friends are suffering from this weird ordeal.”
“It’s true,” said Harriet as she stretched out on the patio. “I talked to Shanille last night and she says she has no trouble sleeping. Kingman, same story. Or Buster—or any of the others.”
“You have to figure this out, Max,” Brutus pleaded. “I’m so tired I can’t even reach my food bowl anymore! Pretty soon I’ll starve to death!”
We all looked appropriately concerned. When Brutus, who’s always been known for his excellent appetite, is forced to forego his daily intake of nourishment due to a general feeling of fatigue, it doesn’t bode well for the rest of us.
“Max is looking for a terrific word,” Dooley said. “It’s a word that will put us all to sleep in seconds. And he almost had it, but then he didn’t.”
“Soporific word,” I corrected my friend. “Not terrific.” Though if it worked that would be terrific, of course.
“What’s all this nonsense about a soporific word?” Brutus grumbled. “We need answers, Max, not another one of your silly riddles!”
“It’s not a silly riddle,” I said. “The soporific word, and more importantly the Master Soporific Word, will put anyone to sleep when uttered, it is that powerful. Now if only I could remember. Either someone once told me, or I read about it.”
“If this keeps up we’ll have to ask Odelia to take us to Vena,” said Harriet, shaking her head sadly. “And then where will we be?”
Vena Aleman is our local veterinarian and has cornered the market on pet harassment. The moment she sees a pet her fingers start to twitch and she frantically starts rummaging around for a needle so she can give us one of her trademark shots. Never in the annals of Hampton Cove history has a pet been known to enter Vena’s lair and escape without looking like a pincushion. It’s an irresistible urge with the woman. A knee-jerk reaction.
“Not Vena!” Brutus cried, understandably aghast at this suggestion from his mate.
But Harriet wasn’t kidding. “I once heard Vena claim that she can put an elephant to sleep, or a lion, or any member of the circus flock. And if she can put an elephant to sleep, how hard can it be to put us to sleep?” She gave us a hopeful look, and it was a testament to our desperation that we were actually contemplating putting our fate in the hands of this known pet butcheress!
“Did she also mention if these elephants and lions and whatnot ever wake up again after being put to sleep?” I asked.
Harriet gasped. “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes,” I said grimly. “Vena puts a lot of pets to sleep, it’s what she does, but no one ever mentions the fact that they never wake up again—ever!”
“At this point I don’t really care all that much about waking up again,” Brutus said as he lay hugging the patio floor, his limbs pointing in the four directions of the wind. “As long as I can finally enjoy some sweet, sweet sleep!”
“You guys, did you know that sleep deprivation is actually a torture technique?” asked Dooley. “It’s true,” he added when Brutus gave him a dirty look—or as dirty as he could muster on an empty stomach. “You can make a person say or do anything if you keep them awake. So maybe that’s what’s happening here? Maybe we’re all part of some psychological experiment?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Mostly they use these techniques on prisoners, trying to make them confess to some crime. But what possible crimes could we confess to? We’re cats, not terrorists.”
“No, that’s true,” Dooley admitted. “Still, maybe you should look into this, Max. Maybe someone is targeting us for some reason. Some bad person. Or some hostile foreign power.” And he proceeded to give me a hopeful look.
And now that I paid attention, I saw that all three of my friends were giving me what can only be interpreted as pointed looks of utter desperation.
No pressure!
CHAPTER 2
Odelia was worried. For the past couple of days he
Even Harriet, who was always so fussy about her physical appearance, looked as if she’d been in the wars. Her fur had lost its trademark shine and was even matted, something the prissy Persian would otherwise never allow. And then there was Brutus, who was even more grumpy than usual, even dispirited, which wasn’t his custom.
No, something was wrong, and if Max wasn’t going to admit it, out of misplaced pride or sense of discretion, she had no alternative but to take the furry foursome to the vet for a thorough examination.
Just at that moment, her boss walked into her office. Dan wore a thoughtful frown on his face, as if he was chewing on something. Right now he was chewing on his white beard, which was part of his personal style and had even made it onto the masthead of the Hampton Cove Gazette. A couple of years ago a cartoonist had submitted a very lifelike rendering of the Gazette’s editor and Dan had liked it so much he’d struck a deal with the talented young artist and now the Gazette’s logo featured the white-bearded editor, his eyes sparkling intelligently from behind round-framed glasses and his beard gently flapping in the breeze.
“What’s wrong?” Odelia asked immediately. After having worked for Dan for as long as she had, she could read the man’s moods like a book.
“I’m not sure,” said Dan as he paced up and down her office, his hands clasped behind his back and his back ramrod straight. “Something has come to my attention and I’m not sure what to do with it, to be honest.” He suddenly rounded on her. “It’s you, Odelia. Or, more precisely, your relationship with the forces of law and order in this town.”
“My uncle, you mean?”
“Amongst others,” said Dan, nodding. “I received a phone call just now from a concerned citizen who prefers to remain anonymous, and who claims that the interests of the Gazette are too closely aligned with those of the folks who run this town. And not coincidentally three of those people happen to be related to my star reporter.” He ticked them off on his fingers: “The Chief of Police, who is your uncle. The Mayor, who is your uncle’s partner. And of course your husband, who is a detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department.”
“Okay,” said Odelia, puzzled. “So my husband is a cop, and so is my uncle. What does that have to do with anything?”
“There are those who seem to feel these connections might cloud your judgment,” said Dan as he finally took a seat. “That your independent view of things is jeopardized by these close ties.”
Odelia felt a little stung by this critique. “I promise you that—”
“I know, I know,” said Dan, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Personally I don’t question your judgment. You’re a seasoned reporter and I’ve never had reason to doubt your independence. But…”
“But what?” she asked, feeling thoroughly incensed by the suggestion that her close association with these so-called ‘forces of law and order’ would ever cloud her personal judgment.
“The person who voiced these concerns isn’t alone. There have been others.” He arched a meaningful and furry eyebrow. “In fact over a dozen letters have reached me in the past six months alone wondering whether the Gazette’s editorial line hasn’t been compromised by the presence of such a partisan voice.”
“Partisan! Me!” Odelia cried.
“Look, it’s not me who’s saying all of these things,” said Dan. “But if members of the public are voicing these concerns, they need to be addressed, wouldn’t you agree? In the interest of the paper?”
Odelia, who’d been ready to launch into a long tirade defending her independence, lost some of her pep. “I guess so,” she finally admitted. “But how are we supposed to ‘address’ these concerns, Dan? I can’t go and divorce my husband, now can I? Or stop speaking to my uncle or his girlfriend?”
“Of course not. And frankly I wouldn’t change a thing about who you are or what you do. Your close association with the police force has served this paper well in the past, leading us to publish the kinds of scoops other papers can only dream of. But maybe…” He hesitated, eyeing her very closely all of a sudden.
“Maybe what?” she asked, afraid of what he was about to say.
“Maybe we should… diversify. You know, add a few more people to the roster. People who can’t be accused of towing the Town Hall line—or having any kind of connection to the local constabulary.”
“You mean hire more reporters? But I thought you said you didn’t have the budget?”
“Oh, I don’t,” said Dan, a cunning little smile now spreading across his wizened features. “But there’s plenty of people who would love nothing better than to contribute to the Gazette—gratis.”
She stared at the man. Dan’s eyes were glittering, and for a moment she wondered if he had finally lost his marbles. “You want to hire a fresh batch of reporters and not pay them?”
“Exactly!” said Dan, pointing at her like a game show host whose candidate has just guessed the answer to the million-dollar question.
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
“Of course you don’t! And neither did I, until this morning, when I scanned through the online comments on our Facebook page. Reams and reams of comments, I might add. Big chunks of text. All supplied to us free of charge by those eager-beaver internauts—bless their little hearts.”
Odelia still didn’t see where Dan was going with this. All she knew was that she didn’t like it. First being accused of being partisan, and now her position was being jeopardized by reporters willing to work sans remuneration. Who was to say that she, too, wouldn’t be working gratis very soon now?
“Don’t you see?” said Dan, when he detected a marked lack of excitement in his one and only employee.
“Not really,” she had to admit.
“Volunteers!” Dan cried jubilantly. “We simply ask our loyal army of online fans to turn their screeds into copy and we’re set!”
“But these people aren’t reporters, Dan,” she felt obliged to point out. “They’re regular people. Housewives, plumbers, carpenters, truck drivers, students…”
“So? We’ll call it the democratization of the Hampton Cove Gazette. From now on anyone who can string two sentences together can participate. Let’s see them complain about our lack of independence then! Ha!”
Odelia blinked a few times. “So… you’re going to publish pieces from anyone who can hold a pen?”
“Not a pen, honey,” said Dan. “A phone! A keyboard! A tablet! It’s new media meeting old media. And it’s going to give us a much-needed kick in the rear. Revolutionize the way we do things. We’ve become stale. Complacent. But no more!”
“Mh,” she said, not fully convinced but not willing to voice her reservations for fear of being given the pink slip. As it stood, she might be made redundant anyway, if these internauts, these social media warriors, were going to provide the bulk of the content for the Gazette from now on. Why pay her a handsome salary if Dan could source some prime content without having to pay a dime?
“Look, let’s just give it a shot, okay?” said the editor as he got up. “But I have to tell you that I have a great feeling about this.” And he gave her two thumbs up to express just how great this feeling was.
She gave him a feeble smile and her own slightly less exuberant version of the same gesture. “Let’s do this,” she said finally.
