concluded, tapping Stevie’s chest, “are going to find out who’s behind this.”
“Oh, all right, if we must,” said Stevie. He’d jumped down from the bench and was starting to wend his way towards the park exit.
“Where are you off to, then?” I said, surprised at this lack of enthusiasm for the mission.
“I’m going home,” he said. “All this talk of chicken liver has made me hungry.”
He had a point there. All this talk about chicken liver had made me hungry as well. “Mind if I join you?” I said, for I knew Father Sam didn’t stint on the cat food.
“Sure,” he said. “Tag along.”
And tag along I did. Essential though our first spy mission was, one shouldn’t lose track of the really important things in life.
15
Sam's Self-Service
F ather Sam’s place turned out to be a bust, though. Sneaking in through the cat flap, we were both shocked and dismayed to find that Sam had omitted to fill Stevie’s cat bowl. The thing was empty! Even his water bowl was empty. And I was still shaking my head in dismay at so much negligence from a cat owner, when I noticed Father Sam had also neglected to clean out Stevie’s litter box. I had trotted tither in hopes of taking a tinkle, when I saw to my disgust that the box contained at least a week’s worth of Stevie’s doo-doo. Yikes.
Stevie joined me with a shamefaced expression on his hairy mug. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
“Something is very wrong here,” I deduced. “Father Sam never used to be like this.”
He sighed as he led me into the pantry. “I know. He’s been very distracted lately. Hasn’t even groomed me for ages.”
I watched on as Stevie picked away at a 30 pound bag of Chicken Meal Formula. Finally the bag ripped and the wholesome grain-free and gluten-free manna from feline heaven flowed onto the floor. Stevie bade me to dig in but I insisted he go first. He was, after all, the host and I a mere guest.
His mouth full of kibble—rich in all the necessary vitamins, minerals and nutrients and recommended by the veterinary society—he said, “He’s been working on the same sermon for ages.”
“Must be some sermon.”
“I know. And the odd thing is, he frequently locks himself up in his study and won’t come out for ages. I hear him mumbling in there—probably practicing parts of his sermon—then there’s the sound of crumpling paper and the wad hitting the wastepaper basket and from time to time even soft sobbing.”
“That’s bad,” I said. “Every time Zack starts sobbing it usually means he’s fallen in love again and the thing ended badly.”
“Do you think Sam has fallen in love?”
I started playing with a piece of chicken-shaped kibble. “Who knows? Human males are weird that way. They’ll fall in love with just about anybody.”
“But Sam is no ordinary man,” said Stevie. “He’s a priest. They’re not supposed to fall in love.”
“Oh?” Of course I knew all about the topic, for Zack had once been a priest too. He’s retired now, of course. Though from time to time I still catch him fingering his clerical garb when he thinks I’m not looking.
“No. Some humans—all men—pledge allegiance to another human—also a man—hanging from a cross, and from that day forward they’re not allowed to even look at a woman let alone sniff her butt.”
“Weird.”
“Tell me about it. Imagine someone telling us not to sniff a girl’s butt.”
“No way.”
Stevie and I pondered for a moment about the idiosyncrasies of humans. They really are a weird species. Then Stevie said something that made my ears flap. “Could you repeat that?” I said.
“I said that the girl’s name is Bluebell. At least, that’s the name Sam keeps mumbling when he’s alone in his study working on his sermon. I put my ear to the door once and it was Bluebell this and Bluebell that the whole time. That’s why I’m telling you he’s fallen in love, priest or no priest.”
“Bluebell,” I said,
“Oh, all right, if we must,” said Stevie. He’d jumped down from the bench and was starting to wend his way towards the park exit.
“Where are you off to, then?” I said, surprised at this lack of enthusiasm for the mission.
“I’m going home,” he said. “All this talk of chicken liver has made me hungry.”
He had a point there. All this talk about chicken liver had made me hungry as well. “Mind if I join you?” I said, for I knew Father Sam didn’t stint on the cat food.
“Sure,” he said. “Tag along.”
And tag along I did. Essential though our first spy mission was, one shouldn’t lose track of the really important things in life.
15
Sam's Self-Service
F ather Sam’s place turned out to be a bust, though. Sneaking in through the cat flap, we were both shocked and dismayed to find that Sam had omitted to fill Stevie’s cat bowl. The thing was empty! Even his water bowl was empty. And I was still shaking my head in dismay at so much negligence from a cat owner, when I noticed Father Sam had also neglected to clean out Stevie’s litter box. I had trotted tither in hopes of taking a tinkle, when I saw to my disgust that the box contained at least a week’s worth of Stevie’s doo-doo. Yikes.
Stevie joined me with a shamefaced expression on his hairy mug. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
“Something is very wrong here,” I deduced. “Father Sam never used to be like this.”
He sighed as he led me into the pantry. “I know. He’s been very distracted lately. Hasn’t even groomed me for ages.”
I watched on as Stevie picked away at a 30 pound bag of Chicken Meal Formula. Finally the bag ripped and the wholesome grain-free and gluten-free manna from feline heaven flowed onto the floor. Stevie bade me to dig in but I insisted he go first. He was, after all, the host and I a mere guest.
His mouth full of kibble—rich in all the necessary vitamins, minerals and nutrients and recommended by the veterinary society—he said, “He’s been working on the same sermon for ages.”
“Must be some sermon.”
“I know. And the odd thing is, he frequently locks himself up in his study and won’t come out for ages. I hear him mumbling in there—probably practicing parts of his sermon—then there’s the sound of crumpling paper and the wad hitting the wastepaper basket and from time to time even soft sobbing.”
“That’s bad,” I said. “Every time Zack starts sobbing it usually means he’s fallen in love again and the thing ended badly.”
“Do you think Sam has fallen in love?”
I started playing with a piece of chicken-shaped kibble. “Who knows? Human males are weird that way. They’ll fall in love with just about anybody.”
“But Sam is no ordinary man,” said Stevie. “He’s a priest. They’re not supposed to fall in love.”
“Oh?” Of course I knew all about the topic, for Zack had once been a priest too. He’s retired now, of course. Though from time to time I still catch him fingering his clerical garb when he thinks I’m not looking.
“No. Some humans—all men—pledge allegiance to another human—also a man—hanging from a cross, and from that day forward they’re not allowed to even look at a woman let alone sniff her butt.”
“Weird.”
“Tell me about it. Imagine someone telling us not to sniff a girl’s butt.”
“No way.”
Stevie and I pondered for a moment about the idiosyncrasies of humans. They really are a weird species. Then Stevie said something that made my ears flap. “Could you repeat that?” I said.
“I said that the girl’s name is Bluebell. At least, that’s the name Sam keeps mumbling when he’s alone in his study working on his sermon. I put my ear to the door once and it was Bluebell this and Bluebell that the whole time. That’s why I’m telling you he’s fallen in love, priest or no priest.”
“Bluebell,” I said,
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