“Welcome to Château Dad,” Dad announced as we dropped our bags on the floor of his apartment. That’s what he said every time we came over. We just rolled our eyes.

Ever since my parents had split up a couple of years earlier, we stayed with Mom during the week and with Dad every other weekend. He only lived about two miles away, but it felt like going to another planet. His place was completely different from Mom’s house. He was sort of a slob, and he couldn’t cook, and never had anything good to eat in the pantry, and his apartment was really small, and there was no yard to play in or other kids around. But I was still excited to come over because he loved dogs, and we still needed Dad to agree to our challenge. He’d wanted a dog growing up — he told me that once. So I knew he’d be on my side. If he hated cats, this contest could be over before I had saved very much money at all.

I just needed to get on Dad’s good side before we laid the news on him. I wasn’t repeating the same mistake I made with Mom. I needed to sweet-talk him first. “I love what you’ve done with the place, Dad. Is that a new sofa?”

“No,” said Dad, scratching his head. “It’s the same old, worn-out couch that was in our basement for years. The same couch you’ve always hated because you say it smells like peas.”

“I like the smell of peas now,” I said. Not really. “The place looks really nice.”

“Thanks, I guess,” said Dad.

He didn’t have a lot of furniture. The main room had a television, a recliner, a couch, and one plant: a cactus. Lexi and I had bought him a fern when he first moved, but he never watered it, so it died. The next four plants we bought him died, too. Lexi finally bought him a cactus because those hardly ever need to be watered. It still didn’t look very good. Obviously, Dad wasn’t a plant guy.

The sink in the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes. There was some sort of green blobby stain on the carpet that wasn’t there last time we were here, too. And, yes, the couch smelled like peas.

“It just needs a woman’s touch,” said Lexi with a smile. “I’ll clean up for you. It’ll look like new.”

“No. I’ll clean up,” I insisted. I couldn’t let Lexi get the upper hand, like usual. Not this time.

“I will,” growled Lexi.

“We’ll see about that,” I growled right back.

“Okay, baby brother.”

“I’m not a baby!” I yelped.

Lexi grabbed the glass cleaner before I could, but I found some rags in Dad’s closet for dusting. There was plenty to dust; I doubt Dad had ever given the apartment a thorough cleaning before. It was important that I did an excellent job, better than Lexi did, so I removed the books from the bookshelf (he only had two books so it wasn’t that hard), and I dusted the picture frames (one of the frames had a picture of Lexi and me, and the other two still had the smiling couples that come with the frame when you buy it from the store). I even dusted the baseboards and the blinds, and no one ever does those. I don’t even think Mom dusts those at our house.

“The kitchen looks great, Lexi,” Dad said from the other room.

“I dusted the baseboards and the blinds,” I yelled from the hallway. “And no one ever does those! Not even Mom!”

“Wonderful. Thank you!” Dad craned his neck to look. “But why are you dusting them with one of my best neckties?” His voice growled.

“I thought they were rags,” I mumbled. “They were in a ball in your closet.”

“They’re my neckties for the office. They fall off the hanger a lot.”

“Oh,” I said, squirming. “Sorry.”

Dad showed me where he kept his rags, both of them, and I finished the few remaining dust spots. His ties weren’t ruined, just dusty, but I apologized about a million times, times two. I still needed to make up for my mistake. I was supposed to be buttering him up, after all. So I offered to vacuum the apartment, twice. The second time, just in case I missed something.

“I don’t own a vacuum cleaner,” replied Dad.

So I didn’t vacuum. But I promised myself to never walk around in my bare feet at Dad’s place anymore.

The bathroom needed cleaning. Lexi grabbed the disinfectant first. That was fine with me. I didn’t really want to clean a toilet anyway. But I bagged Dad’s garbage and straightened out his silverware drawer to keep busy.

Dad seemed to be enjoying all our work. He kept walking around, nodding his head and thanking us. Eventually, he just sat on his recliner and read a magazine.

His apartment had never been this clean, ever. I doubt any apartment in the history of apartments had ever been this clean. I sat on the couch, tired. Lexi was finishing up in the bathroom.

“So why the sudden interest in housekeeping?” Dad asked.

“No reason at all,” I sang. “I just love you.”

Dad said in return, “I love —” but before he could finish, Lexi rushed into the room and leapt onto the seat cushion next to mine. “Your bathroom is as good as new!” she shouted. “Need anything else done?”

“Okay. What’s going on?” asked Dad, his eyes suspicious slits. “You guys don’t do anything nice without a reason. Last year Otto ironed my clothes because he wanted to go to the water park.” He shook his head and frowned.

“I said I was sorry,” I squeaked. “I didn’t know the iron would burn through your shirt.”

“That’s why you never leave an iron on top of clothes while you watch television.”

“But there was a really good show on TV, so it wasn’t completely my fault. Blame the cable TV guys. I talked to one recently. Honestly, they don’t seem very bright.”

“That’s okay,” said Dad. “It’s water under the bridge. But I know you two want something. What is it?”

“Why do you think we want anything?” remarked Lexi with a fake innocent smile. “You look really handsome today, Dad.”

Dad picked a crust of food off his T-shirt.

“Hey, I have an idea!” I exclaimed. “I should get a dog!”

“I have a better idea,” exclaimed Lexi. “I should get a cat!”

“Cats are boring,” I said. “They spend their days licking themselves and ignoring you. They don’t play fetch. They don’t do tricks. Man’s best friend is a dog, and Dad is a man, so that means dogs are his best friend. When Dad was a kid he wanted a dog. Right?”

Dad nodded. He looked out the window as if remembering those long-lost dog-wanting days. “Grandpa and Grandma said a dog was too hard to take care of. I begged and I begged. They always said no.”

“Grandpa and Grandma sure are smart!” crowed Lexi. “That’s because they’re older and wiser. Always listen to your elders. I bet they’d both agree that a cat is the best pet ever. They are much easier to take care of, and twice as smart, and they don’t smell like dogs do.”

“They smell better than you,” I chirped in.

“It’s perfume!” she whined.

“You smell worse than Dad’s couch!” Dad threw me a dirty look. “Not that your couch smells bad, Dad.” I fidgeted. “I like peas.” I took a deep breath of the seat cushion behind me. “Great!” I stifled a cough and a wheeze.

“You guys want pets?” asked Dad. We nodded. “Ask your mother.”

“We did already,” explained Lexi. “And we’re having a contest to see who can earn money the fastest. But Mom said we needed your permission, too. I’ll bring my cat with me when we come to stay.”

“No, I’ll bring my dog!” I threw Lexi a dirty look.

“I see,” murmured Dad. He scratched his chin. He examined his cuticles. “I might agree to your owning a pet. Maybe. Not sure. I need more convincing.”

“I’ll take care of the dog,” I promised. “I’ll take it on walks and feed it and everything.”

“You’ll love a cat,” insisted Lexi. “I made some charts at home I can show you. They make good mousers, you know. They cost less than dogs, too. And then there’s that smell thing.” I opened my mouth to say something. Before I could, Lexi screeched, “It’s perfume!”

“Both are good arguments,” said Dad. “But my laundry really needs to be done. And my shoes need to be polished.”

You’d think someone had lit the couch on fire the way Lexi and I bounced up. And honestly, the couch should have been set on fire years ago to get rid of that pea smell. But I snapped up Dad’s shoes from his closet while Lexi grabbed the laundry basket.

“Dad’s totally going to let us get a pet,” said Lexi as we passed in the hallway.

I nodded. “Yeah. He’s just milking this.”

“Like the time we wanted to go to the movies and he made us wash his car first.”

“Except I couldn’t find the car wash liquid, so I used his shampoo.”

“At least the car didn’t get dandruff,” said Lexi with a loud snort. I couldn’t help but laugh, too. “But a few chores is a small price to pay for a cat.”

“You mean a dog.”

“A cat.”

“No way,” I snarled out of the side of my mouth. “You might as well surrender. You don’t have a chance.”

“A lot better chance than you,” she snarled back, but my snarl was snarlier. “How much money have you saved?”

“Plenty. I’m up to my eyeballs in money.”

“You must have eyeballs on your toes.”

“We’re getting a dog,” I hissed.

“We’re getting a cat,” she squawked back, turning around and marching out of the hallway with Dad’s laundry.

But I’d show her. I’d make Dad’s shoes so shiny he’d buy a dog on the spot. I found the shoe polish kit he kept in a plastic bag in the back of his closet and got to work.

Dad showed me last year how to polish shoes, so I knew what I was doing. I didn’t use his neckties, either, but the shoe polishing cloth he kept in the bag. I wasn’t making any mistakes. This time.

I was a natural born shoe polisher. I wondered what sort of money shoe polishers made. I could open up a shoe shine stand. Except you only see those at airports, and the airport was way too far away to ride my bike. While I was on his second pair of loafers, Dad stood over me, supervising.

“Look at that shine!” I beamed, hoisting them up.

“I think we could get a dog,” Dad mused, nodding. “Maybe. But you missed a spot right there.” I scrubbed the side of his shoe again. “Better. But I still need convincing. Polish the other three pairs and we’ll talk about getting a dog.”

“Or a cat, right, Dad?” screamed Lexi from the hallway.

“Yes. Or a cat!” Dad hollered back. “If your mom thinks it’s a good idea, then I guess I’m fine with it.” He pointed to the shoe I was holding. “But only if those shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection in them.”

“Yes, sir!” I smeared a glob of shoe polish onto another shoe. “By the way, I charge one hundred dollars a shoe.”

Dad growled.

“Just kidding,” I quickly added. Not really. For a moment I thought I had stumbled upon a brilliant idea.

But of course Dad would agree to a pet. I continued rubbing in shoe polish, just in case. Polishing shoes wasn’t getting me any closer to earning money, though.

I could see my reflection in his shoes. And I saw a future dog owner smiling back at me.