WAKEE-WAKEE, ARTHUR. IT’S THE big day!”

I opened my eyes, found that I was in Bro’s bedroom, lying comfortably on his pillow. Bro himself seemed to be already up and about, in fact standing over me, fully dressed and with that green Frisbee in his hand. Oh, no. The green Frisbee? Not again! I wriggled deeper into the pillow and closed my eyes.

“C’mon, Arthur. Last chance for a little practice. Mr. Salming says practice makes perfect.”

Mr. Salming? The baseball and hockey coach, also the mailman? What could he have meant by practice makes perfect? Did mail carriers practice delivering the mail? I had no idea, and realized right away I’d come to a dead end. I’m fine with dead ends. I rolled over, had a nice stretch, made some sort of sighing sound—no idea why—and dropped down into dreamland.

“Arthur! Step it up! You’ve had enough sleep. Let’s move!”

What was this? Bro still around? Didn’t he have chores to do? As for sleep, how did you know if you’d had enough? The answer came to me: You only knew if you’d had enough sleep if you couldn’t get back to sleep! Wow! My own mind had figured that out? Was this the start of something big? Was I going to be brilliant from here on in? Suddenly I sprang out of bed! Maybe not actually springing, but I did sort of tumble down onto the floor.

“Hey! Arthur! Good boy!” Bro had a big smile on his face. I’d … I’d pleased him! That was nice. I wondered how. If only I knew, I could do it again. I followed him downstairs and onto the lawn, tail held high. I felt strong, fast, smart—like a million bucks! Whatever those were.

“Okay, one last time,” Bro said, and he scaled the green Frisbee into the air.

One last time until what? I was a bit confused.

“Go, Arthur, go!”

I ran back into the house. When Bro says go, I go. Who’s a good good boy?

“Oh, Arthur!” he said. Or something like that. I couldn’t be sure on account of this commotion that seemed to be happening, commotion involving me and Bertha. Have I mentioned Bertha yet? She’s the cook. Since we only serve breakfast here at the inn, Bertha’s only around in the mornings. It took me quite some time to put that together, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got it now. And here’s something really amazing: If Bertha’s around then it must be morning! I know what you’re thinking: Wow, that Arthur! Am I right?

Bertha’s a big strong woman of the no-nonsense kind. She has a boyfriend named Big Fred. He’s the boss of the volunteer fire department, bigger and stronger than just about anybody, although Bertha calls him Freddie, like he’s a little kid. The reason I mention Big Fred is that I spotted him in the background, munching on a slice of sausage. I recognized the smell right away. Big Fred’s a fan of a certain kind of sausage with a yellow label, a kind that I’m a big fan of, too. And what was that sticking out of his chest pocket? It sure looked to me like the top of a package with a yellow label.

Spotting Big Fred was what led to all the commotion, because I took my eye off where I was going, which happened to be straight into Bertha. Somehow I got all tangled up in her apron, and untangling me, she got tangled up in it, too, and maybe even started to lose her balance. But Big Fred was suddenly right there to catch her, one arm around her waist. He even caught me! By the scruff of the neck, as it turned out, and not the waist, maybe not possible in my case, since there was a chance I didn’t have a waist. Meanwhile, Big Fred and Bertha were exchanging an interesting sort of look.

“Thanks, Freddie,” she said.

“Any time,” said Big Fred.

Bertha laughed.

“And what’s with you, my friend?” Big Fred said, putting me down. “Never seen you move so fast.”

“He’s actually not getting with the program this morning,” Bertha said.

“What program?” said Big Fred.

Bertha pointed out the doorway. Bro was standing in the yard, the Frisbee at his feet. Bro’s head was down and he looked kind of … unhappy. Were programs something on TV? Was I supposed to be on TV? Only one way to find out: I headed for the Big Room, where a TV hung on the wall in one corner. Wow! I’d solved a problem, and all by myself.

From behind, I heard Big Fred say, “Hey, Bro, come over here for a sec. And bring that Frisbee.”

The moment I entered the Big Room, I sniffed a nice surprise in the air. You can’t see air, but all sorts of things are going on in it all the time. For example, here in the Big Room we had what you might call a tiny stream of Cheez-It aroma flowing right up to the tip of my nose. It was a snap to follow the stream to its source, which was under the red leather chair near the fireplace, where I’d had successful fishing expeditions in the past.

I got down on my belly and wriggled my way under the red leather chair. And there, next to one of the chair’s feet—a claw-foot, I believe they’re called, somewhat threatening in appearance—I found a lovely Cheez-It, a bit dusty but otherwise undamaged. I snapped it up.

After that, I lingered under the chair for a while, licking my muzzle and … what was the expression? Enjoying the day? That was it. I licked my muzzle and enjoyed the day until it suddenly struck me that I’d come to the Big Room for some reason other than finding a Cheez-It. What could that reason have been? I searched my mind. It happened to be rather empty at the moment, so the search was nice and quick. I turned up nothing.

Therefore I’d come to a dead end. When you come to a dead end—and I’m sure you know this already—there’s only one thing to do, namely give yourself a real good shake. Get those ears flapping around, whap whap whap, upside the head. That’ll clear your mind, and pronto!

With just about the clearest mind I’d ever had in my whole life, I trotted out of the Big Room. Down the hall, Big Fred was handing Bro the green Frisbee, now wrapped in a plastic bag.

“Keep it in the bag,” Big Fred said.

“Why?” said Bro.

“Gave it some mojo,” Big Fred told him. “Wouldn’t want to waste it.”

“Arthur! Watch where you’re going!”

Uh-oh. On my way out of the Big Room, had I come close to tripping up Harmony, who seemed to be headed toward the front door with Queenie in her arms? Yikes! There was even a chance it was my fault. I followed them, my mind fixed on making things better, possibly by licking Harmony’s foot, or something of that nature. I inched closer, stuck out my tongue, and—and Queenie, suddenly popping up on Harmony’s shoulder, her golden eyes on fire in a way I never like to see, hissed in my direction. Actually right at me, a hiss that’s very hard to describe. But it makes my hair stand on end. And her hair stands on end when she does it! Which is a very scary sight. Mix that in with the scary sound of the hiss, and … and I dropped way back. The foot licking would have to wait for another time.

I dropped way back, but not entirely out of the picture. Hard to explain why, but it had something to do with Queenie being carried. Arthur likes being carried, too! Were folks somehow missing that? How could I help them understand?

Soon we were on the side lawn, me at a safe distance. No sign now of Bertha or Big Fred, but Bro was still there, now looking much more chipper. He stuck the green Frisbee in his backpack and was hoisting it on his back when Harmony said, “Hey, Bro—help me give Queenie a bath.”

“She hates water,” said Bro.

“Which is why I need your help,” Harmony said.

“She keeps herself pretty clean, like on her own.”

“Bro! It’s a beauty contest!”

A beauty contest? Was I in it? If Queenie was, then I had to be, too. That was only fair. We play hard in this family but we play fair. “When you cheat, you’re cheating yourself most of all.” That was something Mom said. I think it’s about being fair, but if I’m wrong, skip this part.

Meanwhile we were all headed toward the pond—not the Lilypad Pond near the patio, where guests often had a cool drink at the end of the day, but the big pond beyond the old barn, where we sometimes went for a swim, me and the twins, the twins swimming and me steering them back to shore. They love when I do that! Even if they pretend not to. What characters they can be sometimes!

Soon we were all down by the pond. Harmony, still carrying Queenie, kicked off her flip-flops and waded in up to her knees. Queenie didn’t move a muscle, but the hot look in her eyes heated up even more.

“Remember her last bath?” Bro said.

“This will be different,” said Harmony. “I’ve done some research. First we make Queenie feel totally at ease.”

“How?”

“By stroking her gently and saying nice things.” Harmony began stroking Queenie’s back. “Nice Queenie,” she said. “Who’s the nicest cat in the whole wide world?” She turned to Bro. “Now you.”

“Now me what?”

“Stroke her. Say nice things.”

Bro kicked off his flip-flops and stepped into the pond. He reached out and stroked Queenie. “Nice Queenie,” he said. “Who’s the nicest cat in the whole pond?”

“Bro!”

“As well as the whole wide world.”

Soon they were both stroking Queenie and both saying nice things. Was Queenie paying attention? I had no idea, but her eyes were burning. By now I’d forgotten—if I’d ever known—the point of all this. But is it all right to point out that Arthur likes getting stroked? That Arthur likes hearing nice things about him?

“Okay,” Harmony said. “She seems pretty calm. There’s shampoo in my back pocket. Take it out and be ready. I’m going to lower her very slowly in the water, and when she’s used to it you pour a little shampoo on her and rub it in gently.”

Bro reached into Harmony’s back pocket, took out the shampoo bottle, and flipped it to his other hand. Bro flips a lot of things that way—pencils, soda cans, and of course balls of many types. Mr. Salming says Bro has soft hands, which are what you want for catching, and I’m sure Bro would have caught the shampoo bottle if events hadn’t taken a sudden turn.

Did I play a role in this sudden turn? Kind of. Bertha says the mind does tricks on you. I myself know one trick, namely playing dead, and maybe that’s what I should have done at that moment, out there by the pond. But the sight of that shampoo bottle spinning in the air made me realize—finally realize!—that Bro very badly wanted me to fetch. I love Bro and want to make him happy. There! Now you have the whole story. Do I really need to describe what happened next, a whole busy chain of activity?

I don’t see why, but in case I’m wrong, I suppose we should start with me springing out over the water and snatching that shampoo bottle right out of midair, like the great athlete I am, deep deep inside. Except that part—the snatching out of midair—didn’t actually happen. But I did make contact with the shampoo bottle, don’t doubt that, not for a second. The only problem was it bounced off my muzzle and spun even higher in the air. At that point I did something pretty amazing, even surprising myself. Somehow I managed to twist around—how was I staying aloft for so long? Wow, just wow!—and snapped once more at the bottle. Which I didn’t quite touch this time. Still, no harm, no foul, not at this point. The real difficulty began on my way down, when I sort of hurtled into Harmony and knocked a certain beauty contestant clear out of her arms and into the pond.

An instant later—KER-SPLASH! I hit the water myself, went down and down, and there on the muddy bottom, glinting in a ray of sunshine, lay the shampoo bottle! I grabbed it and headed up. Who’s a good good boy?

I shot through the surface of the pond—or at least got to it. Things had changed up there. First, some strange white stringy-looking thing was swimming away and making a horrible shrieking noise. Harmony and Bro seemed to be swimming after the stringy thing, at the same time shouting at each other in a way that didn’t seem brotherly or sisterly. In short, this was not so easy to understand. I climbed up on shore, dropped the shampoo bottle at the feet of nobody, and gave myself a real good shake.

Nothing like a good shake for clearing the head. And what a lot of stuff I had in my head to get rid of! This had been such a busy day already, and it seemed to be getting busier. The strange stringy thing scrambled out of the pond and … and started giving itself a good shake! That was a bit of a surprise, and then came a bigger one. The strange stringy thing got all fluffed out and turned out to be Queenie! And in a real bad mood. She opened her mouth wide, exposing those alarmingly long teeth—long and very sharp, as I knew for sure, unfortunately—and let out a kind of scream that seemed to stop the whole day in its tracks. Then she took off for the woods, like a white streak across the meadow. I had to remind myself that I, Arthur, was much faster.

I was standing there by the pond, reminding myself of my awesome speed, when I noticed someone coming across the meadow, namely the old man with the wild white hair, Mr. Ware if I was remembering right. Whoa! Had I seen him without that wild white hair? I was trying to get Mr. Ware all sorted out in my mind when Harmony and Bro came charging out of the water.

“Queenie! Queenie!”

Queenie paid no attention. She raced toward the woods. At that moment, Mr. Ware saw her just about to disappear among the trees. Mr. Ware stopped dead, a look of alarm on his face. Then he opened his mouth and spoke in a clear but not loud voice. All he said was, “Meow.”

Queenie slammed on the brakes. Then she turned, walked straight to Mr. Ware, and sat at his feet. He smiled a very small smile.

The twins ran up. “Oh, thank you, Mr…. Mr….” Harmony said.

“Ware,” said Mr. Ware.

“Hey,” said Bro. “How did you do that?”

“I speak cat,” Mr. Ware told him.

I’d been trying to make up my mind about Mr. Ware. But now I knew. He was scary, and that was that.