A list of things cats are good at:
- Being jerks.
- Knocking things off tables.
- Coughing up furballs.
- Torturing puppies.
- Making fun of puppies.
- Being mean to puppies.
- Upsetting puppies.
- Helping puppies find things.
As I nestled in my crate with Orange Snuggle Bunny by my side, I thought about what Uncle Clancy had taught me. I took a deep breath of the night air and tried to smell the whole neighborhood like I did before, but I couldn’t. First of all, Miss Josie closed all the windows, so it hampered my ability. Secondly, Rocco sat directly on top of my crate. All I could smell was fat, hairy cat.
“Do you have to sleep there?” I asked.
He yawned and stretched, staring down at me with his creepy, glowing eyes. “I do. Mostly because I know how much it bothers you.”
Parts of Rocco’s belly hung down between the metal bars of my crate. It was kind of gross, and it didn’t look comfortable at all. Maybe he’d give up soon and sleep somewhere else.
“Goodnight, Rocco,” I said, closing my eyes.
“Wait, Capone. I want to tell you something.”
I opened one eye so I could glare up at him. “What?”
He let out a long sigh and stared at the window. “I heard you talking to the other dog, the one who finds lost things. Were you thinking about trying to find the missing books? The ones Josephine has been searching for?”
“Yes. Do you know anything about it?”
He hesitated, seeming almost unsure, a new trick for Rocco. “It may be nothing, but I like to wiggle into small places, and when I was under the stairs the other day, I found something. It might be the last accounting ledger. It’s about the same size and shape as the others, and it smelled like Mr. Bartleby.”
I raised one eyebrow at him. “You have a good sniffer, too?”
“Of course, I do,” he huffed. “Not like a dog’s nose, mind you. A cat’s nose is more…discerning. Mr. Bartleby always smelled like oregano and mint. He grew both of those in his herb garden, and it stayed on his skin.”
I studied Rocco closely. “You liked Mr. Bartleby, didn’t you?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “He fed me, which meant he served a purpose.”
I sat up straighter. I was onto something here. “And you like Miss Josie, too.”
He turned his back to me and shot an evil look over his shoulder. “As I said before, provider of food. What’s not to like?”
Suddenly, it struck me. Rocco’s meanness was all a façade. I decided to take it one step further. “I think you like me, too.”
“Don’t push it, pup,” he hissed, swiping a paw at me through the bars of my crate. He nearly got me in the nose, but I ducked my head just in time. I couldn’t tell if he missed me by accident or on purpose, but, on second thought, maybe his meanness wasn’t a façade. Perhaps he was a nasty soul encased in a fluffy, furry package.
At least Rocco wanted to help Miss Josie, which meant we had a mutual goal, but what motivated Rocco’s interest in finding the ledger all of a sudden?
“Why are you telling me this, Rocco?”
He hopped over to the arm of the blue couch, the perfect vantage point for shooting me a dirty look. “Because I need your help, dummy. I can push the ledger to the opening at the back of the stairs, but I can’t lift it high enough to get it out, which is where you come in. I’m the brains of this operation, and you’re the brawn. I’ll push the ledger to where you can reach it, and you yank it out. Use your mouth for something other than licking your privates and tearing apart feather pillows.”
I scowled at him. “One pillow. And it happened ages ago. Let it go, will you?” He didn’t respond, so I took a deep, calming breath. “But this isn’t about you or me. It’s about Miss Josie, so yes, I’ll help you. But I have to go down to the basement to pull out the ledger. How are we going to manage it? Miss Josie will never let me go to the basement myself. She has rules, you know.”
He let out a yawn. “Leave it to me, bone breath. I’ve got it covered. By this time tomorrow, Miss Josie will have the ledger in her hands, and I can stop listening to her whine about it. What a relief.”
Jumping up to the top of the bookshelf, he disappeared into the shadows, but I could still see the faint gleam of his eyes in the darkness and hear the cadence of his breathing. He might deny it, but he cared about Miss Josie. Not as much as I did, of course, but in his own snarky, feline way, he had genuine affection for her.
“Goodnight, Rocco. You’re not such a bad kitty after all.”
“Shut up. I hate you.”
Note to self: I may be starting to like Rocco.