“Waggins!” Bones cried. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? By all means, send the cabbie up!”

As the puppy scampered away and down the stairs, I asked the dog, “Send the cabbie up? Isn’t it the usual practice, when a cab arrives, to go down and get into the cab and go away? If I’m not mistaken, I do believe you have things backward here.”

While I was saying this, the tiny part of my brain that was as yet not shot from sheer exhaustion wondered: Perhaps Bones was finally going away … for good?

“Not at all,” the dog answered me. “I need the cabbie to come up to help me with this.” He pointed to a large steamer trunk, the kind that might be used when going on a long ocean voyage or rail journey. Where had that come from? It certainly wasn’t mine.

“As extraordinary as I am,” Bones continued, “even I cannot move something of that size without help. And it is, after all, one of a cabbie’s duties to help a customer load his luggage.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Perhaps he had found somewhere else to stay while he sought more permanent lodgings? Good! So why, then, did I not feel entirely happy? It must be because I was so tired.

“All in good time,” Bones said. “All in good time.”

It was such a mysterious thing to say. We cats are mysterious. But dogs? Everything about them is right on the surface. What you see is what you get. Well, except for this one apparently. How annoying.

While we waited for the puppy to return with the cabbie—the other puppies running in circles as puppies will do; the inspectors looking confused at the turn of events and then annoyed at their own confusion; the turtle bobbing up near the ceiling—Bones opened his trunk and brought out a shiny object that looked like two silver bracelets attached at the center by a chain. He offered them to Inspector Strange.

“What are those?” Inspector Strange asked with a derisive sniff. “I don’t want to be your girlfriend!”

Why is it that anything associated with “girl” is always deemed some sort of insult? You always hear humans say things like, “You run like a girl!” or “He screamed like a little girl!” How is that an insult? After all, I’m a girl. I’m a girl and a doctor and I can run as fast as anyone. Well, I could before I was injured in the Cat Wars.

“Nor do I want you to be,” answered Bones, “and please don’t refer to girls in such a disdainful fashion. It is so backward-thinking of you.”

Did my ears deceive me? Did Bones just say that? For the briefest of seconds there, I could have kissed him. Yuck. As if I would ever! I wiped the back of one paw against my mouth as though wiping away the phantom kiss and its resulting dog germs. Perish the thought.

“No,” Bones went on. “These are handcuffs. Do you not know what handcuffs are? They are something I invented and am in the process of perfecting. They are most useful when apprehending criminals. I thought you might have some use for them. After all, I think it’s a bit much for you to expect criminals to just come along with you quietly once you’ve apprehended them.”

Those things he held in his paws, they did look handy; cuffy too. Still …

“You invented those?” I said.

“Of course,” he said, “just like I invented the jetpack for Mr. Javier. Did I not tell you that in addition to being the world’s greatest detective I am also an inventor?”

“You did not,” I said, still skeptical. “What else have you invented then?”

The dog cast a meaningful look upward at the lighting fixture hanging over our very heads.

“Oh, come on!” I said. “You expect me to believe that Thomas Alva Edison stole the idea for the light bulb from you and not James Swan?”

The dog closed his eyes as he nodded in a gesture that could have been humble but somehow wasn’t.

“You’ve seen my handiwork with what the jetpack can do, have you not?” he said.

“Yes, but that’s a far cry from—”

“I have no use for your silly bracelets!” Inspector Strange scoffed, interrupting.

“Very well then.” Bones set the handcuffs down to one side of the steamer trunk. “We’ll just leave them there for now.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than there came the sound of the door opening, followed by the scamper of Waggins returning, a much heavier tread trailing his eager puppy feet.

Bones turned to me then, his eyes flashing excitement.

“Now,” he said, “the real fun begins.”