The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 by Nic Saint (chrome ebook reader txt) 📗

pretty cool with my brand-new tracker. We were all basking in the attention of a dozen cats now, all gaping at the nice gadgets around our necks, and I could tell they all wanted one. The story of those catnappings had spread through our community like wildfire, and the only thing standing between us and being left behind in the middle of the woods by a crazy catnapper, with not a bowl of kibble in sight, was this tracker, so it just stood to reason everybody now suddenly wanted one.

Cat choir proceeded as planned: we all sang our hearts out, and Harriet sang her solo, and when all was said and done, and we’d been subjected to our fair share of shoes being thrown in our direction by irate neighbors who had the misfortune of having bought a house that faced the park, we decided to follow the route the missing cats had taken, and place ourselves knowingly in harm’s way. Pretty counterintuitive, I know!

“Did you see the look on Shanille’s face?” said Harriet with a wide grin. “She couldn’t stop looking at my nice new tracker.”

“Oh, so now all of a sudden this doomsday device is a nice new tracker, is it?” I grumbled. Even though I, too, had enjoyed the sudden attention, I wasn’t used to a collar.

“You know what your problem is, Max?” said Harriet.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re stuck in the past.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Stuck in the past! You have to move with the times, Max, if you don’t want to be left behind. These trackers are what it’s all about. In fact pretty soon I’m sure they’ll implant a chip in our necks that will act as a tracker and maybe even as a mini-computer!”

Dooley shivered. “A chip in our necks!”

“Some pets already have chips implanted in their necks,” I said, “but they’re not computers at all. They’re simply RFID devices. And all they tell you is the name of the pet, and the owner’s data, like their address and stuff. That way a lost pet can easily be traced to their owner, and returned to same.”

“Well, in the future I’m sure these chips will be able to do a lot more,” said Harriet. “They’ll be implanted in our brains, and that way we can even surf the internet, or google stuff. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Now it was my turn to shiver. “I don’t want a chip in my brain, thank you very much,” I said. “I like my brain just the way it is!”

“I told you. You’re an old fogey, Max,” said Harriet with a slight grin. She glanced around with a frown. “Now where is that catnapper? I’ve got better things to do than to wander around here all night, you know.”

And as if her words had summoned the catnapper, suddenly a car pulled over, a door was opened, and before we knew what was happening, we were all grabbed by the scruff of our necks and stuffed into a large canvas bag!

Chapter 12

Being inside a canvas bag is not a fun experience. It’s cramped, it’s dark, and the fabric tickles your nostrils. So all in all I can tell you with conviction that I’m happy to be a cat and not a potato, for potatoes probably spend quite a large portion of their existence inside just such a bag—before being chopped up, boiled and eaten, a fate which I fervently hoped we’d escape!

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, cooped up inside that bag along with the rest of us.

“I don’t like it either, Dooley,” I admitted.

“When is Odelia going to save us?” asked Harriet, who didn’t sound entirely happy either.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but soon now. Very soon.”

“I hope she gets a move on,” said Brutus, whose voice was tooting in my ear, a clear sign he was right next to me. “Cause I’m starting to feel a little claustrophobic in here.”

“I’m sure she’s on the verge of pulling this guy over and saving us,” I said, more in an attempt to comfort myself than my fellow cats.

But the car was still hurtling on at a high rate of speed, and of our saviors there still was no sign. Finally the engine was cut and we rolled to a standstill. Moments later the bag was grabbed from wherever it had been dumped, and soon after we were released into the wild, the bag unceremoniously being relieved of its contents. And even as we got accustomed to our new surroundings, a big cloud of exhaust fumes drifted over us, and the car took off again, leaving us in what looked like the exact same place we’d been before, smack dab in the middle of the woods.

“So where’s Odelia?” asked Harriet, reiterating her earlier question. “Isn’t she supposed to save us and catch this catnapper? Wasn’t that the whole point of this pointless exercise!”

She sounded a little overwrought, and frankly I sympathized with the sentiment.

“I have no idea,” I said as we all glanced at the retreating taillights of the catnapper’s car as it disappeared from view.

“These trackers are useless,” said Brutus moodily. “Either they’re broken or Odelia and Chase fell asleep.”

“Or this guy slipped them a fast one,” said Harriet. “Whatever the case, we lost him.”

“I did smell the catnapper,” said Dooley suddenly. “I mean, I got a good whiff.”

“And what did you smell?” I asked.

“Well, he smelled exactly like Mrs. Bunyon,” said Dooley surprisingly.

“Mrs. Bunyon!”

“Yeah, didn’t you notice, Max? The bag, and the person who took us, they both smelled exactly like Mrs. Bunyon.”

I had to admit that I hadn’t paid any attention to any smells. I was frankly too panicky and way too nervous about being sliced and diced by what was obviously some crazy person to pay any attention to minor details like that.

“Are you sure, Dooley?” I asked therefore.

He nodded seriously. “Absolutely.”

And as if to add credence to his words, suddenly a loud lament sounded from the other side of the clearing