Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 7

Once I arrived back at my beach house, I let Judi Dench out. She flapped her tiny wings. For a split second, I wondered if there wasn't a chance I might be able to keep her. My lease didn't allow for any pets besides cats. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be a way to disguise Judi Dench as a kitty, even if I taped down her wings and had her fitted with a costume. 

There was another problem, too: She could breathe fire. I ordered a couple of DVDs online about dragon training, and prayed they would arrive before she spit another fireball at me.

Judi Dench let out a plaintive cry. I opened the door to let her outside, but she just stared back up at me. Maybe she was hungry. I assumed that I was starving too, but wasn't sure. I felt weak—but that could have just as easily been the fact that I'd recently undergone major, involuntary surgery. I opened the fridge. It was bare except for the bachelor pad staples: eggs, ketchup, and liquid eggbeaters. No wonder my gas had been getting steadily worse over the summer.

The doorbell rang, startling me. "Stay out of sight," I told the dragon. "I'll be right back."

I opened the door to find a well-dressed older gentleman who resembled Morgan Freeman, right down to the smug, all-knowing smile. "Can I help you?" I asked.

"I've brought you an invitation from my employer," he said, presenting me with a cream-colored envelope and a small, giftwrapped box. "An invitation...and a gift."

I set the box down on the side table and examined the envelope. "Dick Narroway" was written in calligraphy on the front. The back was sealed with red wax, and imprinted into the wax was a large paw print.

"Who is your employer?"

"Why, Mr. Catsby of course," the man said with a thin smile. "He lives right next door."

Finally, the pieces began falling together. I should have realized it sooner. The mysterious, well-dressed man with the tail on the dock was none other than the legendary Jay Z. Catsby! You probably already suspected this, because of the book's title. At least I hope you suspected it. If not, I'm a little worried about you.

"You're his butler?" I asked.

"Butler? That's such an antiquated term. I prefer to be called his bitch."

"Really?"

"No, not really. Of course I'm his goddamn butler. Good day, Mr. Narroway."

I watched the man leave through the bushes that separated our properties. He stumbled in the roses, and then disappeared into Catsby's yard.

I opened the envelope. Inside was a card. On the front, there was a vintage black-and-white photograph of a man's naked butt with a trumpet sticking out of the crack.

Dear Mr. Narroway,

You are cordially invited to my party this evening at 7pm. No need to RSVP.

Yours,

Jay Z. Catsby

P.S. Here's a belated "welcome to the neighborhood" gift. Enjoy!

I had stayed up some nights editing fanfic on my porch and listening to the sounds of men and women partying over the bushes, wondering just what one had to do to get an invite. I would have blown a grizzly bear. I didn't, and I'm probably a better man for not going to such extremes—a more alive man, at least.

I tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a cardboard gift box. The whole thing weighed only a pound or two. Had he baked me something? A fruitcake, perhaps? I removed the lid...and found the corpse of a tiny mouse inside.

I turned to Judi Dench. "Dinner's ready!"