Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 26

"Stewart gave me a London address," Catsby said. "If you thought crossing the United States in a fursuit was rough, try crossing the Pacific Ocean."

"You mean the Atlantic Ocean?"

"I went the back way," he mumbled.

"So you found the wizard, and he transformed you."

Catsby shook his head. "The wizard had moved to New York. He was no longer in the business of granting wishes. No money in it. Instead, he'd become a stockbroker. You may have already guessed his name."

"Harry Potter."

"What? No. His name was Stratton Bellyflop. The Folf of Wall Street. He took me under his paw, and started me on the path to becoming the wealthy socialite you see before you today. He lived amongst animals in the woods for many years, and brought that experience to his furformance. He taught me how to become one with the animal within—and without. As you can see, there's no longer a dividing line between my persona and fursona."

"Wow," I said. "You swear on your mother's grave you're telling the truth this time?"

"I swear on her grave that the story I just told you is true. Or mostly true."

"What does 'mostly true' mean? Does that mean you embellished a few details for dramatic effect? Or that you made things up? Why can't you give me a straight answer?"

Catsby rolled his eyes and let out a great yawn. "Listen, Old Spice, it's getting late. I was born, and someday I'll die. What happens to us—to any of us—in between the first and last page of our lives is irrelevant."

"That's a bit of a cop-out. Anyhow, what are you trying to do now with Dandelion? She's married to a dog person. I know you're having fun with her and all, but you can't make her love you again. You can't repeat the past."

"Can't repeat it?" he said. "Of course you can!"

"No you can't," I said.

"Yes you can," he said.

"No you can't," I said.

"Yes you can," he said.

"No you can't," I said.

"No you can't," he said.

"Yes you—" I paused. "Okay, I see what you did there, but the answer is still no. You can't repeat the past."

Catsby rose from his chair and looked out over the Atlantic Ocean, in the direction of his red light. In the direction of New York City. In the direction of his beloved. "I'm going to make everything better, like it was before. Dandelion will see. I'm not the same cat."

That, at least, I believed. He probably wasn't the same cat as when he'd first met Dandelion. It apparently hadn't crossed his mind, though, that she might have changed as well.

"What time do you think you'll sober up in the morning?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Noon or so," I said. Not that I ever really stopped drinking, even in my sleep.

He nodded. "I was wondering if you'd like to visit the Boobcannons in Park Slope in the afternoon. Dandelion's invited me over for lunch. Tucker will be there, and, well, you know."

Tucker would be there? I had a bad feeling about the whole setup, and told him as much.

"That's sort of why I'd like you to come with," he said, "in case there's any trouble."

If Tucker started pounding on Catsby, I wasn't sure I had the strength to pull him off—or pull Catsby out of harm's way. I preferred exercising my mind to my body, and thus had arms as big around as chicken fingers. On the other hand, Catsby had become my friend. He was also my employer and my landlord. I couldn't very well tell him no.

"I haven't been to Brooklyn in a while," I said. "It will be an adventure."

"That's the spirit, Old Spice. I'll see you around noon."

"I can see you right now," I said.

"So I can," he said. "Another thing: Looks like it's going to be a hot day—my personal weatherman says so, at least. Yessir. The hottest day of the year. Dress appropriately."

I hadn't met his weatherman yet, but there were many rooms in the house. I only saw his staff in passing. At some point during the summer, I started to see different people. "More trustworthy people," Catsby said. He wanted people who wouldn't gossip or sell his story to the papers. I assumed rumors had begun to circulate about him and Dandelion, which caused the turnover in staff. I wondered how many of these rumors had reached Tucker's cauliflower ears. I suppose we'd find out soon enough. If Catsby and Dandelion wanted a scene, they couldn't have picked a better day for one. The temperature was running high, and their tempers would certainly be running high as well. I had the distinct feeling that we were approaching not only the climax of the summer, but also the climax of the book I'd eventually write about it as well.