LITMIR.BIZ

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time.

      Where were we? Oh yes, nine o’clock on the morning of November the . . . something. The first day of November, and also the first day of quail season. It was morning and it was nine o’clock and I’d been up all night listening to unemployed cows and I wasn’t in the greatest of moods.

      And that’s when I observed something odd. I was in the office, trying to . . . I don’t remember. Reading reports, planning strategy for the week, preparing my precious bodily fluids for another grueling day on Life’s Front Lines. It was important, we can be sure of that, and all at once I became aware of a certain . . . odd sound.

      Kack-kack-kack-kack.

      I lifted my head from the huge pile of reports on my desk and slowly turned my eyes toward the source of the odd sound. I saw . . . Drover. There he was, lounging on his gunnysack bed and gnawing on his foot, if you can believe that.

      Kack-kack-kack-kack.

      I glared at him for a long moment, hoping he might quit. He didn’t. “Drover, could I ask you a personal question?”

      His eyes came up. “Oh, hi. Sure, you bet, ask me anything.”

      “What are you doing?”

      “Well, let me think. I was chewing on my foot . . . I guess.”

      “Ah! Chewing on your foot. I thought that’s what you were doing.”

      “Yep, that’s what I was doing.”

      “Has it ever occurred to you that this foot-chewing creates a sound that is . . . how shall I say this?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “. . . a sound that is not only disgusting but also very distracting to those of us who have jobs and responsibilities.”

      He rolled his eyes around. “I never thought of that.”

      “I see. Would you like to think about it?”

      “Oh . . . not really.”

      “What?”

      “I said . . . oh sure. You bet.”

      I pushed myself up from the desk and began pacing in front of the runt. “Let me be blunt. I haven’t slept in weeks and my nerves are on edge.”

      “I thought you slept last night. I heard you snoring.”

      “I didn’t sleep, Drover. I was tossing and turning and listening to the wailing and screeching of a hundred twenty-seven unbalanced mother cows.”

      “Yeah, but I heard you snoring.”

      “I wasn’t snoring. I was . . . going over reports. I was working my way through a huge stack of paperwork.”

      “It sure sounded like snoring to me.”

      “Sounds can be very deceiving, Drover, and let’s not get away from the point of this conversation.”

      “I already forgot the point.”

      “You were gnawing your foot—gnawing it and licking it.”

      “Oh yeah.”

      “It made a disgusting sound. It bothered me, which brings us to our last question: Why do you chew your foot?”

      “Well, let me think here.” He wadded up his face and squinted one eye. “I don’t know.”

      “Think harder, son. There must be some reason. If there’s not, then you should find something else to do.”

      “Maybe I was . . . bored.”

      I halted my pacing and stared at him. “Bored? I’m dying from overwork and the crushing responsibility of running this ranch, and you’re bored?”

      “Maybe that was the wrong answer.”

      “Yes, or maybe it was the truth. For the moment, for the sake of argument, let’s assume that you really were bored.”

      Kack-kack-kack.

      I narrowed my steely eyes. “There you go again. Why do you keep doing that?”

      “Well, you said I was bored and all at once I felt . . . bored.”

      “Ah, there we are. You felt bored, so you began gnawing on your foot. Do you see what this means?”

      “Well . . .”

      “It means, Drover, that you are chewing your foot out of sheer boredom.”

      “I’ll be derned. I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “Exactly my point. You’re doing silly things without thinking. If you’re going to do something silly, you should at least give it some thought.” I noticed that a pained expression had come over his face. “Now what’s wrong?”

      “It hurts to think.”

      “Of course it does. When we don’t use our minds, Drover, they get fat and lazy, and any kind of mental work causes terrible pain. But in the long run, it’s good for us and . . . why do you still have that tormented expression on your face?”

      “Well, I have this urge, this powerful urge, to chew my foot.”

      “Even after you’ve thought about it? Even after we’ve discussed it and brought it out into the open?”

      “Yeah, it’s getting worse! Help! Oh my paw!”

      “Fight back, Drover, resist the urge. There’s no reason for it. It makes you look silly, and the sound of it drives me nuts. Remember, it’s all in your mind.”

      “No, it’s in my paw, and I just can’t . . .”

      Kack-kack-kack-kack.

      I watched with feelings of great sadness as he attacked his own foot and began biting it again. Our struggle to overcome his irrational urge had ended in failure, but just then something else occurred that threw this case into an entirely different direction.

      You see, we were no longer alone in the office. Someone else had arrived—someone who wasn’t welcome.

      Chapter Two: A Warning from Pete

      Do I dare give out the identity of the stranger who had arrived at the office? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Okay, it was Pete, our local cat. Mister Lurk in the Iris Patch. Mister Kitty Moocher.

      When I saw him lurking there, just outside the office, I whirled around to Drover and whispered, “Shhh! Not another word. We’re being watched. I don’t want any of this to go outside the Security Division.”

      “It’s only Pete.”

      “Drover, I’m aware that it’s only Pete, and that’s the whole point. He doesn’t belong to the Security Division and we don’t want him listening while we discuss our internal problems.”

      “Oh, okay. What’s our problem?”

      I glared into the emptiness of his eyes. “The problem is YOU.”

      “I’ll be derned. That’s my problem too.”

      “Of course it is, and that’s my whole point, but we can’t talk about it in front of the cat.” I shot a glance over at the cat . . . and was astonished to see that he was . . . chewing his paw. I dropped my whisp to a voister. My voice to a whisper, I should say. “Do you see what I see? The cat is chewing his paw, Drover, and all at once I’m beginning to wonder . . .”

      Kack-kack-kack.

      That was Drover. He was chewing his foot again. My probing gaze dashed from Pete to Drover and back to Pete. Do you see what was going on? They were both licking and chewing their respective

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