LITMIR.BIZ

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reaction at all. “Gosh, Pete, it didn’t work. Try it again.” He humped himself up and hissed even louder this time. I laughed in his face. “Sorry, Pete, the old magic just isn’t there. Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe . . . maybe your tricks aren’t working any more, huh? What do you think?”

      I could see that he was getting mad. “Hissing has always worked, Hankie. Something’s going on here. What is it?”

      I sat down and looked at his sour face. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, Pete, but what the heck? See, you’ve used that hissing trick too many times. I’ve figured it out, I know what you’re trying to do. That chapter in our lives is over.”

      “I’m not convinced, Hankie.”

      “No? Then try it again.” The cat glared at me and didn’t hiss. I chuckled. “See, your problem is that you’re too lazy to learn new tricks. We dogs learn from experience. When we see your same tired old tricks over and over, we figure them out. I mean, how dumb do you think I am?”

      He stared at me with his big cattish eyes. “That’s an interesting question, Hankie. I might want to think about it.”

      “Fine. You think about it all you want, but I can tell you the answer. I’m not dumb at all, and you’re over the hill. The old stuff doesn’t work any more. The world has passed you by.”

      “Oh really?”

      “That’s right. You belong in a museum, Pete, a museum for fat lazy cats who spend their lives loafing in the shade.”

      A secret grin spread across his mouth. “Bet you’d like to be in the shade, wouldn’t you, Hankie?”

      “Me? Ha ha. No, Pete, I . . . what makes you say that?”

      “Because that’s what you were trying to do when you sneaked into the yard. You wanted my iris patch, didn’t you, hmmmmmm?”

      I narrowed my eyes at the little sneak. “Don’t be spreading lies about me, weasel. For your information, I care nothing about iris patches or shade. I love this heat. It makes me tougher and smarter. That’s all I ever wanted to be, Pete, tough and smart.”

      “Oh really?” He rolled his eyes up at the sky. “What if I offered you a deal on my iris patch?”

      “First, I’d laugh in your face. Then I’d walk away. Ha ha, good-bye.” I whirled around and marched away. The dumb cat. Did he think I’d actually . . . I returned to the fence. “What did you mean, make a deal on the iris patch?”

      He rolled over on his back and began playing with his tail. “Well, Hankie, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m getting fat and lazy and spending too much time loafing in the shade. The old tricks just don’t work any more.”

      “Right, exactly my point, although . . . to be honest, Pete, I hardly know what to say. I mean, all these years we’ve been . . . you’re admitting that I’m right? You, a cat?”

      “Um hm. It hurts, but facts are facts and truth is truth.”

      “Right. I’ve said that many times. But you said something about . . . a deal.”

      He nodded and whispered, “I’ll rent you my iris patch for the rest of the day.”

      My ears leaped straight up. “You’ll rent . . . what’s the catch, Pete? Forgive me, but I don’t exactly trust you.”

      “There’s no catch. You can use my iris patch for one day, and I get first dibs on scraps for three days.”

      “That’s your deal? Ha ha!” I whirled around and marched...back to the fence. “That’s a crooked deal, Pete. One day in the shade for three days’ scraps? It ought to be reversed, three days in the shade for one day’s scraps.”

      He gave me an insolent smirk and licked his paw. “That’s my best offer, Hankie. Take it or leave it.”

      Suddenly I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck and heard a growl rumbling in the deep vicissitudes of my throat. In this awful heat, did I have enough energy to thrash a cheating little pipsqueak of a cat? Yes, by George! I rolled the muscles in my enormous shoulders and began rumbling toward the . . .

      “Hank! Leave the cat alone!”

      Huh? Leave the cat . . . where had that voice come from? I hit the brakes and turned my head toward the house. Oops. Sally May had just come out the door, and right behind her came Little Alfred.

      I must admit that the sight of Sally May sent a shiver down my backbone, but right away, I could see that something unusual was going on. The clues were very plain to see. You want to see the List of Clues? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go public with this information. Here we go.

      Secret Clue List #806-555-7611

      Clue Number One: Sally May came out of the house, carrying a plastic pitcher and some paper cups.

      Clue Number Two: Little Alfred seemed to be holding . . . was that a sign? Yes, it appeared to be a piece of cardboard with some kind of message written on one side: “Fresh Cold Lemonade $1.00.”

      Clue Number Three: Sally May said, “Well, this ought to keep you busy for a while. Stay out of the road, watch the traffic, and come back in one hour.”

      Clue Number Six: Little Alfred said, “Okay, Mom. Me and my doggies’ll sell a whole bunch of lemonade.”

      Clue Number Seven: A deep scowl passed across Sally May’s face, and she said, “Must you take the dogs? Oh, I guess it’ll be all right, but watch them like a hawk and don’t let them drink your lemonade. I squeezed those lemons by hand.”

      Clue Number Eight: Drover drifted down from the machine shed and joined me at the yard fence. Actually, that wasn’t a clue and it didn’t have much to do with anything, but it did happen, so I thought I would mention it.

      End of Secret Clue List

      Please Destroy At Once!

      Do you see the meaning of this? Holy smokes, unless my ears were playing tricks on me, Little Alfred was fixing to go into the lemonade business . . . and he wanted to take me on as a partner!

      I whirled around to the cat and gave him a worldly sneer. “Hey Pete, you know that deal we were discussing? I’m no longer interested in your iris patch. I have bigger flies to fish. So long, kitty.”

      And with that, I whirled away from the little cheat and marched straight to the yard gate. There, I met my business partner as he stepped out of the yard, carrying the pitcher in both hands and holding the sign under his arm.

      The boy came out the gate, walking slowly so as not to spill his . . . whatever it was in the pitcher. He called out, “Come on, doggies, wet’s go. We’re gonna set up a lemonade stand and make some money!”

      I shot a glance at my assistant. “Did you hear that? The lad is going to start a lemonade business and needs our help.”

      “I’ll be derned.”

      “And it would be good, Drover, if you could show some excitement and enthusiasm.”

      “Yeah, but I’m fresh out of both.”

      “Then fake it. On your feet, son, we’ve got a job to do.” He didn’t move. “Drover, I know it’s hot, but challenges like this give us a chance to show what we’re made of.”

      “Yeah, but I already know: melted butter. I just don’t think this leg would make it.”

      “Which leg?”

      “Left rear.” He stood up and limped around in a circle. “See?”

      “It looks fine to me. Let’s go.”

      “Oh, my leg! Oh, the pain! Oh, the heat!”

      “Never mind, skip it, Drover.

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