The Secret Laundry Monster Files Page 2

  “But there aren’t any rats, Hankie.”

  I stared into his weird yellow eyes. “Hey, Pete, I don’t know what kind of con game you’re trying to pull, but we were called out for Rat Control. And you know, Pete, if we had a decent cat on this outfit, we dogs wouldn’t have to mess with the small stuff. You ought to be ashamed.”

  “Oh, really?” I could hear him purring, and all at once he began rubbing on my front legs.

  “Don’t rub on me, you little pest. I hate that and you know it.”

  “Well, Hankie, I have some information for you. It might help in your investigation. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Information from a cat? Ha. No thanks, Pete. We never . . . What kind of information? I mean, I won’t use it, I’ll ignore it, but just for laughs, what are we talking about?”

  “Well, Hankie”—he rubbed and purred and dusted my nose with his tail—“there aren’t any rats. You were misinformed.”

  “Lies, Pete, lies. The Rat Report was turned in by Drover himself. Drover, step forward and tell Pete about the rats.”

  Drover joined our circle. “Oh hi, Pete. Let’s see. Rats. They have long tails and . . . they sleep in laundry baskets and . . . they eat cheese.”

  I whirled back to the cat. “There! You see? Unless you have some powerful new information, Kitty, we’re going to proceed on the basis of Drover’s Rat Report.”

  “Well, Hankie, I do. You want to hear it?”

  I stuck my nose in his face. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Do you know why? Because cats are not only dumb, but they’re sneaky as well. They tell lies, Pete, and you’re even worse than most.”

  “Fine with me. But I’m warning you. That’s not a rat over there.”

  My mind was racing. Was it possible that Pete knew something we didn’t know? Not likely, but I had to find out.

  “Okay, Pete, I’ll bite. I’ll take the cheese. Start talking.”

  He pointed toward the clothesline. “There’s a raccoon over there. He’s playing with the laundry on the clothesline.”

  Drover and I exchanged grins. We couldn’t keep from laughing.

  “Hey, Drover, did you hear that?”

  “Hee hee. Yeah, that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

  “Me too. We saw the rats with our own eyes, right? And this cat says it was a raccoon! Next time he tells the story, it’ll be a kangaroo.”

  “Yeah, hee hee.” Our laughter faded into silence. Then Drover said, “You know, Hank, I don’t think we ever saw the rats.”

  “What? I thought you . . .?” I didn’t want to discuss Security Division business in front of the cat, so I pulled Drover off to the side for a private consultation. “Look, pal, you’re the one who turned in the Rat Report.”

  “No, I think it was you. I never saw any rats.”

  “Then what . . .?” The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into . . . shambles. I gave the runt a withering glare. “Drover, once again your blundering has brought the Security Division to the brink of humiliation. If I hadn’t caught this when I did, the cat might have thought we were just a couple of dumb dogs out on a midnight lark.”

  “Boy, that would have been wrong.”

  “Exactly, but the weed of truth often grows from tiny seeds.” My mind was racing. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll deny all knowledge of the Phony Rat Report. We never heard of it and we know nothing about the rats.”

  “Except they eat cheese.”

  “Okay, we know that much, but nothing more. In the meantime, I’ll subject the cat to a heartless interrogation. If he knows anything, I’ll break him down and wring it out of him. You got it?”

  “I guess so. But I think I’m still confused.”

  “Just keep your trap shut and let me do the talking. Come on.”

  We marched back to the cat and seated ourselves in front of him. He looked up at us and . . . he was grinning. That was pretty positive proof that he was holding something back. Well, I intended to drag it out of him.

  “Okay, Pete, we’ve had a meeting of the board and we’ve decided to hear your side of the story.”

  “Oh, thank you, Hankie. I’m so honored.”

  “You should be. We’ve decided to make this a special case, so . . . out with it. Keep to the facts and make it brief. We’re very busy.”

  “My goodness, yes, I know you are.” He blinked those weird cattish eyes. “There’s a raccoon in the yard. He’s playing with Sally May’s laundry and I think he even ripped a sheet. I thought you dogs might want to know.”

  “Are you finished? Is that all?”

  “That’s all, Hankie.”

  I stood up. “Good. It’s another pack of lies and we don’t believe a word of it. You’re excused. You’re free to go chase your tail. Good-bye and good riddance.”

  Kitty-Kitty gave us one last smirk and a wave of his paw, and then he went slinking back into the darkness where he belonged. When he had gone, Drover and I exchanged grins.

  Drover giggled. “Boy, that was even dumber than what he said before. You sure nailed him.”

  “We must be firm with the cats, Drover, even when it brings us enormous pleasure.”

  “Yeah, it was fun.”

  “It was fun, Drover, but the impointant poink is that we exposed him as a fraud, a cheat, and a liar. In the future we’ll know . . . What are you staring at?”

  His eyes had moved away from me and seemed to be staring at . . . something. Something in the spoofy darkness of the yard. Spooky, I should say. The spooky yardness of the yard. The spooky . . . Skip it.

  He took cover behind me. “Hank, I just saw something move, and I think it was a . . . raccoon.”

  Chapter Three: We Discover the Ghost from Kalamazooooo

  Maybe you think Drover’s words went through me like a jolt of electricity, that I was shocked and perhaps even frightened. Not at all. I took it calmly. In fact, I even chuckled.

  “Relax, Drover, there is no raccoon in the yard. Shall I tell you why?

  “Well, I guess, but he’s there, I can see him.”

  “He’s not there and you can’t see him. Here’s why. Point One. Your credibility as a witness has already been stained beyond repair by your Phony Rat Report. As you know, it caused us great embarrassment and came within a whiskey of making us appear foolish in front of the cat. Whisker.”

  “Yeah but . . .”

  “I’m not finished. Point Two. If there were actually a raccoon in the yard, it would disprove our Theory on Cats. Do you remember our Theory on Cats?”

  “Well, let me think here.”

  “Cats lie, Drover. They always lie. They lie when there’s no reason for it. They lie when it would be easier to tell the truth. Hencely, any statement made by a cat is false, period.”

  “Yeah but . . .”

  “If Pete says there is a raccoon in the yard, it means there is no raccoon in the yard. The proof is scientific, mathematical, and irreguffable.”

  “Yeah, but I saw something over there.” He cocked his ear and pointed to a rustling sound. “Hear that?”

  “I hear it, Drover, and now I will prove that it isn’t a coon. Follow me and study your lessons.”

  We crept forward on silent paws. My eyes were locked on the spot from whence the sound was coming. Closer and closer we crept. I could see him now, the dark outline of some manner of animal or beast, but certainly not a raccoon. He was sitting on his haunches, batting a sheet with his front paws.

  In certain respects, his profile resembled a . . . well, a raccoon, but we already knew that was impossible. Perhaps he was a skunk . . . yes, a skunk who had disguised himself as a raccoon. They do that sometimes, although . . . hmmm . . . it was a very clever disguise. It would have fooled a lot of dogs, but it so happened that I was familiar with their many tricks and disguises.

 
; “Drover, do you smell a skunk?”

  He sniffed the air. “Nope, sure don’t.”

  “Neither do I. Do you see what this means?”

  “Sure. He’s not a skunk, ’cause he’s a raccoon.”

  “Never fall for the obvious, son. These guys are clever beyond our wildest dreams. He’s obviously gone to great lengths to disguise his skunk odor. In this business, we have an old saying: the cooner they look, the skunker they are.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It means the more he appears to be a raccoon, the stronger the proof that he’s actually a skunk, disguising himself to resemble a coon. Does he look exactly like a raccoon?”

  “Yep, sure does.”

  “There you are. This little creep is a master of disguises, but we must be very careful. Once we expose him and blow his cover, he’s liable to give us a spraying. Better let me handle this.”

  “Fine with me. I still say he’s a raccoon.”

  “What?”

  “I said . . . he’s playing with a spoon.”

  “No, that’s a sheet. He’s batting the sheet.”

  Drover came to a halt. “Hank, do you see who that is? It’s Eddy the Rac!”

  I stopped in my tracks and squinted into the darkness. What I saw sent shock waves all the way out to the end of my tail. My mind swirled and tumbled. I felt faint. My legs began to wobble. I had to sit down.

  “Drover, rush me to the sewer, I’m a sick dog.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I stared into the emptiness of his eyes. “That’s Eddy the Rac. Don’t you see what this means?”

  “Well . . . I guess not.”

  I slumped to the ground. My voice had fallen to a croaky whisper. “It means, Drover, that the cat told us the truth.”

  “Yeah, he’s a nice kitty.”

  “He’s wrecked my Theory on Cats. I can’t go on, Drover, I’m finished. I can’t bear to live in a world where cats tell the truth. Good-bye, old friend.” I closed my eyes and felt myself slipping out into the dark sea of . . . “Wait a minute.” I opened my eyes and sat up. “He did this on purpose, the little sneak. Don’t you get it? He knew it would turn my whole world upside down and cause me to doubt everything that is dear and precious.” I leaped to my feet. “But it won’t work, Drover. We must be strong, even as the rafters of life are crashing down upon our heads. Why are you staring at me?”

  “Well, I just . . . I’m kind of confused.”

  I turned away from his loony stare, gathered my thoughts, then placed a paw on his shoulder. “Drover, being a dunce has its advantages. You’re spared some of life’s darkest moments. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. Eddy’s tearing up that sheet.”

  “What?”

  “Eddy the Rac. He’s ripping up Sally May’s sheet.”

  I blinked my eyes, and slowly my thoughts returned from the edge of the abyss. There sat Drover, the little simpleton, who understood nothing of the terrible crisis I had just endured. “Oh yes. Eddy. Life goes on, doesn’t it? Very well, let’s place him under arrest.”

  Leaving the terrible crisis behind me, I took a deep breath of air and returned to my job of protecting the ranch from villains, monsters, and destructive little raccoons. I marched over to Eddy and beamed him a look of purest steel.

  “Well, well, it’s our old friend Eddy the Rac.”

  He stopped playing with the sheet and looked up at me. “Oh. Hi. Found this laundry. What a blast!”

  “Eddy, you’ve come back to the ranch for a little visit, I suppose, and in some ways that’s nice. It’s touching that you have fond memories of your time here, but one of the things you may have forgotten is that we have laws. One of those laws is no raccoons in the yard. Therefore, I have no choice . . .”

  “Okay, sure. Hey, watch this.” He climbed under the sheet. “I’m a ghost. Woooooo!”

  He flapped his arms and made a spooky sound. You know what? Drover fell for it.

  “Hank, where’d he go? And look, oh my gosh, there’s a ghost!”

  He started to run, but I caught him and pulled him back. “Relax, Drover. It’s just Eddy. He’s playing.”

  “Yeah, but . . . he was there just a second ago and now . . .”

  “I’m telling you, it’s Eddy. You know how raccoons are, always goofing off. Here, watch this.” I turned to Eddy. “Okay, pal, that’s enough. Come out from under the sheet.”

  “Wooooo! I am the ghost of Kalamazoooooooo!”

  The clothespins came unsnapped and the sheet settled over the top of him. He stood up and . . . hmmm . . . began . . . well, slouching toward us, I guess you might say. I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck.

  “Eddy, this has gone far enough. I command you to come out and stop this nonsense at once. Do you hear? Eddy?”

  He kept coming. Drover began edging toward the fence. “Hank, I don’t like this. Something’s hap­pened. Eddy’s disappeared and that thing’s coming to get us!”

  “Drover, don’t be ridiculous. Stand your ground and . . .”

  I, uh, found myself edging toward the fence along­side Drover. I mean, I was 100 percent sure this was Eddy and not some . . . well, ghost or something, but still . . . okay, maybe I wasn’t 100 percent sure, but I was pretty sure this was Eddy, although . . . come to think of it, he didn’t look much like Eddy. The thing under the sheet was big and scary and . . . hey, this is a very strange world we live in and a guy hates to take chances with his own life, right?

  We crept backward, moving away from the . . . whatever it was, Eddy or a . . . well, a Laundry Monster. Have we discussed Laundry Monsters? They’re very rare, and in my whole career I’d seen only a couple of ’em. Our intelligence reports indicated that they’re usually peaceful and maybe even playful.

  That’s at first. Our reports also warned that they should never be approached, because they can turn nasty in the blink of an eye. You’ve read about grizzly bears? Same deal. Your grizzly bears seem cute and fluffy at first, but suddenly they show their huge teeth and attack. And you know what else? They eat dogs.

  We had no reason to think this was a grizzly bear. In fact, we were 100 percent sure it wasn’t a grizzly bear, but we were beginning to wonder if it might turn out to be . . . well, one of those rare Laundry . . .

  He raised his ghostly arms and let out some kind of blurdcuddling moan. Bloodcurdling moan, I should say, and you may not believe this, but all at once I had a powerful feeling that my blood was beginning to . . . curdle. Honest. No kidding.

  Well, fellers, this was a very bad sign. I mean, all of our training had taught us to beware of this kind of thing. Let’s see if I can remember the exact quote. “At the first sign of curdled blood, a dog should go straight into Code Three Barking. If the curdling process continues for more than two minutes, the dog should seek shelter at once.”

  There you are, straight out of the Cowdog Manual of Codes and Procedures. It was beginning to appear that Drover and I had stumbled into a situation that was not only dangerous but also life threatening.

  “Drover, I need to ask you a question. At this moment, do you get the feeling that your blood is being . . . well, curdled or something like that?”

  “Yeah, I think it is. How about yours?”

  “Affirmative. This is worse than I thought.”

  “I knew it! Oh my leg!”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, Drover, but it’s beginning to appear that we’ve stumbled right into the middle of a Laundry Monster.”

  “Oh my gosh. What happened to Eddy?”

  “We don’t know the answer to that. Maybe the monster ate him.”

  “The poor little guy!”

  “Right. Eddy was a sneak, but I couldn’t help liking him.”

  “And now he’s gone.”

  “Exactly. Now he’s gone, d
evoured bone and toenail by that horrible monster.”

  “Oh my gosh! Even his toenails? What are we going to do?”

  That was the throbbing question that lay before us.

  At this time, it’s my duty to report that the rest of this file has to be put under lock and key. It’s just too scary for your average reader, especially the kids. Sorry, but the next chapter cannot,

  should not, and must not be read by anyone under the age of thirty-five.

  Sorry.

  Chapter Four: The Laundry Monster

  Okay, we’ll have to check some IDs. Remember, no one under the age of thirty-five is allowed to enter this chapter. I know, it’s a nuisance, but we have our rules. Anyone under the age of thirty-five who is caught peeking into this chapter will receive a terrible and severe punishment.

  You’ll have to stand with your nose in a circle for thirty minutes.

  Yes, that’s pretty stern, but we just can’t allow the Secret Laundry Monster Files to leak out to the general public. Too scary. We can’t risk it.

  Have we cleared the room of all kids under the age of thirty-five? Okay, I guess it’s safe to move on to the scary part.

  There we were, Drover and I, surrounded by . . . well, confronted by this rare and very dangerous Laundry Monster, the likes of which I had never seen in my entire career. I mean, the thing was huge. Eight feet tall, maybe even nine. Enormous.

  Have we discussed his face? Maybe not, and for good reason. He didn’t have a face. Honest. No eyes, no ears, no eyebrows, nothing but a long nose that stuck out in front like a . . . I don’t know what. Like a cucumber, I guess, or maybe it was a canister of deadly poison.

  Yes, that’s it. They have them, you know. All of your Laundry Monsters come equipped with a canister of deadly poison, and when they bite and sink those horrible fangs into tender flesh, the deadly poison is released into the body of the unfortunate victim.

  Any blood that hasn’t already been curdled will curdle at once, I mean, immediately on contact. Zippo. Cottage cheese. And you know what happens next? Your tail falls off.