Bunnicula Strikes Again! by James Howe Page B

yeah, you and who else?” Ah, they’d lost none of their charm!
    Felony looked in my direction. “Who wants us?” she called out in a voice she probably picked up from watching old gangster movies on cable.
    Howie ran to them, yipping happily. “It’s us, it’s us! Howie and Harold! Remember? From Chateau Bow-Wow last summer?”
    As I loped along behind Howie, I could see Felony’s eyes giving us the once-over. When she did it again, I wanted to ask if it was now called a twice-over but thought better of it.
    Suddenly, recognition lit up her eyes as if someone had turned on a switch.
    â€œHey, Miss D.,” she shouted over her shoulder.
    Miss Demeanor, who was maybe an inch behind her, shouted back, “What?”
    â€œIt’s two of those three bozos we met at Chateau Bow-Wow.”
    Miss Demeanor, who looked like she’d have to be completely rewired before anything lit up her blank eyes, drawled, “Uh-huh.”
    Felony scowled. “We ain’t got all night, Miss D. Let me give ya a little hint: Cute Whiskers.”
    â€œOoooo,” the fat tabby purred. Cute Whiskers is what she had called Chester. “Now I remember. So where is he?” She looked on either side of us as if we might be hiding him somewhere.
    â€œThat’s why we came to see you,” I said. “You see, Chester is missing.”
    â€œI always said he was missing,” Felony quipped. “Missing half a deck!” She chortled merrily and Miss Demeanor joined in.
    â€œNo, no, I mean he’s really missing,” I persevered. I explained that it was imperative we break into the animal hospital and rescue Chester right away. I didn’t go into too many details. I was afraid they’d end up siding with Chester and want to help him instead of me. Besides, I had the feeling Felony and Miss Demeanor weren’t exactly cut out for handling more than a few details at a time.
    â€œI dunno,” Felony said when I’d finished. “Wewuz on our way to a big caper. We haven’t got a lotta time to spare.”
    â€œIt won’t take much time,” I promised. “All you have to do is find a way in. We’ll take it from there.”
    Felony turned up a corner of her mouth and made a strange sucking sound. I gathered this was an outward manifestation of some deep inner mental activity.
    â€œWell (slurp,
snap, suck
), I guess
(snap, slurp, pop)
we could consider it
(slurp, suck, sizzle)
... ”
    In desperation, I turned to Miss Demeanor. “Don’t do it for us,” I pleaded. “Do it for Cute Whiskers.”
    I couldn’t believe I actually referred to Chester as Cute Whiskers. The words curdled in my mouth. But they worked.
    â€œYer right, Harold,” said Miss Demeanor. “Come on, Felony, we gotta help out our fella feline. After all, he helped us out once.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, yeah
(smack, slurp, smack).”
Felony lowered the corner of her mouth, then turned her head in either direction to make sure she wasn’t being overheard. “We’re breakin’ into the Big BellyDeli, see, and we gotta time it just right. We can’t be late, got it?”
    â€œI got it,” I said. “Then you’ll do it?”
    â€œYeah, we’ll do it—seein’ as how it’s fer Chester an’ all.”
    As we walked away, Miss Demeanor began to purr loudly. “We’re gonna sneak inta the Big Belly Deli at closin’ time and party all night,” she said. “I’m havin’ a corned beef and sardine on rye, and that’s just fer starters.”
    â€œAnd I’m havin’ bologna and herring on pumpernickel,” said Felony, “with mustard and maybe a little Tabasco sauce. And then I’m havin’ ... ”
    By the time we reached the animal hospital, I wasn’t sure if I was starved or never wanted to eat again.
    It was just starting to get dark. Luckily, there