Murder Has Nine Lives by Laura Levine Page A

rather thrifty production, meant to represent a kitchen floor.
    Nikki came bustling in with the bowl of Brand X cat food glistening with lemon oil. She set it down on the linoleum, careful to make sure it was positioned so the camera picked up the words Brand X .
    â€œAre we ready?” Ian called out.
    I set Prozac down next to the cat food and waited with bated breath, hoping she wouldn’t swan dive into the bowl.
    But thank heavens Nikki had been right about the lemon oil. The stuff was kitty kryptonite.
    Prozac took one sniff and instantly recoiled.
    For the first time in recorded history, my champion chowhound actually turned away from a bowl of food.
    â€œMy God!” Deedee cried. “I haven’t seen an animal this talented since Beverly Hills Chihuahua !”
    Then it was time for Prozac’s big moment. Her final shot of the commercial—eating the Skinny Kitty.
    Another break while Big and Bigger set up the shot. When they were finally ready, Nikki brought out the Skinny Kitty in a gorgeous crystal bowl, no doubt part of the Pink Panther’s dinner service.
    What with all the setups and footage Big had been shooting, it had been well over an hour since Pro had scarfed down that roast beef. With any luck, enough time had passed for my feline garbage disposal to have worked up an appetite.
    By now, my confidence was growing. Prozac was on a roll. She could smell that five grand and all the bacon bits it could buy. I felt certain she’d put on the feed bag and suck up that cat food.
    Nikki set down the crystal bowl. She’d done a great job of styling the Skinny Kitty, making the chunks of mystery meat look like something straight out of a Martha Stewart cookbook.
    Prozac sniffed at it hungrily. She was all set to chow down.
    And then Dean went ahead and opened his big mouth.
    â€œAs soon as we’re through with ‘fatty’ here, we’ll set up for our star, Miss Desiree.”
    That’s when everything went to hell.
    I told you Pro understands English. She looked up from the Skinny Kitty, fury flashing in her eyes.
    Fatty? He called me Fatty? That’s it. I’m outta here.
    â€œForget about him, Pro,” I whispered in her ear. “Just take a bite.”
    Nothing.
    â€œI’m begging you.”
    Still nothing.
    â€œJust think of all those juicy bacon bits.”
    But it was no use. Her jaws were clamped tighter than a chastity belt in the Middle Ages.
    â€œHey, what’s the holdup?” Dean groused.
    â€œNot a problem, Dean,” Ian said, stepping up to the plate. “I’ve got this. I work with animals all the time. They always listen to me.”
    He crouched down and started to whisper in Prozac’s ear, but one blast of his breath sent her skittering away.
    Whoa, Nelly. Somebody had a Gin Mc Muffin for breakfast.
    â€œNice work, Cecil B,” Dean snapped. “Now what are we supposed to do?”
    â€œDon’t worry, Dean,” Deedee said, hustling to his side. “This is just a minor hiccup. Prozac is a trained professional. I guarantee she’ll give the performance of a lifetime. Animals often need a moment of reflection before throwing themselves into their roles. Isn’t that so, Prozac, honey? Aren’t you just about to throw yourself into the role?”
    At which point, Prozac did sort of throw herself into the role. The role of a Psycho Kitty. With a mighty swipe of her paw, she sent the crystal bowl of cat food skittering across the stage and crashing into a floor light, where it promptly shattered to smithereens.
    â€œThat’s my good Waterford!” cried the Pink Panther, turning as pink as her sapphires.
    Dean kneeled down and looked Prozac straight in the eye, oozing rage from every pore.
    â€œWhy, you no-talent little flea ball!”
    Prozac oozed right back at him.
    Better a flea ball than a sleazeball. And, by the way, Dippity-do called. They want their gel back.
    Then, as the