The Case of the Vampire Cat by John R. Erickson

was always around, like flies and gnats, but this was my dream, and in my dreams we have no bird dogs. Who needs ’em? And why Miss Beulah continued to waste her time hanging around that . . . oh well.
    I am still the master of my dreams, and in my dreams we have zero bird dogs.
    There we were, Miss Beulah and I, sitting in the . . . I’ve already said that. I cocked my head to a rakish angle and said in my smoothest voice, “Well, my prairie winecup, here we are, alone at last. A penny for your thoughts.”
    She gave me that secret smile that sent little shock waves all the way out to the end of my tail. And then she leaned toward me, so that I caught the scent of her aroma, and said, “Cheese. Would you like some cheese?”
    â€œWell I . . . yes. Those aren’t exactly the thoughts I had expected to buy for a penny, but yes, I would love some cheese.”
    And then—you won’t believe this—then she rolled in a huge wheel of cheese. I mean, that thing must have been five feet across, and we started gobbling cheese in big bites and I found myself talking with my mouth full.
    â€œWell Beulah, let’s talk about love, shall we?”
    â€œYes, let’s. I love cheese.”
    â€œMmmm, yes, and so do I. And you know what, Beulah? I used to think only of you, but now I think only of cheese. Love is crazy, isn’t it, my dear?”
    â€œYes,” she said with her mouth stuffed with cheese, “and love is blond, the same color as cheese. Oh Hank, this is so romantic, talking to each other with our mouths stuffed with cheese!”
    â€œYes, my love, and blowing cheese crumbs in each other’s faces. This is the way I’d always hoped it would be.”
    Well, it was a beautiful dream, but just then, guess who walked up and ruined it all. You’ll never guess.

Chapter Nine: Hint: His Name Was Leroy

    Y ou probably guessed Plato the Bird Dog, right? No, absolutely wrong.
    Well, not absolutely wrong. It was partly wrong and partly right, and let me explain.
    In the dream, Beulah and I were there alone, sitting under the tree, and we’ve already covered that two or three times, when out of nowhere, who should appear but Mister Bird Watcher himself.
    Well, I wasn’t about to let Plato ruin another precious encounter with my one and only true love in the whole world—cheese. (I know this sounds odd but dreams are that way sometimes.) Any­ways, he came blundering into the middle of this precious romantic encounter, and as you might expect, he wanted some of our cheese.
    I told him to buzz off, but instead of buzzing off, he went to the giant wheel of cheese, opened his jaws, and was about to snap off a big bite—only he didn’t get the chance because I, tee hee, clubbed him over the head with my enormous paw.
    That would teach him a valuable lesson about . . . hmmmmm, that was odd. I seemed to be picking up the smell of skunk. It was very faint at first, but it didn’t stay faint for long. In fact, it became so strong that I almost fainted.
    And . . . holy smokes, that’s when the dream rolled away and I found myself back in the real world, under the house at the Hodges’ Place. And I was staring straight into the hateful little eyes of a . . . skunk?
    Yes, indeed. In my dream, I had thought he was Plato and I had bopped him on the nose, and that had been exactly the wrong thing to do.
    Have we discussed skunks? They often take up residence under ranch houses, don’t you see, and Mary D Cat had neglected to tell me that she was sharing the place with a loaded stink bomb, and the last thing you want to do to a loaded skunk under the house is to heckle him or get him stirred up with provocatory gestures.
    Suddenly my eyes were burning and my lungs were burning. All the circuits on the Smellatory Panel hit “Overload” and sirens began going off in my head. I couldn’t breathe, I could hardly see, my instrumentation