How to Moon a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale Read Free Book Online Page B

become an instant download sensation on the Internet.
    The Mayor’s main political opponents had also cashed in. The website for the President of the Board of Supervisors featured a frame-by-frame color photo analysis of the Mayor’s indecorous departure from the frog-infested City Hall. The gubernatorial candidate for the opposing political party had adjusted his stump speech to include several oblique frog references, each instance generating raucous cheers from his supporters.
    With the Mayor under constant assault from all quarters, his poll numbers had taken a swan dive.
    After several tortured months of refusing to comment on or otherwise discuss the frog debacle, the Mayor had announced his withdrawal from the governor’s race. He’d issued a brief statement and left town for an extended Hawaiian vacation.
    When the Mayor finally returned to City Hall, he was accompanied by a new fiancée, a suitcase full of coconuts, and the elusive, seemingly invisible Life Coach. The lengthy vacation, engagement, and motivational guidance, however, had done little to buoy the Mayor’s spirits. When spotted by a roving camera crew the previous week, he’d looked as if he wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.
    Throughout all this turmoil, Monty had remained one of the Mayor’s most ardent supporters. It was this unwavering adoration, I suspected, that had earned Monty the invitation to the Mayor’s secret Hawaiian getaway. After a brief visit to the islands, Monty had arrived back in San Francisco with a light freckling on his normally pale face and the new head-scratching title of assistant—or apprentice, as he preferred to be called—life coach.
    In recent weeks, the city’s political rumor mill had been running hot with speculations that the Mayor would throw his hat into the race for lieutenant governor. Despite the political baggage of the frog-fleeing incident, pundits predicted he would be an easy front-runner in that contest, which was far less competitive than that for the office at the top of the ticket. If elected, there was a good chance the Mayor would take Monty with him to Sacramento.
    Four Monty-free years, I thought with a longing sigh as I watched my green spandex-clad neighbor prance around the kitchen. It was almost too much to hope for.
    At least Monty’s obsession with San Francisco politics had temporarily distracted him from his previous favorite pastime. It had been several months since Monty had approached me with another bizarre theory regarding my Uncle Oscar’s death—or lack thereof.
    In the weeks following Oscar’s passing, Monty had dreamed up numerous scenarios speculating on ways my uncle might have faked his death and assumed a disguise, perhaps in order to elude the likes of Frank Napis. According to Monty, it was entirely possible that a costumecamouflaged Oscar was walking around Jackson Square, right under our noses.
    I had at first let my imagination—and Monty’s endless stream of ridiculous theories—persuade me that maybe, perhaps, there was a chance that Oscar was still alive. Truth be known, I preferred to think of him that way, off on a wild adventure instead of cold, dead, and buried in the ground. But I had long since dismissed those fantasies and, thankfully, so had Monty.
    I watched as Monty’s eyes darted from Rupert to the dusty green vase.
    “Aha!” he said, spinning around the table to swoop it up. “You found a replacement.” He brought the container close to his face and slowly rotated it under his nose, carefully inspecting the curves of the glass as he tapped the surface with his fingers.
    “It’s hard to say for sure . . . ” he droned slowly as he turned the vase to squint down the opening into its interior. “But I’d have to say this is a match to the one you broke last summer.”
    I glanced grimly at the chunky cat sitting on the floor near my feet. “Actually,” I said, clearing my throat with a light cough, “I’m pretty sure it was