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“Sir, must we?” Mabel shook one paw distastefully to scatter the raindrops.
The other feline did not so much as twitch a whisker in his lieutenant’s direction. His green eyes remained on the expanse of the rain-drenched Thames that flowed past. The humans had wisely left an umbrella at this post – very likely the reason the boss had chosen this one over the many other concrete abutments that lined this bend of the river, and the sole reason this watch was not quite as intolerable as it otherwise would have been. “They will come this way, Colonel. We will be ready for them.”
“Always these two little squeakers with you, boss,” Mabel growled, shaking her damp head. “Anyone else, you say the word and they’re eaten or kidnapped or mauled and you don’t miss a tail-grooming or a fresh fish behind Angelo’s –”
“One’s as smart as I am.”
That matter-of-fact confession made Mabel’s fur fluff (what wasn’t wet through).
“It’s why I hired the best mouser in London.” The cat’s eyes were the sole thing that moved, up and down the river. “Prove your worth, and you retire the envy of our kind.”
Mabel grinned and licked her whiskers in anticipation. “Kill him, Mr. Macavity?”
“No. Kill his friend.” Pure feline contempt for that concept. “That will destroy him.”
“Him?”
“Basil.”