Something Fishy

Chapter 2: In Which the Adventure Begins

     As we arrived at the entrance to the factory, I turned to Ron. "Remember the plan?" I said. He nodded.

     'The Plan' was to 'accidentally' wander off during the tour and make our way to where we had seen the cat prints going.

      "It's black 'n white," said Ron before we went inside.

      "Yeah, pretty basic," I said, then realized that Ron probably wasn't talking about the plan. "Oh, you mean the cat?"

      Ron nodded again.

    "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?" I sighed. "Ron, all information is important information. Some bits are just more important than others. If this is going to work out, we need to have an open relationship."

      Ron blushed as I said 'relationship' and I immediately regretted my word choice. Ah, well.

      "Now that this has been clarified, we are ready, then," I added. "Here it goes." I marched up to the enormous metal double doors and heaved them open to reveal –

      The smallest tour office I had ever seen in my life.

     "Whaddaya want." asked a tiny old lady in a monotone voice. She was seated behind the little front desk, reading a large and dusty book.

     The way she said it, it didn't even seem like a question, but I answered anyway. "Why, a tour of the factory, of course!" I said cheerily, squeezing into the room.

      She squinted distrustfully at me. "Aren't you that vegetarian?" she asked.

      "That's what they call me." I smiled as hard as I could.

      "And why would a vegetarian want to tour a cat food factory? You do know what cat food is made from, don't you?"

      "I'll be fine, I won't sample anything," I joked. She made a face.

      "We don't offer samples," she said. "Our products are for feline consumption only."

      "I know," I sighed.

      "You aren't one of those crazy environmentalists, are you?"

      "Um, I don't see the relevance of that to –"

     "What's in that bag of yours? It better not be a bomb. Environmentalists do that sometimes, you know, blow up places that aren't 'eco-nice' or whatever."   

      "I'm not going to blow us up!" I cried.

     Ron, of course, chose this precise moment to enter the room. He looked from my peeved and aggravated face to the equally peeved and aggravated face of Tour Lady.

    "Why, hello, Ronnie, what a surprise!" exclaimed Tour Lady, her face morphing into a smile. "How's my favorite grandson?"  

      "He's at home," said Ron.

     Tour Lady laughed. "Oh, Ronnie, you're so funny! I meant you! How are you?"

     "Fine," said Ron, glancing over at me. His expression seemed to say, 'what now?!' Or maybe it didn't. Either way, though, it was time for me to get things back on track.

     "Ron offered to take a tour of the factory with me!" I explained. "So I can, you know, get to know the town, and stuff. So I can -" I glanched briefly over at a poster on the wall. "Celebrate the rich heritage of the town of Troutface, instill myself with Troutfacer pride."

      "Did you, Ronnie? How sweet of you, boy! The tour starts in two minutes."

      "Where do we get in line?" I asked.

      "Line?" Ron's grandma looked confused. "What line?"

     It then occurred to me that I had made a grave miscalculation. I had assumed that there would be other people on this tour with us. A rather ridiculous assumption, I now realized, because even if this was the largest cat food factory in America, it was the largest cat food factory in America. Droves of tourists wouldn't go a mile out of their way to see this place, let alone 23 (which was how far the town was from the nearest highway).

    But if it was only Ron and I, how would we covertly slip away from his grandma without her noticing?

     "It's three o'clock! Time for the tour!" announced Ron's grandma loudly, and I jumped, shaken from my thoughts. I needed to think of something fast. Fortunately, Ron thought faster.

      "I can do it," said Ron.

      "Do what?" Both his grandma and I turned to stare at him.

      "The tour," said Ron. "I can lead it."

     Ron's grandma shrugged. "Fine with me. You know the factory better than I do, probably," she said. "And Millicent just discovered that it was Esmerelda who killed her husband." Seeing our confused looks, she held up the book she'd been reading. "So, if you're sure you don't want me to -"

      "Thanks!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. "We'll be going now. Won't bother you again."

      "Follow me," said Ron, and so I did.