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But he was probably right. Still, it was with some reluctance that I followed Harriet and Brutus and left Dooley and Pussy to explore what else they had in common, aside from their self-professed love of kittens and kibble.

And as I walked away I could see the love light shining brightly in Dooley’s eyes.

“Let’s slip next door, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet, on whom young love always had an aphrodisiacal effect.

“Great idea, angel face,” grunted Brutus.

And before I knew what was happening, I suddenly found myself all by myself. And as I wandered into the fallow piece of land lining Odelia’s backyard, I was feeling slightly dejected. If my best friend was going to hook up with the richest cat in the world, what was going to happen to me? And as I aimlessly drifted here and there, I suddenly noticed a pair of cat’s eyes following my every movement. When I looked over, I saw they belonged to a cat I knew very well indeed.

“Hey, Clarice,” I said. “How are things?”

“Things could literally not be better,” she said.

Clarice is a feral cat who likes to live wild and free. She roams the fields and forests surrounding Hampton Cove, and is the best dumpster diver I know. She’s also something of an acquired taste. And she has a standing invitation, extended by Odelia, to consider our house her home.

“Care for a piece of succulent meat?” I asked.

“Is Tex manning the grill?”

“No. They hired a caterer.”

“Then I don’t mind if I do,” she said, and followed me into the backyard.

She watched as Dooley and Pussy got cozy, and clicked her tongue.“Young love,” she said. “It disgusts me.”

I laughed.“Most people wouldn’t agree with that particular view.”

“That’s because most people are idiots.”

“Well, if not for young love no babies would be born, or kittens.”

“And would that be such a bad thing?”

What did I tell you? Acquired taste.

We moved over to Odelia’s side and when Odelia saw Clarice she smiled and petted her. Odelia is the only one who is allowed to do that, and Clarice actually purred with delight!

Odelia then handed down a piece of burger and Clarice gobbled it up.“Keep em coming,” she snarled, and Odelia did just that.

Clarice then jumped up on Odelia’s lap, and the feast continued unabated.

And as I watched on, Clarice being fed and petted by Odelia, Dooley and Pussy gabbing away on the swing, my humans prattling gaily in the backyard, and Brutus and Harriet ducking in and out of the shrubbery, my heart warmed. Who was I kidding? Even if Dooley hooked up with Pussy, which I kinda doubted he would, I wasn’t losing a friend but gaining another friend.

“I kinda like this human of yours, Max,” Clarice grunted. “If you’re tired with her, I just might adopt her for my own.”

“No way,” I said. “Odelia is mine.”

“Hah,” said Clarice with a sly grin. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Max!” Dooley shouted. “Pussy likes naps, and I like naps, too! How about that!”

“God,” said Clarice, shaking her head. “This is torture.”

“And I hate getting wet and Dooley hates getting wet, too!” Pussy said.

“And guess what? There’s something else we have in common!” Dooley said.

“Yeah, we both like you, Max!” Pussy said.

“We love you, buddy!” said Dooley.

I held up my paw. Somehow I’d suddenly lost my voice.

I swiped at my eyes. Tears, you ask? Nah. Just a speck of dust. In both eyes.

15. PURRFECT TRAP

Prologue

Heavy rain lashed the windows of the homes that lined the road. A storm had blown in overnight and the wind had picked up speed. Lightning slashed the sky and the night was black as ink. Elon Pope, as he pushed down on the pedals of his bicycle, cursed his decision to take his bike and not the Lambo. He could have been home by now, warm and dry, heating himself by the family fireplace. But no, he had to play the hero again.

When his sister Marcie had accused him of being a climate denier and a grade-A polluter, he’d pointed out to her that he wasn’t merely the proud owner of a Maserati and a Lamborghini but also of a good old-fashioned bike, so when she’d challenged him to hit the pubs on his bike and leave his supercars at home, he’d foolishly taken her on.

And now here he was, riding along this deserted stretch of road in the middle of the night, while Hampton Covians were all safely tucked into their beds, pedaling away like a madman. His nice Moreschi shoes were ruined, his black Armani jeans spattered and caked with mud and muck, and his favorite Ralph Lauren polo shirt completely soaked.

His hair was plastered to his skull and he had trouble seeing which way he was going from the rain lashing his face and running into his eyes. Oh, damn you, Marcie.

Soon he’d left Hampton Cove behind, and was traveling along one of the smaller roads out of town. No posh residences here, though—only a bunch of old houses and rundown farms. One of those old houses was his family home, and the knowledge that he was close made him push down on those pedals with renewed fervor. One more mile.