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We only get about one case per month, and they only sometimes pay. Luckily, my cat came with a very generous trust fund from his previous owner, which solves at least one major problem.

Oh, also, my cat talks.

Not to everyone, though.

Just me.

Considering his constant stream of criticism and unwanted life advice, I’m sure he wouldn’t have the time to talk to anyone else even if he were able.

Did I mention he’s my partner?

No, not like that. He’s mybusiness partner.

My romantic partner is a handsome, brainy, sweet, and considerate attorney by the name of Charles Longfellow, III. And while I may call him“sweetie,” my cat calls him “UpChuck.”

I’ll probably have to cave soon and make a deal with Mr. Kitty to get him to stop that. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I don’t want anything to ruin it for us.

Besides, Octo-Cat should be busy with his own date that night. He and his long-distance girlfriend, former show cat Grizabella, are as in love as any two cats could be. I should know, because he’s constantly lording it over in front of me, saying how much better his relationship is than mine.

Cats, am I right?

Well, I also have a dog—a little rescue Chihuahua named Paisley. She technically belongs to my nan, but we all live together.

Paisley is sweet like a double scoop of double fudge ice cream covered in sprinkles and chocolate sauce. Sometimes she’s too optimistic about people’s intentions, which means she’s not exactly the best crime-solving partner.

Nan, on the other hand, uses all her varied life experience to solve our cases in the most unusual way possible. As a former Broadway actress, she’s all about costumes, accents, and general over-the-topness.

Boy, do I love her for it.

Speaking of love, I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with the raccoon who lives in my back yard. His name is Pringle and he has zero boundaries. Not too long ago, he uncovered a long-buried family secret by snooping around the attic—we still haven’t fully resolved that one—but he also kind of saved my life a couple weeks ago. I guess that makes us even.

As a thank-you, I now allow him to come into the house whenever he pleases. And he“pleases” quite often. Our grocery bill has risen precipitously. Meanwhile, Pringle is beginning to resemble a literal fuzz ball with all the junk food he puts away on a daily basis.

Sometimes I wish I’d never had that near-death experience that left me with my ability to talk to animals, but then I remember all the amazing things I’ve gained in life since then. Don’t tell him, but the greatest of those things is my friendship with Octo-Cat.

Sure, he only sometimes shows me affection, but when he does it’s enough to keep a smile on my face all day.

That brings us to today.

It’s been T-minus six days since my cat deigned to let me pet him. My parents have been on a glamorous Alaskan cruise for the past three days, and I have had no cases since investigating the mayor’s missing golden retriever last month.

All this downtime has got me wondering whether I should take up a hobby while I wait for the next big case to land in my lap. I have tried advertising, but that’s mostly been a bust. So what else can I really do?

Ugh.

Maybe I should go back to school and finally work toward a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice or something.

I have seven associate degrees, because I’ve always loved learning too much to commit to any one field for four whole years. But now that I’m a PI, I can’t picture any other life for me. Would a degree help bolster the confidence of potential clients?

Or maybe someday I could officially join the police force and work as a salaried detective? Would they let me forgo a human partner in favor of my cat?

Hmm. If not, that might be a deal-breaker.

So many options, but none of them are just right.

I’m pretty sure I know what I need to do, and it’s the one thing I’ve been trying so desperately to avoid ever since I got started.

My boyfriend Charles is the senior partner at his law firm and has offered on more than one occasion to hire me through the firm to help with cases. Sure, Charles was a good boss while I worked for him as a paralegal—in fact, that’s how we first met and became friends.

But our relationship has evolved so much since then, and I’m worried it might hurt the good thing we have going together. Also, returning to the law firm feels like a giant step back even if my job title would change.

I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I just don’t know what to do.

Maybe the cat would be willing to decide for me…

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Octo-Cat regarded me with a piteous look. He flicked his tail and knocked a bottle of painkillers from the nightstand on which he was perched.“See, this right here.This is why you need me.”

I’d planned to do a little reading before tucking in for the night, but the two of us had gotten to talking about my conundrum and—as expected—the tabby had no shortage of opinions.