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My name is Angie Russo. I live in the Blueberry Bay region of Maine, and I can talk to animals. Thanks to this unique—but mostly secret—skill, I’ve taken to solving mysteries around town.

Usually my involvement happens because I have a tendency to wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now I’ve also hung out my hat as a private investigator. And just because I don’t have any clients, that doesn’t mean I’m not good at what I do.

Or more accurately, that we’re not good at what we do.

Yeah, my cat is my business partner, and we also get help from my quirky nan, her sweet Chihuahua Paisley, my lawyer boyfriend Charles, and even the handful of animals that live near our property—most notably, Pringle the raccoon who lives in a luxury tree fort in our backyard and is a tad addicted to reality TV.

Nan and Charles can’t talk to the animals like I do.

In fact, I’ve never met another living soul who can, and I still don’t know why I was blessed with this particular ability. All I know is that I got zapped by a faulty coffee maker, knocked unconscious, and woke up with a talking cat on my chest.

At first, I could only understand that one cat, but over time, my powers grew stronger. Now I can understand most animals, but occasionally I do still find a dud.

That same crabby tabby, Octo-Cat, wound up with me after we worked together to solve the murder of his previous owner. He came with a generous trust fund, a large coastal manor, and an endless string of color commentary about my life.

He has a girlfriend, a former show Himalayan named Grizabella. Their relationship is long distance and mostly sustained through my Instagram account. It’s equal parts adorable, hilarious, and groan-inducing.

But, hey, a happy cat means a happy me.

And I have a lot to be happy about lately, especially since my bad luck often results in good outcomes. First there was the zap that gave me Octo-Cat, then Nan’s impulsiveness landed Paisley in our lives, but those are nothing compared to the fact that a huge family secret had recently been cracked wide open.

Mom and I found out that Nan hadn’t been completely honest about our family’s origins even though she’d had more than fifty years to come clean. And, well, as awful as that whole thing was to discover, it also meant we were able to connect with long-lost family in Georgia, and thus I found the sister I never had in my cousinMags.

She came for a visit over the holidays and that went well…

Mostly.

She still doesn’t know my secret, but I think I’ll tell her next time we’re together. I probably should have told her before she returned home, but I was scared it would make her and the rest of our newfound family reject me.

I mean, did you believe me at first when I said I could talk to animals?

It’s totally crazy, but also totally true and totally a defining feature of my life—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

That brings us to today.

We just celebrated the start of a new year. Normally I don’t make resolutions, but this time I decided to do whatever it takes to finally get Octo-Cat’s and my P.I. business off the ground. Even though we can easily live off his trust fund and Nan’s retirement, there’s a special brand of shame in having to be supported by your cat.

I mean, I have seven associate degrees.

At least one of those should be good for a job.

And a job is exactly what I’ll have to get if my business doesn’t take off this year. My boyfriend Charles said he’d welcome me back at the law firm anytime, and while I love him dearly, I always hated being a paralegal.

It doesn’t matter, though, because I will succeed at this P.I. thing.

I’m too stubborn not to.

Besides, I’d really hate to let down my cat…

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“This is so exciting,” Nan trilled as we stood outside of city hall with a small crowd of other Glendalians to watch the incoming mayor get sworn into office.

Paisley barked merrily from within my grandmother’s arms.

Octo-Cat had requested to stay home, given his disdain for crowds, and that was a battle I hadn’t wanted to fight.

The mayor appeared at the top of the steps dressed in a fine navy suit with a light blue dress shirt and matching tie. At forty-seven, he was at least two decades younger than his predecessor. But while Mayor McHenry had been a family man, incoming mayor Dennison was a proud bachelor.

When asked about his singlehood by the press, he always said that his trusty golden retriever was more than enough family for him. Besides, less of a home life made it easier for him to give his full attention to making the humble town of Glendale the best it could be. Good answer, right?

As Dennison moved toward the podium now, a harsh boo rose from the crowd. Nan and I spun and saw a line of protestors holding signs that called for the new mayor to be ousted before he’d even fully taken up office.

“That’s in poor taste,” Nan hissed, shaking her head.

“Why does everyone hate him so much?” I whispered.