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“Did you get into a fight again?” I asked, not attempting to hide a hint of disapproval.

“A fight?!” the big, black cat cried. “I never get into fights! I’m the most peace-loving cat around! And if anyone tells you different I’ll knock his block off!”

I noticed he’d balled his paws into fists and was eyeing me with distinct menace in his eyes. As I indicated: once a big-city scrapper, always a big-city scrapper.

“Are you on the run from the police, Brutus?” asked Dooley, curious. “Or the Mafia?”

Odelia and Chase, our humans, had watched an action movie last night, where a man was on the run from the police—or the Mafia—and Dooley and I had been forced to watch along, as is usually the case. Only very rarely do we get control over the remote.

“Lower your voices, will you?” said Brutus, and led by example by lowering his. “If she catches us it’s all over!”

“Who? The Black Mamba?” asked Dooley, his eyes widening excitedly. In the movie a woman named the Black Mamba had been behind all the trouble our heroes faced.

“Who?” asked Brutus, who had missed the movie.

“The Black Mamba. She can kill with one look!” said Dooley. “And if that doesn’t do the trick she can squeeze you so hard between her thighs you simply choke and die!”

Brutus frowned, and was clearly thinking the same thing I was: why would anyone want to kill a person by squeezing them between her thighs? Then again, that’s Hollywood for you. They think up the strangest and most convoluted plots.

“It’s Harriet,” he finally revealed. “She’s been hounding me about this guru she found.”

Dooley laughed, and Brutus gave him a dirty look.

“I’m sorry,” said Dooley. “But you said ‘hounded.’”

“So?”

“Harriet is a cat, Brutus, so how can she hound you? Cats don’t hound cats. Only hounds hound cats. When they’re not hounding other hounds, of course.”

Brutus grunted something that made Dooley wipe the smile from his face, and said,“Trust me, once she starts in on you, you’ll know what I mean.”

“Harriet found a guru?” I asked. “You mean, by the side of the road?”

“Not exactly. He’s set himself up in a big house in town, and more and more people have started to flock to him. When we visited him last night the place was swarming with people—and cats.”

Dooley and I shared a look of confusion.“Now when you say ‘guru,’” I said. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“What do you think I mean? Harriet found a guru and now she wants to convert me to this guru’s church or cult, and hopefully every other cat she meets. But I don’t want to join a church or cult, Max. I’m fine the way I am, cult-free.”

“I think you better tell Odelia,” I said. “If Harriet has joined a new cult, Odelia will want to know about it. What’s the name of this guru?”

“Master Sharif,” said Brutus, looking distinctly unhappy now, and I didn’t wonder. When one’s girlfriend starts dragging one to gurus in the middle of the night, one objects. One argues. And one hides in bushes and consults with one’s friends.

“You have to watch out, Brutus,” said Dooley. “Especially if this Master Sharif invites you to take position between her thighs. That’s how it all started for Indiana Smith, the hero in last night’s movie. Before he knew what was going on, he was flat as a pancake.”

“Master Sharif is not a she but a he,” said Brutus, “and his thighs don’t look all that lethal to me. His tongue is a different story. That cat can talk your ear off.”

“That cat?” I said. “You mean…”

Brutus nodded sadly.“Yes. Master Sharif is a feline, just like us.”

Chapter 2

Tex was glancing out the window of his office with unseeing eyes. A nice little garden the size of a postage stamp stretched out before him. It was his wife Marge’s pride and joy, and normally he loved the sight of it. He often liked to sit on the small bench, to read a book when business was slow, or during his lunch hour. Lately, though, he hadn’t felt any inclination to sit outside any more than he’d felt like relaxing with a good book.

Dark thoughts had been preying on his mind, and when that happens, any book, however well written, fails to grip.

Vesta had already gone home, and his last patient had been handed a prescription to treat the gumboil he was suffering from, but still there he was, staring out of windows and wallowing in misery.

Finally, he heaved a deep sigh, picked up his leather briefcase, and strode from his office. Pulling the front door closed with a satisfying click, he turned to assume his daily walk home when a loud yell of“Tex! Doctor Tex!” made him halt in his tracks.

A shiver ran down his spine, for he knew whom that voice belonged to, and he had no desire to converse with this person whatsoever, for it was he who was the cause of his recent troubles.

But Tex Poole was essentially a kindly man, and not prone to rudeness, so he paused and watched Jaqlyn Jones look left and right, cross the street and make a beeline for him.