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“Or at least let’s go to cat choir. This is the one night you need to be surrounded by other cats, Max. It will keep you from thinking bad thoughts.”

“I’m not thinking bad thoughts—I’m thinking realistic thoughts—really getting down and dirty on what life as Odelia’s cat is all about.”

“Oh, Max, don’t be this way,” said Dooley. “This isn’t you. You’re usually the sane and sensible one, and I’m the one whining and complaining and getting all worked up about stuff.”

In spite of my foul mood, I had to laugh at this rare moment of self-reflection on my best friend’s part. “You’re right about that,” I said.

“See? You’re smiling already! All you need is to have your friends around, and you’ll soon forget all about Odelia and those fun and interesting pets she’s having a good time with right now.”

And there he’d spoiled the moment again, and I sunk back into my slough of despond.

For a moment, we just sat there, thinking about what could have been, and then another fun and interesting pet came slinking up to the porch, mounted it with some effort, and climbed the swing.

“Brutus,” I muttered.

“Max, Dooley,” muttered Brutus.

“Brutus,” muttered Dooley.

For a moment, no one spoke, me thinking dark thoughts about Odelia and the fickleness of human affection, Dooley thinking dark thoughts about me and the fickleness of my mood, and Brutus… Oh, who cared what Brutus was thinking about?

Then, finally, Dooley broke the silence.“So where is Harriet? I thought you were going to do some hanky-panky—what is hanky-panky, by the way, Max? You never said.”

“Hanky-panky is a, um, fun game,” I said, in spite of my foul mood still very serious at protecting Dooley’s innocence.

“What kind of game?” he said, perking up. “Can we play it?”

“Not right now,” I said after a pause. “Besides, it’s a game usually played between a tomcat and a queen.”

“So can I play it with Harriet?”

“Theoretically, you could,” I agreed, darting a glance in Brutus’s direction. Usually these were fighting words. Now he just lay there, like a sack of potatoes.

“Brutus?” I asked. “Are you all right, buddy?”

Brutus merely grunted something that gave me the impression he was far from all right.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I said, rotten. And now will you please let me wallow in self-loathing in peace and quiet. Self-loathing requires that everyone around keeps their traps shut.”

So Dooley and I kept our traps shut for a moment. Then, because it’s hard to keep a good cat quiet, Dooley said, “So when you see Harriet could you ask her if she wants to play hanky-panky with me?”

Brutus directed a look of such hostility at Dooley that even the latter, though usually not the quickest on the uptake, got it amidships and gulped.

“Harriet is upset with me right now,” said Brutus finally. “So if you don’t mind I’m not going to ask her anything. She’d only cut me if I did.”

“Upset with you?” I asked, deciding to take the risk of digging a little deeper into this mysterious matter. “And why is that?”

“Probably because you didn’t let her win at hanky-panky,” said Dooley. “Harriet hates losing. You should know this by now, Brutus. Always let her win at everything. It’s the only way to keep the peace.”

“Oh, shut up, Dooley,” said Brutus.

Dooley shut up, and so did I. From vast experience I knew that when Brutus was brooding on something the truth would come out sooner or later. It’s not easy keeping stuff bottled up, especially when surrounded by two cats who very much like to know. And clearly I was right, for he suddenly muttered, “Just because I asked her to get in touch with her inner male she has to go and fly off the handle like that.”

“You asked Harriet to get in touch with her inner male?” I asked, stifling a sudden urge to giggle.

He stared at me for a moment, daring me to laugh, but I managed to keep up my poker face pretty well.

“Now why would you go and do a thing like that?” asked Dooley.

“Because we’re a couple, and if I’m going to get in touch with my inner female, it only makes sense that she gets in touch with her inner male! So we can…. you know… the switcheroo thing.”

We both stared at him. Now I was at a complete and utter loss.“Switcheroo thing?” I finally asked.

“Yeah, like in the documentary. The male of the species turns into the female of the species and the female of the species into the male and they live happily ever after. It’s not rocket science, you guys.”

It sounded like rocket science to me.“So you want to turn into a female and for Harriet to turn into a male so you can live happily ever after?” I asked, wanting to make sure I got the gist of the thing before we proceeded into the nitty-gritty.

“Yeah. We are a couple, after all, and if I’m going to be the female, she has to be the male, right?”

“Um… you could always turn into a female while Harriet keeps on being a female, too,” suggested Dooley.

Brutus frowned.“I don’t get it.”

“Well, if Harriet doesn’t want to be a male, and you are adamant about being a female, you’re going to be two females together, right?”