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But Tigger was gone. Harriet’s eyes were flashing and she quickly retraced Tigger’s steps, both Dooley and I following in her wake. It didn’t take us long to arrive at the duck pond that’s one of the park’s main features. Children can usually be found there, gleefully ignoring the big ‘DON’T FEED THE DUCKS’ sign and feeding the ducks. There’s a nice copse of beech trees just across the little bridge that spans the pond. Harriet was already sniffing the air, trying to pick up the scent of her errant mate.

Dooley and I exchanged a glance of worry. If Tigger was right, and Brutus was indeed making out with‘some hot chick,’ there would be hell to pay. Not to mention scars to nurse.

Harriet stalked across the bridge, and Dooley and I followed at a little distance. I love Harriet, and she’s one of my best friends, but there are times she scares the crap out of me, and this was one of those times.

We’d arrived on the other side of the bridge, and kids were already pointing in our direction and yelling, “Look, mama, kitty catties!”

Those same mamas probably thought we were stalking a duck breeding ground, and judging from the irate looks on their faces were getting ready to chase us away. What they didn’t know was that we weren’t advancing on a duck breeding ground but apparently on a Brutus breeding ground.

Arriving at the small crop of trees, Harriet sniffed twice, then made a growling sound at the back of her throat. I sniffed, too, and immediately knew we were on the right track. Or the wrong one, depending whose side you were on.

“Brutus!” Harriet bellowed, then made a mighty leap and arrived at the little clearing between the trees.

And there he was, not exactly making out with a hot female feline, but still in flagrante delicto: Brutus, that black, butch cat, was sniffing the butt of a gorgeous redhead.

Chapter 5

Brutus looked exactly like what he was: busted!

“I, um, I’m…” he stammered, then finally resorted to that old standby: “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, puh-lease,” said Harriet, and would have folded her front legs across her chest if she’d been human. “Don’t give me that crap. Don’t tell me you were acting, too.”

“Huh?” said Brutus. To his credit, this was not an excuse he’d considered.

The redhead, whom I’d recognized as Darlene, one of cat choir’s femme fatales, appeared unruffled. She gave Harriet a faux curious look. “So you’re the girlfriend, huh?”

“You know I’m the girlfriend, Darlene,” Harriet snapped. “Though not for much longer. In fact I’m officially handing the girlfriend baton to you.” She slashed the air with her tail for emphasis, then lifted her chin imperiously. “And I sincerely hope you choke on it.” Having delivered this message, she then promptly turned on her heel and stalked off.

Darlene laughed a throaty laugh. She seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

Brutus was less sanguine.“Sweetums, wait!” he yelled, and would have gone after Harriet if I hadn’t stopped him with a gesture of my paw.

“No good?” he asked.

“No good,” I returned.

I’d known Harriet practically from the cradle, and when she was in a vengeful mood like this, the only thing that would result in Brutus going after her was fur flying and claws slashing tender skin. I might not have liked Brutus in the past, but close association had warmed me to the butch cat, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him having to lick his wounds after a close encounter with Harriet’s wrath. The only words appropriate in a situation like this came to me and so I spoke them.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“You guys seem to have a lot to talk about so I’ll leave you to it,” said Darlene. “Toodle-oo.” And she sashayed off, every sign of the feline femme fatale in her manner.

The three of us couldn’t help but stare after her. I might not be a big fan of cat fatales, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire them when I meet one. Finally, she rounded the bend and when no sounds of cats fighting reached my ear, I assumed Harriet hadn’t been lying in wait and her rival had gotten to safety unchecked and unharmed.

Once again I turned to Brutus.“What were you thinking?” I repeated.

“Yeah, what were you thinking, Brutus?” Dooley echoed.

Brutus looked devastated.“You have to help me, Max. You have to talk to Harriet.”

“All the talking in the world isn’t going to help you now, Brutus. You’ve officially done it.”

“But that’s just it. I haven’t done a thing!” he said, wringing his paws.

I uttered a sound of exasperation.“We saw you! You were… doing whatever you were doing. In the bushes! The clich? to end all clich?s!”

“Officially this is not a bush. It’s a thicket,” Dooley corrected me.

“I wasn’t doing anything! I was never going to let it go that far.”

“You had your nose up Darlene’s butt, Brutus.”

“I hadn’t!”

“Well, from where I was standing it looked like you had.”

“A matter of perspective. My nose wasn’t anywhere near her butt!”

“Who cares where your nose was?! You were in the bushes! Making out!”

“Thicket,” said Dooley, then shut up when I gave him a foul look.