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“I think the dog was right,” said Kingman.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. Look over there.”

We both looked where Kingman was pointing, and I suddenly noticed a flyer, which had been stuck to a lamppost in front of the General Store. It showed a picture of Neda, and above it the words‘Neda Hoeppner is a Jezebel’ had been written. Huh.

“What’s a Jezebel, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Um, a woman whose morals are a little loosey-goosey, Dooley,” I said.

“Loosey-goosey? What do you mean?”

“A woman who likes the men a little too much, okay?” said Kingman.

“Who put that there?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“Why, Janette Bittiner, of course,” said Kingman with a grin. “I saw her at it when I got back from cat choir last night. Must have been three in the morning. She was going from pole to pole, putting up those flyers, looking left and right as she did.”

“Janette Bittiner did that?” I asked.

“Sure. So not such a dear friend after all, huh?”

“Mh,” I said as I thought this through. “So Janette hates Neda’s guts, ever since Neda took her spot as the choir director, and so she decides to attack her in this way.”

“Not just this way,” Kingman added. “She was in here this morning, bright and early, and told Wilbur that Neda and Father Reilly…” He darted a quick look at Dooley, then nodded in my direction. “You know.”

“Know what?” asked Dooley.

“Father Reilly and Neda were… special friends.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

“Yeah, very sweet,” said Kingman, with a wink in my direction.

“So that’s what she meant by the Jezebel thing,” I said. “Do you really think Neda was having an affair with Father Reilly?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Neda was a widow, and she spent an awful lot of time with Francis, her being the new choir director and all. Wilbur certainly believed it. You should have seen him this morning. He couldn’t shut up about it after Janette left.”

“But I thought Wilbur and Father Reilly were friends?” said Dooley. “Why would Wilbur gossip about his friend?”

Kingman shrugged.“Why doesn’t he give me the food I like? And why does he insist on wearing that ridiculous beard? He’s a weirdo, Dooley, and I’m saying that with the utmost love and respect. Now have you given any consideration to Harriet’s new idea?”

“What new idea?” I asked, still thinking hard about Janette’s feud with Neda, and wondering if she would go so far as to actually murder the woman.

“Oh, here she comes now,” said Kingman. “She can tell you herself.”

And indeed Harriet and Brutus had wandered up, and now parked themselves next to us.“Tell you what?” asked Harriet.

“Well, about the choir thing you mentioned earlier,” said Kingman.

“Oh, right,” said Harriet, and gave me a slightly nervous look. “Max, before you say anything, I want you to hear me out, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Max wore a tutu just now,” said Dooley happily, “and Odelia took pictures.”

“Dooley!” I cried.

“But you looked so nice, Max! You should wear it more often. It really brings out your eyes. Oh, and also, Max was almost killed by a vicious dog, but he managed to escape.”

“Killed by a dog!” Harriet cried.

“Had a narrow escape there, buddy?” asked Brutus with a grin.

“Yeah, well, it was only a small dog, but hewas vicious,” I said, not wanting to shine a light on what hadn’t exactly been my finest hour.

“It was a Shit Sue,” said Dooley.

“Shih Tzu,” I corrected him.

“That’s what I said. A Shit Sue.”

“Oh, one of them big and dangerous dogs, huh, Max?” said Brutus, his grin widening.

“Size doesn’t matter, Brutus,” I pointed out. “It’s the personality that matters, and this particular dog’s personality stinks. He tried to bite me, and would have succeeded if I hadn’t been able to escape up the curtains.”

“Not the waterspout?” Brutus asked quasi-innocently.

“No, Brutus. The curtains.” Which unfortunately, and unlike myself, hadn’t made it out alive.

“Classic,” said Brutus with a low chuckle.

“He ripped them to shreds!” said Dooley gleefully, as he relived the terrifying event.

“Way to go, Max!” said Brutus, and clapped me on the back. “Welcome to the club.”

“You have destroyed curtains?” I asked, much surprised.

“Have I destroyed curtains? Yards of them! Back when I was still living in New York, you know, that rough-and-tumble existence before I joined your laid-back life out here in the leafy suburbs, I was having to fight my way out of a tight spot all the time, and many a curtain has experienced my wrath!” He laughed loudly, thinking back to those halcyon days of yore, when New York’s no doubt many curtains weren’t safe from his claws.

“So the choir,” said Harriet, giving her mate a censorious glance, which quickly shut him up. “I was thinking, why is it always the human choirs that get all the attention?” She gestured to a flyer stuck up on the General Store’s bulletin board, which announced an upcoming concert of St. Theresa Choir. “Why can’t cat choir receive that kind of attention for a change? We’re easily as good as these human choirs.”