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“That’s what I said. Gran’s fruitcake.”

And lo and behold, my uncouth friend was right: Jason Knauff, for it was he, was dancing around the living room, waving expressive arms, and… he was buck naked!

“Why isn’t that human wearing any clothes, Max?” asked Dooley, who had noticed the same anomaly.

“I’m not sure, Dooley,” I said.

“Do you think he’s allergic to clothes, maybe?”

“Could be,” I admitted.

“Some humans are, you know—allergic to clothes, I mean. Or to washing powder.”

“Maybe he’s testing the floor heating,” Harriet suggested. “Maybe he put it as high as it can go, and now he’s figuring out if it’s warm enough for his taste.”

Suddenly Mr. Knauff lay down on the floor, and started… making snow angels, only there was no snow, of course.

“See? I was right,” said Harriet. “He’s testing that floor heating.”

We watched the man with amazement, as he was now rolling across the floor, then jumped up again like a jack-in-the-box and started racing around the room, flapping his arms up and down like a bird and generally looking like a raving lunatic. I wondered if he’d done the same thing at Gwynnie’s new place, or Kimmie’s or Hilaria’s.

Finally we decided to leave the man be and go to bed. After all, there’s only so long you can watch a man dance around an empty house buck naked. It does get tedious.

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The next morning, breakfast was a lively affair, with Gran trying to impress upon the others the importance of her upcoming concert, and Tex being in the vanguard of critics who weren’t wild about the idea, causing Gran to call him a bigot, which Tex didn’t take well, judging from the fact that he threw a bread roll in his mother-in-law’s direction, with her reciprocating by also throwing a bread roll at him, this one buttered and smeared with jam, causing it to stick to his face, then drop to his nice, crisp white shirt.

And as Dooley and I left the house through the pet flap, my friend commented,“I think it’s time the house was finished and Gran and Tex and Marge moved next door again, Max. They’re starting to get on each other’s nerves.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “Time they all got some space from each other again.”

At least in their own house they had more room to avoid each other, while at Odelia’s they had been stuck for weeks, which wasn’t conducive to a convivial atmosphere.

We wandered over to the backyard of Marge and Tex’s house and saw that Harriet and Brutus were holding an early-morning meeting with Rufus, the big sheepdog belonging to the Trappers, Marcia and Ted, the Pooles’ next-door neighbors.

“Hey, buddy,” I said as we walked up to join the conference.

“Hey, Max,” said Rufus, his head sticking through a hole in the hedge.

I noticed he looked perturbed for some reason.

“Everything all right?” I asked therefore.

“Oh, sure. Only Harriet just told me about cat choir setting up a joint concert with Father Reilly’s St. Theresa Choir.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Harriet’s idea, and Gran ran with it.”

“So… why didn’t you invite me, huh?”

“You’re not a cat, Rufus,” Harriet pointed out.

“I know I’m not a cat, Harriet,” said Rufus. “I’m a dog, and a proud member of dog choir, which, as you very well know, also rehearses every night at the same park as cat choir. And I don’t see why we should be excluded from this concert of yours.”

“Wow, hold on,” said Brutus, holding up a paw. “This has nothing to do with dog choir, Rufus. This is strictly a cat choir and human choir affair.”

“Which is discrimination and you know it.”

“Discrimination?” asked Brutus, slightly taken aback. Nobody likes to be accused of discrimination.

“Anti-dog discrimination, and I won’t stand for it,” said the large sheepdog.

Suddenly another member of dog choir joined us. It was Fifi, who belongs to Odelia’s next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield. She’s a tiny Yorkie, and one of my best friends, strange as that may seem for a dog.

“Hey, you guys,” she said as she came tripping up. “What a wonderful, gorgeous morning, isn’t it? One of those glorious mornings that makes you happy to be alive.”

“Mh,” Rufus grumbled.

“What’s eating you, big guy?” she asked with a laugh.

“Cat choir is doing a show with St. Theresa Choir, and dog choir is not invited.”

“Not invited? But that’s discrimination,” said Fifi immediately.

“See?”

“You can’t exclude us. We have every right to sing at that show of yours.”

“But…” Harriet began,

“Look, it’s very simple,” said Rufus. “Either you include us, or we’re boycotting your concert.”

“And how are you going to do that?” said Brutus with a smile. “By not showing up? That’s going to make a big impression.”

“We’re going on a hunger strike,” said Rufus decidedly.

Fifi gulped a little at this. I know how much she likes to eat.“Um, yeah, that’s right. If we don’t get invited, we’re going to stop eating until we are.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Harriet, glancing over to me, as if I could magically make this hiccup go away. “If you all stop eating, it’s going to create a big fuss.”

“I know,” said Rufus with a smile. “That’s the whole point.”