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“I’ve been watching Harriet canoodle with other cats all my life,” Dooley reminded me. “I think I’m a canoodling expert by now—at least where it concerns Harriet.”

He was right. Dooley had always nursed a quiet passion for Harriet—a passion which unfortunately had never been reciprocated by the haughty white Persian. “One day, Dooley,” I told him. “One day you’ll find the cat for you.”

“I already found the cat for me. She just hasn’t found me yet,” he said simply.

I never knew my best friend was a closet philosopher, and the upshot was that as I trotted after Dooley, who was trotting after Brutus, I had to wipe a tear from my eye, too. It was that moon. It was having a strange effect on all cats—even hardened ones like me.

“When are you going to fall in love, Max?” asked Dooley as we mounted the stairs.

“I’ve had my brushes with romance,” I told him.

“I know you’ve had your flings, Max, but when are you going to find true love?”

I shrugged.“I dunno, buddy. When true love finds me, I guess?”

“You are by far the most unromantic cat I’ve ever met.”

“I simply don’t like being tied down. I’m a free agent, Dooley.”

“You just haven’t found the right one yet, Max.”

I didn’t enjoy this conversation, so I decided to cut it short by ghosting my friend for the rest of the climb up the creaking, rusty contraption. The ladder was Colin’s fire escape and rarely used by humans except for couples to sit and pucker their lips for a smoke or a kiss or both. For cats, though, it was the main gateway into Colin’s culinary paradise, for it led straight to the spot on the roof where he liked to dump the Hungry Pipe’s tasty leftovers.

The scent that drifted down was intoxicating, and as usual about half a dozen cats could be found snacking on the premium morsels. When they saw us, they turned their heads. All of them were in cat choir and had refused to choose our side in our enduring conflict with Diego. In return, we ignored them. I must admit cats aren’t above being petty.

Brutus had dragged his weary bones to the spot where Diego and Harriet had been enjoying each other’s company, and Dooley and I watched him with a measure of concern.

“You don’t think he’s going to jump, do you?” asked Dooley.

“Cats don’t commit suicide,” I told him. “Only humans do.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because cats are too smart to hurl themselves off rooftops. Besides, we tend to land on our feet. And then there’s that whole nine lives thing to consider. We’d have to plunge to our deaths nine times before the jig is up, and who wants to go to all that trouble?”

“Maybe we should tell Brutus before he takes the plunge,” said Dooley.

“He’ll be fine. And the moment we drive Diego out of town he’ll be even better.”

“You think we’ll be able to drive Diego out of town?”

“We did it once, we can do it again,” I said with a conviction I wasn’t really feeling.

“Clarice did it once,” he reminded me. “And she’s refusing to do it twice.”

“So we’ll do it ourselves.”

“But how?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

We sat in silence, keeping a keen eye on Brutus, who clearly wanted to be alone at this point, and might have sat there for all eternity, if not a disembodied voice behind us had piped up.

“You were right,” the voice said.

When we turned, I saw that the disembodied voice belonged to Shanille. She looked as miserable as a cat can look without possessing the opposable thumbs to hold a liquor bottle.

“He kicked me out,” Shanille announced. “Diego kicked me out of cat choir, can you believe it? My own choir. The one I started. And he goes and tells me that from now on he’s the new conductor. Says I couldn’t conduct my way out of a paper bag. Basically calls me a talentless hack and a fraud. And the worst thing is that not a single member opposed him when he put it to a vote.”

“I told you. He’s pure evil,” I said. Though I should have felt sorry for her, the fact that she’d thrown us out on our ears still rankled.

“I’m so sorry, Shanille,” said Dooley commiseratingly. “I think you’re a great conductor.”

The tiger-striped tabby smiled weakly.“Thanks, Dooley. And I’m sorry for not listening to you before. You were right all along. I should have known better than to be taken in by his smooth-talking ways and his promises of endless supplies of Cat Snax.”

“Those endless supplies of Cat Snax are paid for by Odelia,” I told her. “Which makes him a liarand a thief.”

“Oh, and to think my week started so great. Saw my favorite singer Charlie Dieber from up close—got a wink and a smile from him…” A beatific smile momentarily crept up her face at the sweet memory.

“Wait—you were there when the Dieber got shot?”

“Charlie didn’t get shot,” she said. “His bodyguard did.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through me.“You saw what happened?”

“Of course I did. I saw the whole thing.”