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“Another very good argument,” I said, nodding, and I ticked them off on my claws. “First off, flying is not safe. Planes fall from the sky every day. Everybody knows this. Second, Gran is there to help her out. And third, Chase should go, as he’s a cop, and cops are better equipped to deal with troubled celebrity talk show hosts than cats are.”

“And don’t forget about my solo,” said Dooley.

“Of course. How could I forget?” I said with a smile.

Recently cat choir had instigated a new rule about solo performances. Used to be that Harriet, our Persian cat friend, was the only one allowed to sing solos, but several of cat choir’s members didn’t think that this was fair. And so Shanille, cat choir’s director, decided that she was done excluding cats from stepping into the limelight. In one of those groundbreaking decisions she declared that everyone should be allowed to sing a solo. And since tonight was finally Dooley’s turn, it was obvious we couldn’t leave for Los Angeles on a moment’s notice. He’d simply forfeit his turn and then who knew how long it would be before he got to go again. And he’d been practicing so hard, too.

“You have to tell her, Max,” he repeated now, a testament to his anguish.

“You can tell her, too,” I said. “She’ll listen to you.”

“Yes, but you’re her favorite, Max.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re her first, and no one ever forgets their first.”

“Um… pretty sure you’re referring to something else entirely,” I said.

“Harriet says so, too. She says you’re Odelia’s favorite and she always does whatever you tell her to. So please, please, please, Max, don’t make her take me to this LA place!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, holding up my paws. Then: “Harriet told you that?”

“She did.”

“So… she’s talking to you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”

Well, she wasn’t talking to me, that was for sure. Ever since I voted in favor of Shanille’s new soloist rule, she’d refused to utter a single word to me. Which wasn’t fair, since Brutus and Dooley had voted for the new rule, too. Brutus had done so when Harriet wasn’t looking, of course, the sneaky cat, and Dooley had simply sneezed and Shanille had taken that as a yes, something Harriet could hardly hold against him.

“Do you think Harriet and Brutus will be there tonight?” asked Dooley, relaxing now that he knew I had his case well in hand, and the Los Angeles menace had been averted.

“I don’t think so, Dooley. Harriet is still very cross about the whole soloist thing.”

“She shouldn’t be. We all should get the chance to shine,” he said, repeating Shanille’s words. “Everyone can sing, Max, even me.”

I had a feeling Shanille had seen the movie Sing one too many times, but had refrained from voicing this thought. Shanille had once kicked me out of cat choir and I wasn’t going to risk her ire over a trifling matter like who got to sing the solos.

“I know, Dooley, but she took it really hard.”

“Maybe she can go tomorrow?” he suggested.

“Tomorrow is my solo,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but you could let her take your place. She’d love that.”

I stared at him.“Take my place? But it’s my turn to shine, Dooley.”

“I know, but Harriet has been so sad lately. And you know you can’t really sing, Max.”

This was true. I’m probably cat choir’s worst singer. Still, if everyone can sing, I can sing, too. At least if Shanille was to be believed. Besides, Harriet had been more angry than sad. As far as I can tell Harriet doesn’t do sad. It hadn’t been fun for the rest of us. As I pointed out before, Harriet isa Persian, and when Persians get angry they don’t stint on the anger. I think she even peed in my water bowl. I mean, I couldn’t prove it, of course, but lately my water had had a distinctly weird taste and odor. Not fresh, I mean.

“Why don’t you give her your spot?” I said.

“But Max! I’ve been waiting for so long—and I’ve practiced so hard. I can’t let her take my spot. Besides, I can’t disappoint my fans—they’re all waiting to hear me sing.”

I rolled my eyes. Everyone can sing. And apparently everyone is a diva, too.

Meanwhile, Odelia had returned, Gran in tow. She was still talking into her phone, apparently trying to get her grandmother added to the guest list.

“Tell her I’m her biggest fan,” Gran was saying, and Odelia gestured for her to be quiet.

“I feel bad about this, Max,” Dooley intimated. “We’ve never turned down a case before.”

“I know. I feel bad about it, too.”

It had all begun last night. We’d been ready to go to bed, Odelia upstairs brushing her teeth and Chase reading in bed, when Odelia’s phone had belted out its merry tune.

“Can you get that?!” Odelia shouted from the bathroom, her mouth full of toothpaste.

Chase had grabbed her phone from the nightstand and picked up.

It had been none other than Opal Harvey herself, the queen of daytime talk shows. She’d gotten Odelia’s information from her dear friend Marilyn Coyn, a talk show host in her own right, and Opal’s BFF, and told Chase she had a case for Odelia to take on.