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“I think I once read that the oldest living organism on the planet is a fungus,” I said.

“So where do we find a fungus to interview?”

“Not sure. And I’m not even sure Mr. or Mrs. Fungus would want to talk to us. I hear they’re very private organisms.”

We both lapsed into silence. This was a tough assignment Odelia had given us. One of those impossible missions Tom Cruise likes so much. Only Tom’s missions usually end up with him dangling from high-speed trains, skyscrapers or the outsides of airplanes. At least our mission didn’t involve that kind of hair-raising stunt. At least I hoped it wouldn’t. I’m not all that keen on hair-raising stunts, and I don’t think Dooley is either.

We’d ambled along through the neighborhood without meeting a single fungus and decided to wend our way into town. There are always fellow cats to be found downtown, and maybe they’d be able to give us some ideas. Show us in the right direction.

We took a left turn at the end of the next street and saw a very old cat lying in the window of a house. It opened one eye to give us a curious glance, then closed it again. Apparently it didn’t like what it saw, for it went on sleeping as if we weren’t even there.

“How old do cats get, Max?” asked Dooley now.

It was a point I’d often wondered about myself. “I honestly don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “Though I’m guessing very old. We’re very wise creatures, you know, and wise creatures usually get very, very told.”

“I think so too,” Dooley agreed. “I once saw this documentary about how the Egyptians loved cats so much they thought they came from the gods, and we all know that gods can get very old indeed.”

“I know, just look at their beards. Only very old beings have beards like that.”

We’d arrived on the outskirts of downtown Hampton Cove and decided to go in search of the feline mayor of our town, a title worn with pride by Kingman, a voluminous piebald who likes to hold forth on Main Street, in front of his owner’s general store. When we arrived, Kingman was dozing on top ofthe checkout counter, while his human Wilbur Vickery was busy ringing up his customers’ purchases.

I cleared my throat.“Hey, Kingman.”

He opened his eyes and yawned.“Oh, hey, guys. How’s it hanging?”

Dooley looked at me, I looked at him, and then we both looked at Kingman.

“How is what hanging?” I asked.

“How should I know? It’s an expression.”

“Oh, right,” I said. I’m not always hip to the finer points of the feline language, even though I am a feline myself. I wasn’t going to let that stop me from asking a most important question, though. “What is the oldest animal in Hampton Cove, Kingman?”

He thought about his for a moment, then said,“I guess that would be Camilla.”

“Who is Camilla?” asked Dooley.

“Camilla is a bird, and not just any bird, mind you. Camilla is a macaw, and currently lives with her owner out on Morley Street. Why do you want to know?”

“Marge found a body in her basement,” said Dooley.

“Well, not a body,” I said. “A skeleton.”

“A skeleton is a body, though, right, Max?”

“No, a body is more than just a skeleton, a body still has all of its fixtures attached.”

“The juicy bits,” Kingman confirmed. “A skeleton is a body without the juicy bits.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, nodding. “You mean like a fishbone after we eat the meat?”

“Yeah, exactly like a fishbone,” I said.

“So a body, huh?” said Kingman. “Why is it that the Pooles keep stumbling over bodies everywhere they go?”

“Not a body,” I said. “A skeleton.”

“Same difference. It must have belonged to a human once, right? And that human is now presumably dead?”

“I would think so,” I said. “I didn’t see the skeleton but I imagine it wasn’t jumping around and dancing the hornpipe.”

“So who is it?” asked Kingman. “Anyone I know?”

“Odelia seems to think it must have been there for a very long time, possibly many decades,” I said. “And now she wants us to figure out who it could have belonged to.”

“Many decades, huh? Now I see why you want to find the oldest animal in town. Well, your best bet will be Camilla, though there are other, maybe even older organisms, of course. Mollusks tend to get very old, too.”

“Mollusks?”

“Sure. The oldest known clam lived to be over five hundred years.”

“A clam, huh?”

“I doubt whether a clam would be able to tell us a lot about the skeleton in Marge’s basement, though,” said Dooley, echoing my thoughts exactly.

“Yeah, I guess you may have a point,” Kingman conceded.

“Well, thanks, Kingman,” I said. “And if you find out anything else about the former owners of Tex and Marge’s house, you will let us know, right?”

“Sure thing, boys,” said Kingman, and promptly dozed off again.

“Kingman must have had a rough night,” said Dooley as we walked on. “He seemed more sleepy than usual.”

“He was probably up all night chasing mice,” I said. “Kingman loves to chase mice.”

“Most cats love to chase mice,” said Dooley. “We’re the only ones that don’t. Why is that, Max?”

“Um, I guess we’re the only cats with a moral compass?”