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“Yeah, Dooley watches General Hospital,” Brutus chimed in. “He knows his stuff.”

Dooley was glancing around.“I just wish cats carried mobile phones. We really should call 911. Get you to a hospital.”

“I don’twant to go to a hospital! I don’tneed to go to a hospital! I’mfine, I’m telling you—I feel just great!”

Harriet had now joined us, and was giving me the kind of look one gives a terminal patient who’s about to expire. And then she placed a paw to my brow. “A little hot,” she determined. “You’re running a fever, Max.”

“I am not running a fever!” I cried. “If I were running a fever would I do this?” And I performed a little jig in place, kicking up my paws and generally making a spectacle of myself. “Or this?” And I actually did a high jump combined with a high kick—Jackie Chan style—landing on mytush as I did. “Ouch,” I murmured.

More cats had gathered around to watch my little show, and all of them were murmuring words of concern about my health and wellbeing. The words‘Vena’ and ‘death wish’ hummed through the air, and I was starting to feel more and more that I probably shouldn’t have come to cat choir after all.

Cats, in case you didn’t know, can be drama queens—even the males of the species—and it was clear to me now that they were loving this piece of real-life drama playing out right in front of their eyes. And the more I tried to convince them I was fine, the more they thought I was on the verge of death.

“Let’s take you home, Max,” said Dooley, gently placing his paw on my arm, like one would a recalcitrant patient in a mental hospital. “Nice and easy now. That’s it.”

“Get well soon, Max,” a voice rang out, and soon more cries of “Please don’t die, Max,” and “Hang in there, buddy,” echoed through the air.

And when Shanille came up to me, placed a paw on my shoulder, gave me a sad look, and said,“If you want cat choir to sing at your memorial service, Max, you’ve got it. And I’ll be sure to give you those last rites whenever you feel ready.” And then she clapped Harriet on the arm. “And Harriet here will sing a nice requiem. Won’t you, darling?”

“Absolutely,” said Harriet solemnly. “And Brutus can deliver the eulogy.”

And then they both gave me such a sad look that it kinda broke my spirit. It’s very hard to convince people you’re not dying when they’re all convinced that you are.

So I allowed Dooley to lead me away, and soon the hubbub of cat choir died away and it was just the two of us, walking side by side.

“Do you really think I’m dying, Dooley?” I finally asked.

“Try to stay positive, Max,” he said in response. “And trust Vena. She’s our last hope.”

“But—”

“Shush, Max. You need to save your strength.”

And so we walked on, and as we approached Harrington Street, all of a sudden there was a loud screeching sound overhead, and the next moment Moses had materialized out of the blue—or I should probably say the black, as it was a dark night—and attacked!

“Please don’t!” Dooley cried. “My friend here is sick and dying!”

“Good!” Moses yelled and came rocketing down at us at breakneck speed.

So we did what we usually do when large birds attack us from the sky: we ran for cover.

Lucky for us there were some hedgerows nearby, so we ducked underneath them, neatly thwarting Moses’s line of attack.

“Get out of there, you pussies!” the bird yelled. “Get out here where I can get you!”

“Fat chance!” I yelled back.

“Go away!” said Dooley. “I need to get my friend to a doctor. He’s dying, I tell you!”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!” said Moses, and did something I hadn’t expected: he landed right in front of us, and came trotting up to where we were hiding.

And then he started picking at us with his big sharp beak!

“Ouch!” I said when he got me in the shoulder.

“You can’t do that!” said Dooley. “You can’t attack a dying cat!”

“Watch me,” said Moses, and gave me another peck on the head.

“Leave me alone!” I wailed, and suddenly remembered that I was actually a cat, and Moses was a bird, and that usually cats attack birds, not the other way around.

So I got out my claws and when next Moses lunged at me, I swiped at him and hit him on the beak!

“Hey, you can’t do that, cat!” he said. “No fair!”

“Be careful, Max!” said Dooley. “Don’t overexert yourself!”

But I suddenly didn’t feel weak at all. And instead of cowering underneath that hedge like a coward, I decided to fight back. The events of the past couple of days suddenly made me go a little berserk, and so I walked up to the bird, who must have seen that I meant business, and he actually reeled back!

“Come here, you big bird bully,” I growled. “Let me give you a lesson in humility.”

“Too late, Frank,” said Moses. “You ate my mother—you ate my brother—you ate my father—now you’re going to have to deal with me!” And he attacked!

“Wait—what did you just call me?”

“By your name, Frank,” said Moses. “Now taste my vengeance!”

“But… my name is Max,” I said. “Not Frank.”

The bird halted in his tracks.“What are you talking about? You’re Frank. I’d recognize that chubby orange form anywhere.”