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It was with a grin that we watched him jump about a foot in the air, then turn on us with a baleful look on his cherubic face. But when he saw it was us, his anger quickly dissipated, and he caroled,“Max! Dooley! Long time no see!”

“Hey, Big Mac,” I said.

“Have you eaten a lot of Big Macs lately, Big Mac?” Dooley quipped.

“You better believe it,” said the large cat. He took a seat next to the dumpster. “Though they seem to have changed the recipe. Something tastes off lately—maybe it’s the topping.” He pointed to a half-eaten hamburger lying next to him, which he’d clearly been sampling when we caught up with him.

“Maybe you should eat them fresh,” I told the cat. “Not drag them out of a dumpster.”

“What can I tell you? I like to live dangerously,” said Big Mac with a Cheshire grin.

“That, you do.”

“Anyway, I’m thinking about changing my name. Lately I’m more partial to the Quarter Pounder with Cheese Bacon, so maybe you should call me that from now on.”

“That’s a mouthful,” I said.

“You bet it is. Takes more than one mouthful to chow down one of those bad boys.” He gestured to the remnants of just such a specimen. It looked a little yucky, smeared as it was with ketchup and other condiments. In fact it looked as if a child had used it for fingerpainting practice rather than as part of its Happy Meal. “Wanna have a bite?”

“Thanks, but I’ve just eaten,” I said. At the sight of that burger, my stomach had miraculously stopped rumbling, deciding to skip a meal if it looked like that. “So is your human still running the restaurant?” I asked as we watched one of the servers step out for a smoke.

“Absolutely. Place is still as busy as ever. So what brings you guys out here?”

“An investigation.”

“Not another murder investigation.” Last time we met, we’d investigated the murder of a bestselling writer, and Big Mac had been of great assistance describing the killer.

“No, a missing girl this time,” I said. “She went out with some friends last night, and now she’s missing.”

“And one of her friends works here,” Dooley explained.

“Carmel Kraft.”

“Oh, yeah, I know Carmel. She’s so sweet. Always gives me the best stuff.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said, deciding to clear up a point. “Your human feeds you, then you dig through these dumpsters every night, and the people who work for your human also feed you?”

The big cat gave us a big smile.“I know, right? I’m one lucky cat. Now talk to me about this investigation. Color me interested.”

“Okay, so the name of the missing girl is Angel Church. She was last seen leaving a club in downtown Hampton Cove. And one of the girls who was with her was Carmel.”

Big Mac was nodding.“I think I know the girl you’re referring to. Pretty little blond thing? She was in here last night.”

“Angel was in here last night?”

“Oh, sure. She’s in here all the time, her and her friends. Since Carmel works here, they’ve been coming here a lot.”

“But Carmel wasn’t even working last night.”

“No, see, this is how it goes: they all meet up here, have dinner, then go out. Then they drop by again around three or four o’clock in the morning, when they have another late-night snack.” He shook his head. “How these girls manage to stay so thin is beyond me.”

“So did they adhere to the same schedule last night?” I asked.

“Oh, absolutely. Though I have to admit I didn’t see Angel.”

“You didn’t?”

“I saw her friends, but not her. Which is weird, because she’s the biggest trencherwoman of them all. That girl loves to eat, Max. A pleasure to watch.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Do you believe in aliens, Big Mac?” asked Dooley now.

“Oh, absolutely,” said the big cat. “Why?”

“Well, I happen to think Angel was abducted by aliens, see, because two friends of ours followed her trail from Hampton Cove to the woods, and the trail stopped dead in the middle of the woods, right next to a pond. And a diver who dredged the pond only found her phone.”

“Oh,” said Big Mac, eyes wide. “And so you think…”

“I’m almost one hundred percent sure that she was…”

“… beamed up!”

“Exactly!” said Dooley, glad that he’d finally found a friend who subscribed to his outlandish theory.

“I think you might be onto something, Dooley. Those aliens beam innocent people up all the time.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why only humans? Why don’t they beam up cats and dogs? Or livestock?”

“Max is right,” said Dooley, nodding. “Why the discrimination? We have just as much right to be beamed up as the next human.”

“Oh, but they do beam up pets and livestock,” said Big Mac, who seemed to know a lot about this stuff. “In fact they beam us up all the time. Lampposts all across town are plastered with flyers of missing cats and dogs—and if you gave me a cheeseburger every time a complaint is filed about a missing cow or sheep…”

“I don’t believe this,” I muttered. Now I had two delusional felines to contend with.

“I just hope they won’t beam me up,” said Dooley, directing a worried glance at the sky. “I don’t think I’d enjoy being probed. I’m very ticklish, you see.”