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“It seems to come from back there,” said Max as they emerged into the bright sunlight and tried to get their bearings. He was gesturing to the field located behind the house, and Dooley followed the big blorange cat as he zoomed through the backyard belonging to their humans, through the hole in the hedge, and finally out on the other side, where whoever owned that piece of land had allowed it to lie fallow and turn into an amateur rainforest. Brambles and nettles had grown high, and so had thistles and other weeds.

Still following their keen ears, they soon arrived at a small clearing, where a bench had been placed by some unknown hand, right under the oak tree that dominated this part of the landscape. A swing had been attached to the strong branches of the gnarled old tree, and from that swing a child was now swinging, crying out in happy exultation as an older child pushed the swing and made it go ever higher.

“So where’s the emergency?” asked Dooley, looking around for the person in jeopardy.

“I think this is she,” said Max, gesturing to the little girl on the swing. “Kids,” he said, shaking his head with an obvious lack of enthusiasm at the young of the human species.

“I’m sorry, Max,” said Dooley. “I really thought someone was in danger.”

“She is,” said Max as they watched the kid go higher and higher. “This is not going to end well,” he predicted, and both cats sat there for a moment, at the edge of the small clearing, their eyes keenly following the kids’ every move. And then the inevitable finally happened: the swing swung too high, the girl was sent flying and took a hard landing. Lucky for her the landing spot was covered in weeds, and she simply rolled to a full stop out of sight, and judging from her loud giggle the ordeal hadn’t been painful in the least. On the contrary: this clearly had been the designated outcome of the game from the start.

“Humans,” said Max, “are bad enough, but human children are the absolute worst.”

Dooley listened carefully, for when Max spoke, he often allowed nuggets of pure gold to roll from his lips, which Dooley absorbed without delay. He knew from experience that he still had much to learn, and felt fortunate and grateful that he got to do so at the feet of the master, a wise cat like his best friend Max.

“Looks like she’s okay,” said Dooley when the kid emerged from the undergrowth, and grinned infectiously. Her dress looked like it might need urgent repair, but she was fine.

The older kid, who presumably was her brother and had managed to instigate his sister’s spectacular liftoff, looked less than excited when she immediately said, “Again!”

“No, Lisa,” said the boy. “We need to go. Mom will wonder what’s taking us so long.”

“Again!” the little tyke demanded, and stomped the ground for good measure.

The brother sighed, and said,“Okay, one more time, but this is the last one, okay? After this we’re going home, before Mom and Dad come looking for us.”

The girl screeched a happy screech, which was painful to Dooley’s sensitive ears.

“That’s what I heard!” he said, happy that the mystery was finally solved.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Max.

They watched as the girl mounted the swing, and moments later the game resumed.

“She’s going to break her neck one of these days,” said Max, and judging from the small measure of glee with which he spoke these words, the prospect was not disagreeable to him.

And they were just about to turn back and resume their homeward trek, when from that same undergrowth suddenly a small creature emerged. It looked very familiar, and when it spoke up, Dooley was happy to discover it was their friend Fifi from next door.

“Fifi!” said Dooley happily. Even though by all rights he should return home and discover what Hern?n Cort?s was up to, he was a sweet and garrulous cat, and never more happy than when chewing the fat with his friends, whether they be cats or, as in this case, a small and friendly Yorkshire terrier.

“Hey, Max, Dooley,” said Fifi as she came tripping up to them. She was licking her lips, a clear sign she’d just taken nourishment.

“So what’s going on with you?” asked Max indulgently. He might not like kids, but he was clearly fond of Fifi. “Shouldn’t you be in your own backyard instead of wandering around in this jungle?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Fifi. “Kurt doesn’t know I’m out.”

Kurt Mayfield was Fifi’s owner, a retired music teacher and something of a grouch. If it’s true that dogs take after their owners, Fifi’s sunny disposition certainly blew that theory out of the water.

“I buried a bone,” Fifi announced now, looking slightly shamefaced, as if confessing some major transgression.

“Good for you,” said Dooley. He’d heard of this strange habit of burying bones. He had no idea why dogs did this, but he was a broad-minded cat, so he decided not to comment.

“And as I was burying it, I discovered something pretty cool,” the Yorkie continued, her shamefacedness quickly replaced by pretty excitement. “Wanna see?”