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I stared at her.“Do you really think that song is appropriate?”

She laughed.“Appropriate? When is a love songnot appropriate?”

“When is it?” asked Dooley, who had disliked the song as much as I had.

The thing is, Dooley and I had started cat choir a little while back, and had picked out a repertoire of cat-themed songs. You know, likeWhat’s New Pussycat. But when Harriet joined us she decided to glam up our repertoire, whatever that means. And then her boyfriend Brutus came along and took over conductor duties from Shanille, Father Reilly’s tabby.

Things went downhill from there. Harriet started to dictate song choice, relying heavily on her mood. Last night she and Brutus had had a fight, and the big lug had us practicing Justin Bieber’sSorry all night. Oh, the horror.

We’d still managed, though, much to the chagrin of the neighbors, who hadn’t liked our version as much as Harriet had. She’d been moved to tears when Brutus performed his solo and had responded by giving a rousing rendition of Celine Dion’sMy Heart Will Go On. It was all very disturbing.

“Oh, all right,” I finally said. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Let’s give what a try?” another voice now piped up behind us. I didn’t even have to turn to know who the voice belonged to. Brutus happens to be my personal nemesis. The big black cat belongs to Chase Kingsley, who’s the newest addition to the Hampton Cove police department, and has beenmaking my life miserable ever since he arrived in town. He likes to think that just because his human is a cop he can lay down the law. And to add insult to injury, he’s managed to snag Harriet’s heart and dash all of Dooley’s hopes.

“Oh, Brutus, sweetie,” Harriet cooed. “We were about to try out that wonderful new song you taught us last night.”

“That’s a great idea, honey bunch,” he said in that gruff voice of his.

He punched me on the shoulder, slapped Dooley on the back, and we both toppled over.“Let’s do this, fellas,” he growled, and cleared his throat.

Brutus is just about the worst choice when it comes to conducting a choir. The cat doesn’t have a single musical bone in his big-boned body. But that doesn’t stop him from belting his heart out every time he opens his mouth.

I shook my head. At least when Brutus decided to tackle Justin Bieber, Odelia would finally wake up. Judging from the dozens of angry neighbors last night, and the half dozen shoes thrown at our heads, it was hard to sleep through the racket. Then again, waking up Odelia was what we were here for. She’d told me yesterday the Hampton Cove Gazette is going through a rough patch. Circulation is down, so she needs to buckle down and find a killer story. And the first rule to finding a killer story is getting out of bed.

“One, two, three,” Brutus grunted. He’d taken position in front of us, his back to Odelia, like a genuine conductor. He was even swinging his paw just so, claws extended in case we hit a wrong note. Brutus believes in tough love.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” Brutus bellowed at the top of his lungs. He was eyeing Harriet intently, who was giggling more than she was singing.

“Cause I’m missing more than just your body,” she responded coyly.

“Oh, God,” Dooley muttered.

“Hey! No bungling the lyrics!” Brutus yelled. “Be a Belieber!”

“I’m a Bebrutuser,” Harriet tittered. “Is that all right, too?”

“It sure is, cutie pie,” growled Brutus.

“Oh, God,” I murmured.

“Hey!” Brutus repeated, and he slapped me on the head.

“Hey!” I yelled back. “No hitting the talent!”

“Who are you calling talent?” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, God,” a tired voice came from behind Brutus.

He whirled around, ready to admonish her. But when he saw he wasn’t talking to one of his choir flunkies, he snarled, “Look who’s up!” instead.

“What was that racket?” she groaned.

“Sorry,” said Harriet.

“That’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

“No, that’s the name of the song.”

“You could have fooled me,” Odelia said, rubbing her eyes. “It sounded like a dozen cats being strangled, their heads chopped off with a lightsaber.”

I know I should have felt offended, but I was so glad she was finally up I decided to forgive her. Not everyone appreciates great music the way us cats do, and the most important thing was that we’d finally achieved our purpose.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I said. “Time to go to work.”

“Ugh,” was Odelia’s response. “Just promise never to sing to me again.”

“I promise,” I said, crossing my claws. Until next time.

Chapter 2

I was glad we’d accomplished our mission, even though the awakening hadn’t been as gentle and pleasant as I’d hoped. Odelia obviously wasn’t a fan of cat choir, or Justin Bieber, or either. We probably needed to practice more. Then again, with Brutus at the helm we might never get to be as good as the Wiener S?ngerknaben, my inspiration to start cat choir in the first place. Especially if Brutus kept hogging the spotlight to impress Harriet. It didn’t impress the other choir members. And it didn’t impress me.