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“I don’t think so. In fact I’m pretty sure that as long as those two are an item, he’ll leave us in peace,” I said, trying to lift Dooley’s mood. He’d been feeling downcast after making the discovery that the cat he’d been sweet on for years had fallen for the new cat on the block.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Dooley, giving his tail a tentative lick and then, deciding it was clean enough, leaving it for another time. “Let’s hope that as long as that Nazi furball is prancing around with Harriet we’re safe.”

“Which means we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we like and generally be masters of our own fate again without that brute interfering.”

“So what do you want to do?”

I thought for a moment. What did I want to do? I wanted to solve this murder, that’s what I wanted to do. And make sure Odelia got the scoop. I liked this small town, and I didn’t like it when people started killing each other. It wasn’t nice. And since violence led to more violence someone had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. At least that’s how I saw it.

“We could hang out at the barbershop,” Dooley suggested.

It was one of our favorite haunts. You’d be surprised what kind of secrets people tell their barber. Almost as many as they divulge to their doctor.

“Why don’t we head out to the lodge and see if we can’t pick up the scent of the killer?” I suggested instead. The barbershop could wait. We were born hunters, after all, and perhaps we could pick up the scent of the murderer.

Dooley brightened, and I saw this would be good for him. It would keep his mind off Brutus and Harriet strutting their stuff along Main Street.

“I think that’s a great idea, Max,” he said enthusiastically. “Maybe we can sniff out the killer and then all Odelia has to do is make them confess.”

“Let’s do this,” I said, and we bumped fists.

It’s called teamwork, people, and it’s not just humans that do it. Dooley and I have been living together for so many years we make a pretty great team. What’s more, we’ve grown attached to our humans, and like to help them out. When it suits us, of course. We’re not a couple of dumb dogs.

So we left Dan on the back porch marking up his articles with a deep frown on his face, and trotted off, setting paw for the Writer’s Lodge. One disadvantage of being a cat is that we don’t get to drive a car. Or a bike. Which means we have to go everywhere on paw. But, like I said, we’re natural born hunters, and what are a couple of miles for your friendly neighborhood predator? Chicken feed. Still, after we’d been on the move for a while, I was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

“Are we there yet?” asked Dooley, panting slightly.

“No idea, buddy, but I hope so. My paws are killing me.”

“And mine. What’s more, I’m getting tired, Max.”

“I’m sure it won’t be much further.”

We walked on in silence for a couple of minutes. We’d left the heart of town behind, and were now traipsing through the woods. This piece of the trail was all uphill, and I wondered who would voluntarily go and live in the middle of nowhere just so they could write a book. Nuts.

“You know? When this is all over and we’ve caught the killer, maybe we’ll get a nice treat,” said Dooley. “Like that raw meat Brutus gets from Chase?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “All we ever get are leftovers, and they’re cooked.”

“Maybe when Brutus comes to live with us he’ll share his meals?”

“Dream on, buddy. Brutus doesn’t strike me as the sharing type.”

“You’re probably right. And if he shares, it’ll be with Harriet, not us.”

We scaled a small hill, and passed beneath some brambles, to come out on the other side looking like pincushions. We shed the prickles and trudged on.

“You know?” Dooley asked suddenly. “What does Brutus have that we don’t?”

I sighed.“Is this about Harriet again?”

“No, it’s about Brutus being treated like royalty.”

“Well, Brutus is a pedigree cat, Dooley. They’re like the royalty of cats. While we’re just your average alley cats that got picked out of the litter by an indiscriminate hand. I’m sure that when Chase got Brutus, he paid good money for that cat, while we’re lucky we didn’t get flushed down the toilet.”

“So he’s a prize-winning cat and we’re just a bunch of ugly mongrels,” Dooley said bitterly. Maybe this hike wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Instead of taking his mind off Brutus and Harriet, it had the opposite effect.

“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Though I wouldn’t call you a mongrel, Dooley.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? That cat has probably won a ton of cat shows.”

I shuddered at the thought of having to compete in a cat show.“It’s only natural that after paying top dollar for Brutus, Chase would want to show him off,” I speculated. “Which is probably why he feeds him a diet of raw meat.”

“Hey, maybe we should enter a cat show,” said Dooley. “Show Odelia that we’re special, too. Maybe then she’ll start feeding us raw meat.”