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“You think she doesn’t like our singing?” asked Dooley, who’s very sensitive about his singing skills. Coming after the shoe incident, Odelia’s critique had clearly rattled him.

“I’m sure she loved it,” I told him, padding over to the window.

Unlike humans, us cats don’t need to spend time in the bathroom, or apply makeup, or put on clothes. We do spend half of our lives licking our butts, but apart from that, being a cat is a lot easier than being a human.

“I sensed criticism,” Dooley said now, staring at the door through which Odelia had disappeared. “She said it sounded horrible, Max. Horrible!”

“She’s not awake yet,” I said. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

I hopped up onto the windowsill and watched the sun rising in the East. Outside, in the cherry tree that divided Odelia’s garden from her parents’, cute little birdies were chirping, singing their own songs, and fluttering gaily. I licked my lips. Coming upon the thoughts of p?t?, the sight was enough to make my stomach rumble.

Dooley joined me, and we both stared at the birdies, twittering up a storm. There’s nothing greater than waking up in the morning and seeing a flock of little birdies fluttering around a tree. It lifts my mood to such heights I can’t wait to get out there and meet the world head-on. And the birdies. I saw Dooley felt the same way, for his jaw had dropped and he was drooling.

“So how’s things over at your place?” I asked.

His happy gaze clouded over.“Rotten. That Brutus is spending more and more time at Marge’s place than he does at his own.”

Brutus was the black cat that belonged to Chase Kingsley, who was a new cop who’d recently moved to Hampton Cove. He was staying at Chief Alec’s, Odelia’s uncle, until he got a place of his own, but Brutus seemed to feel more at ease at the Pooles than at Uncle Alec’s. And then there was the fact that he was dating Harriet, of course, Odelia’s Gran’s white Persian, who lived in the same house. One big, happy family. Except that it wasn’t.

It had been a tough couple of weeks, Brutus being some kind of dictator, who liked to think he had to lay down the law to us plebeians. And since Dooley had always been sweet on Harriet himself, he was pretty much in hell right now.

“Brutus still being such a pain in the butt?” I asked.

Dooley nodded forlornly.“Last night he told me that from now on I should sleep on the floor. That all elevated surfaces were strictly reserved for him. Something about him having to have the best vantage point in case the house was being burglarized. I swear that cat is driving me up the wall.”

“That’s just plain silly,” I said, shaking my head. Both Dooley and I had been wracking our brains trying to come up with a way to take Brutus down a peg or two. But as long as Harriet was his girlfriend, that was kinda hard, especially since Harriet is pretty much the most beautiful cat in Hampton Cove, and whatever she says goes with humans.

“You can always sleep on my couch, Dooley,” I said magnanimously.

In spite of Brutus’s efforts to take over my house as well, so far he hadn’t succeeded. Fortunately Odelia still listened to me, and kicked him out when he became too much for me to handle. Oh, that’s right. Didn’t I tell you? Odelia is one of those rare humans who understands and speaks feline, on account of the fact that one of her forebears was a witch or something. Her mother and grandmother share the same gift, which comes in handy from time to time. Like when I have some scoop to share. You see, Odelia works for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and with the exclusive scoops we provide her she can practically fill the entire paper, earning her a reputation as the best reporter in town. She’s also the only reporter in town, apart from Dan Goory, the Gazette’s geriatric editor and Odelia’s boss.

Finally, Odelia came shooting out of the bathroom, smelling deliciously of fresh soap, and looking fresh as a daisy. For the occasion she was wearing a T-shirt that read‘John Paul George for President,’ beige slacks and her usual Chuck Taylors. She was also wearing a look of panic over how late it was.

“If you’re coming, you better get a move on!” she yelled as she hurried down the stairs, then came pounding up again to snatch her smartphone from the nightstand and raced out again.

“Looks like she’s going to have to skip breakfast,” I told Dooley.

“And coffee,” he said. “I wonder how she’s going to survive without her daily dose of caffeine.”

“I’m sure she’ll manage,” I said, reluctantly dragging my eyes away from the feathery feast outside my window, where the birds were still tweeting up a storm. Odelia had once made us swear never to kill a bird, and even though it killed us, we’d kept up our bargain so far. It was hard, though. Very hard. But in exchange for curbing our innate savagery she got us some of those delicious cat treats from time to time. What can I say? Life’s a trade-off.