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And as we sat there, gazing out across the backyard, with our humans chattering and enjoying themselves, I once again realized how lucky we all were with the Pooles—and our friends. And how nice it was that we all got along so well. Cats and dogs. Cats and humans. Humans and dogs…

“Of course cat choir is superior, you silly mutt,” said Harriet with a laugh. “Dogs can’t sing, everybody knows that.”

“I beg to differ,” said Rufus. “I think dogs can sing much better than cats. At least when we sing humans sit up and listen, whereas when you guys sing, they start rooting around their closets for any old shoe they can throw.”

“That’s not true—you take that back, dog!”

“I can’t take back the truth, Harriet.”

“Guys, guys,” said Odelia, trying to interfene. “Let’s keep it civilized, okay?”

“But he insulted me!” said Harriet.

“Only after she insulted me!” said Rufus.

“So you decide, Odelia: who are the better singers: cats or dogs?”

“I’m not going to say,” said Odelia, getting up. “I’m not going to get drawn into this argument.”

“But you have to have an opinion, right? Just tell us!”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Cats,” said Gran, wandering over, carrying her plate. “Cats are the better singers. Of course they are. They’re much more melodious.”

“Oh, you silly woman,” said Fifi.

“What did she say?” asked Gran with a frown.

“She called you a silly woman,” Harriet eagerly translated.

“You stupid mutt!” said Gran.

“Hey, that’s my dog!” Kurt Mayfield yelled over the fence. “Are you seriously calling my dog names, you silly old bag?”

“Who are you calling an old bag, you old coot!”

“Humans are the better singers,” said Odelia. “There. I said it. That’s my opinion. Take it or leave it.”

“Odelia! How can you say that!” said Harriet.

Okay, so maybe we don’t always get along—cats and dogs and humans, but at least we all love each other, right?

“I hate you!” Gran yelled, shaking her fist at our neighbor.

“Not as much as I hate you!” Kurt yelled back.

Okay, well, at least we don’t get physical when we don’t get along.

“Ouch!” said Gran when a nut hit her against the side of the head. “Are you really throwing my own nuts at me now?”

“A nut for a nut!” said Kurt, and threw another one and missed.

“What are you doing in my backyard, Kurt?” said Odelia, taking her grandmother’s side. “Get back to your own backyard.”

“I’m only looking out for my dog, since you kidnapped her!” said our neighbor.

“She came here of her own volition!” Gran screamed, and picked up one of Tex’s lesser experiments and threw it at Kurt’s head. It was a patty that had been cooked to the consistency of a rock, and hit the man in the face with a dull thunk.

“Max?” said Dooley as we now watched nuts and burger patties flying back and forth as the fight turned hostile.

“Yes, Dooley?”

“I think maybe it’s time to get out of here, before we become collective damage.”

“Collateral damage,” I corrected him, but agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment. And so we quickly skedaddled.

“Who do you think are the better singers, Max?” he asked as we walked into the house through the pet flap and took a seat on the couch. “Dogs or cats or humans?”

“I think they all have their merits, Dooley.”

“Very diplomatic of you, Max.”

“I mean it. And if we all sing together, I think we can create a beautiful harmony.”

He smiled.“You’re very smart, Max.”

“I don’t know about that, Dooley, but I do like a nice piece of music.”

And as we listened to the shouts and screams going on outside, we shared a grin.

“Not that kind of music!” my friend laughed.

He punched a button on the remote and the TV switched on. One of Randy Hancock’s old fitness shows was on, and after watching for a while, Dooley changed the channel. And as a cat food commercial started playing, we both settled in for the duration.

I hadn’t lied when I told Dooley I like all voices: dogs, cats, birds, bees, humans, dolphins, whales… turtles. We all have our own unique voice—and all of them precious. And when one voice falls away, it detracts from the harmony of the concert of life.

Or, um, something.

Hey, I’m just a cat—not a philosopher!

30. PURRFECT SETUP

Chapter 1

Odelia Poole had just entered the gym changing room after a satisfying marathon session on the stationary bike when a young woman, a teenager really, called out her name.

“Odelia? Odelia Poole?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re the reporter, right? The one who also works as a private detective?”

Odelia smiled.“Reporter will do. I’m not much of a detective, except by accident.”

“There’s something I need to ask, Miss Poole,” said the teenager, and glanced behind her, as if to ascertain whether they weren’t being overheard. She was probably around eighteen, maybe even younger, with fair hair and a light complexion. Her eyes were large and blue as she gave Odelia a searching look.

“What’s your name?” asked Odelia, who could sense that the girl was in some kind of trouble.

“Rose,” said the girl. “Rose Wimmer.”

“How can I help you, Rose?”

“I’ve been getting these messages, Miss Poole,” said Rose, taking out her phone.