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Odelia smiled.“I’m so happy you invited Milo onto the team. This is what friendship is all about.” And with these words of encouragement, she sent us off on our secret mission.

The fence was designed to keep deer out, and therefore presented no obstacle for five clever cats. For one thing, we’re a lot smaller than deer, and for another, we can climb trees that are located right next to the Potbelly fence, with a nice overhanging branch that drops us right on the other side.

“I’m worried about the smell,” said Dooley as we deftly landed on all fours.

“Oh, will you shut up about the smell,” said Harriet irritably.

“If fly poop is deadly for humans, duck poop might be deadly for cats!” Dooley said.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. “Now keep your eyes peeled, you guys. And remember: we’re on a fact-finding mission. So first let’s see if we can’t talk to one of those guard dogs. If anyone knows what went down here last night, it will be them.”

“Maybe we should spread out,” said Brutus. “Isn’t that what Bruce would do?”

Brutus was right. When on a dangerous mission, always ask yourself what Bruce would do. And right now Bruce would probably tell his team to spread out. And since I seemed to have assumed the role of team leader, I now said,“Brutus and Harriet, head up to the farm and talk to those ducks. Dooley and I will look for the dogs.”

“What about me?” asked Milo. “What important task do you have in store for me, Max?”

He was giving me a slightly mocking look, as if on the verge of challenging my authority.

“You better go with Brutus and Harriet,” I said, as there was no way I was going to have Milo cramp my style.

But Brutus and Harriet weren’t all that eager either. Still, they relented, and I watched the trio stalk off in the direction of the stables—or the duck houses, as Odelia had called them.

And then it was just Dooley and me. Just like old times. And I suddenly felt almost cheerful. Dooley might not be the brightest bulb in God’s big bulb shop, but he’s my buddy, and I was glad we’d ironed out those Milo-made differences. Or at least I thought we had.

“Max, if Brutus is my father, and you’re Brutus’s brother, is Harriet my mother?”

“Milo made all that up, Dooley,” I said. “Brutus is not your father and I’m not his brother. My guess is that his human loves her daily dose ofDays of Our Lives as much as Gran does and watching all of that stuff for years has somehow turned Milo into a mythomaniac as a consequence. Either that or a psychopath. The jury is still out.”

“A mythomaniac, is that like a nymphomaniac, Max?”

“Not… exactly.”

“Do you think Milo is evil?”

“Like I said, the jury is still out on that one. He does seem to enjoy wreaking havoc in other cats’ lives.”

We’d been traipsing around the duck farm without a single sighting of a dog, duck or other living creature and no hope of catching Odelia’s thieving killers—or killing thieves—when suddenly I caught sight of two large ears sticking out of a hole in the ground. They were twitching anxiously, as if aware of our presence.

I hunkered down behind a tractor tire someone had conveniently discarded.

“Dooley!” I hissed. “Over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, excited. “Do you see something?”

Instead of replying, I pointed in the direction of the ears. And then he saw it, too. A face had surfaced, like a snail from its shell. It was a white, furry face with twitchy nose.

It was a rabbit. A big, white rabbit.

Chapter 25

“What is that, Max?” asked Dooley, both intrigued and terrified.

“That, my friend, is a rabbit,” I said, and emerged from our hiding place.

“Watch out, Max!” Dooley cried. “It could be dangerous!”

“It’s just a rabbit,” I said. “Rabbits aren’t dangerous.”

“It could be a rabid rabbit!” he said.

The fluffy bunny didn’t look rabid, though. So I approached it in the spirit of friendship. “Hey, there, buddy,” I said by way of greeting. “My name is Max and I come in peace.”

“What do you want, cat?” asked the rabbit in a gravelly voice. Almost as if it had been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for its entire life. It could have been a pipe, too.

“My friend and I are trying to ascertain whether intruders burgled this farm last night,” I said. “They would have stolen both a tractor and a tanker filled with duck poop?”

The rabbit stared at me—insolently, I would have thought. Impossible, of course. Rabbits are fun and cuddly creatures. Lovable and full of joy and love and good cheer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cat,” said this rabbit, with distinct lack of good cheer. “What I do know is that you’re trespassing, and if you and that other cat don’t get out of my face in ten seconds I’m siccing the dogs on you.”

“Hey! I said I’ve come in peace!”

“I don’t care. We don’t like strangers around these parts. So you better buzz off.”

“I’m not a stranger. I live in Hampton Cove!”

“You’re a stranger to me, stranger. Plus, you’re a cat.”

“So?”

“Didn’t you get the memo? Nobody likes cats.”

“Everybody likes cats! In fact people love cats!”