4c392a139708e5efb30cc267dbb0c768

“We are washed and bathed,” I said. “This is not our smell. It’s Brutus and Harriet’s. They’re the ones who mingled with the ducks.”

“We only mingled with the rabbits,” Dooley explained helpfully. “One was racist and the other wasn’t.”

Shanille blinked as she took this all in.“I’ll have to consult the other members. We are a democratic organization, after all. I’ll put it to a vote.”

And before I had a chance to file a motion to stay, she’d stalked off.

“Oh, darn ducks,” I muttered.

“Now don’t be a racist, Max,” said Dooley. “Those ducks can’t help how they smell.”

“I’m not racist! I just don’t want to be kicked out of cat choir because of a trifling thing like duck dung.”

“It’s not a trifling thing. Remember, duck dung registers a five on the Richter scale. That’s not something to take lightly.”

“How many times have I told you not to believe a word Milo says?”

“He wouldn’t be lying about something like that. The Richter scale is real. I’ve heard about it on yourDiscovery Channel.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I muttered.

Moments later, Shanille returned.“Well, I’ve put it to a vote,” she said. “And I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

Oh, crap.“What’s the good news?”

“A majority of the members feel that a slight odor is acceptable.”

“Yay,” said Dooley.

“And what’s the bad news?”

“A new member has joined cat choir and you know how new members are granted a veto during their very first cat choir practice?”

“So?”

“So this new member has vetoed your and Dooley’s presence here tonight.”

I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who this new member was.“Don’t tell me. Is his name Milo?”

Shanille looked surprised.“How did you know?”

“Milo? But how did he get here so fast?” said Dooley.

“He must have run like the wind to get here first,” I said bitterly.

“Or maybe he apparated like Harry Potter!” Dooley said excitedly.

We’d sat through a Harry Potter marathon the other day and my head was still hurting. Dooley had enjoyed it, though. “Cats don’t apparate, Dooley,” I said.

“Professor McGonagall does. And she’s at least half cat.”

“Milo is not Professor McGonagall.”

“Maybe he is. Maybe Milo is a wizard!”

“Milo is a pain in the butt,” I said, turning away. At least soon he’d be ancient history.

“Hey, Max,” Milo’s voice sounded behind me. “Dooley. So weird to see you here.”

“Nothing weird about it,” I said, turning sharply. “We’re out here every night. Isn’t that right, Dooley?”

But Dooley was studying Milo intently.“Are you a wizard, Milo?”

Any other cat would have laughed off the silly notion, but not Milo.“How did you guess?” he said seriously.

“Oh, please,” I said. “Don’t fill Dooley’s head with more nonsense, will you?”

Milo turned those placid eyes on me.“And what nonsense would that be, Max?”

“The worms! The scooting! The smearing poop on the walls!”

“Scooting is a very effective remedy for a life-threatening condition, Max.”

“See?!” Dooley cried, the color draining from his nose. “I’ve got worms!”

And instantly he ran for the nearest tree and started rubbing his butt against it.

“I can see right through you, you know,” I told Milo coldly.

He lifted one corner of his mouth.“Can you now?”

“And I’m going to expose you. The game is up, Milo.”

He yawned.“If you say so. Now I’m very sorry, Max, but I have choir practice. And you, I guess, don’t.” And with a supercilious little grin, he stalked off, leaving me fuming.

Chapter 29

The next morning, Odelia was awakened by the smell of duck dung. She grimaced as she blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. The first thing she saw were five pairs of cat’s eyes staring back at her. It appeared that overnight a regular clowder of cats had convened at the foot of her bed, and gradually, as dawn approached, they’d moved up in the direction of her pillow and now they were practically surrounding her.

Max had placed his paws on her chest, and was breathing heavily. Dooley was still at the foot of the bed, and seemed puzzled why he was the one left behind. Harriet had draped herself across the pillow Chase used when he slept over. Brutus was scowling at her from under her armpit. And Milo had somehow managed to squeeze himself between the headboard and the pillow and was like an oversized pair of earmuffs now, or a hat.

“Hey, you guys,” she said as she yawned and tried to stretch. “Could you… move over a scooch? I need to get up.”

But the cats weren’t budging. If anything, she had the impression they were eyeing each other as much as they were eyeing her. Like the showdown at the O.K. Corral.

“I’ve got a question for you, Odelia,” said Brutus now.

“Shoot,” she said, hoping they’d get this over with soon.

“Who’s your favorite?”

Uh-oh.“My favorite what? Movie? I really likeFrozen.”

But he was not to be distracted.“Who’s your favorite cat?”

“I don’t have a favorite, Brutus. I love all you guys the same.”