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“You don’t walk a marathon, Dooley. You run a marathon.” But I got what he was saying. Clarice would have made fun of us if she’d seen us. Then again, we hadn’t lied. Odelia was good to us, and so were Marge and Gran. Even the men in the family weren’t too bad. Uncle Alec and Tex and Chase had installed a cat flap not so long ago. It had taken them several attempts before I managed to pass through without getting stuck but they’d done it. So it was understandable we should return the favor by being the best sleuths we could be.

Cars zoomed past us, and I couldn’t help but wonder where they were all going. It was way past human bedtime, after all, and the only creatures who should be stirring were us cats. And maybe owls. And bats. And mice. Oh, and coyotes, of course. Just then, a loud howl rose up from the bushes nearby, and Dooley and I put a bit more pep in our step.

The first coyote had yet to be spotted on Long Island but you never knew. And I certainly didn’t want to be the first one to spot it and be eaten by the darn thing!

Soon the strip mall’s bright neon lights beckoned us and we headed straight for the McDonald’s restaurant which, much to our surprise, was still open for business!

“Let’s hope we find this Big Mac,” I said as we headed straight for the dumpster parked on the McDonald’s parking lot.

“I could use a Big Mac right now,” lamented Dooley. “I’m starving.”

“I’m pretty peckish myself,” I admitted.

We’d been at this detecting business for hours now, and I could use some food. But duty called, and it wasn’t as if I was going to starve to death by skipping a meal. Or two.

The McDonald’s dumpster appeared pretty much deserted when we arrived, and my heart sank. Had we really come all this way for nothing? That was just sad. And a testament to the learning curve we were on as junior feline sleuths. This wouldn’t have happened to Aurora Teagarden. When Aurora Teagarden went someplace she always found fresh clues. Or maybe the people making those Hallmark movies simply cut out all the boring parts.

“I think I hear something,” said Dooley as we approached.

“A rat probably,” I said, trepidation making me halt in my tracks. There are cats that eat rats. And then there’s me and Dooley. We don’t like rats. In fact rats scare me to death. They’re big, they’re mean, and they have some really sharp teeth. You get the picture.

“Who goes there?” suddenly a voice rose up from the dumpster’s innards.

“It’s a rat!” Dooley hissed. “Every cat for himself!” And he scooted off to hide underneath a parked Toyota Land Cruiser!

Suddenly a head appeared over the dumpster’s edge. I stared at the head. The head stared back at me. Clarice had been right. It was like looking in a mirror. The head belonged to a blorange cat with a gorgeous set of whiskers and a pink-colored little button of a nose.

“Hey, Big Mac,” I said, giving the cat a little wave.

“Hey, you,” he said, then blinked confusedly. He picked up a piece of burger and stared at it, then back at me. “Some joker put shrooms in my burger. I’m hallucinating.”

“No, you’re not. I’m really here,” I said. “My name is Max, and this…” I searched around for Dooley. “Um… Anyway. I’m here because Clarice sent me. You know Clarice, right?”

The big cat shivered visibly.“I wish I didn’t. She scares me.”

“She scares me, too.”

Big Mac jumped down from the dumpster without dropping the piece of burger, which made him a superhero in my book. He studied me intently for a few moments, while I studied him. He was a little pudgier, but otherwise he could have been my brother from another mother. Or maybe even from the same mother. I’m not big on genealogy, so I never bothered to create my family tree, but now might be a good time to correct the oversight.

“Was your mom—” I began.

“Was your mom—” he simultaneously said.

We both grinned awkwardly.

“Were you born—” I said.

“Were you born—” he said.

From behind us, suddenly Dooley’s voice rang out. “Oh. My. God. You guys lookexactly the same!”

“Well, I’m a little slimmer,” I said.

“You look really fit,” said Big Mac. “Have you been working out?”

“Nah, not really,” I said. “I just try to watch what I eat.”

“He doesn’t,” said Dooley. “Odelia puts him on a diet from time to time, though.”

“Odelia? Is that your human?” asked Big Mac.

I nodded.“She’s great.”

“How long have you had her?”

“Straight from the litter,” I said.

“I don’t actually remember my mother,” said Big Mac, taking a tentative bite from the burger, then munching with enthusiasm when he failed to detect the taste of shrooms. “I mean, I know I had a mother, but my first memories are a little hazy. I remember I was with this old lady, but then she died, and I got transferred to her daughter, who didn’t like cats, and then she passed me on to her cousin, who liked cats so much she kept a dozen, which was pretty horrible.”

I nodded. Most cats hate other cats. Dooley and I are the exceptions to the rule, I guess. We genuinely like each other, and most other cats we meet. We’re weird that way.