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“It’s an idea,” Kingman agreed. But then he shook his head. “Too risky. If you tell Vesta, she’ll tell the whole town, and before you know it, Wilbur gets inspected and the government will seize the store.”

“Okay, so what if we tell Gran to be discreet about it?”

He made a scoffing sound.“When have you ever known Vesta to be discreet about anything?”

“Mh,” I said. “Let me give it a think, Kingman. I’m sure there must be a solution.”

“If you find a solution, more power to you, Max. I’ve been thinking and thinking and so far I haven’t been able to come up with anything that doesn’t end in total and utter disaster.”

And with these hopeful words, he trudged off to assume his position as part of the bass lineup. Rehearsals were about to start, photoshoot or no photoshoot, and already Shanille was raising her paws to gather her choir and start tonight’s rehearsals.

Harriet and Brutus and Gran and Scarlett had walked off with about a dozen eager candidates, and it looked like their shoot was about to commence, too.

And frankly I’d never been more glad not to be a part of something as I was now.

And as rehearsals progressed nicely, even without our lead soprano, I started to notice how from time to time a cat would come stumbling out of the shrubbery, and start to lick its wounds. All of them seemed a little worse for wear, and when Buster, the hairdresser’s cat, came tottering up to us and took up his usual position next to me in the choir lineup, and I whispered, “What’s going on?” he said, “Brutus kicked me. Even though your gran told him not to, he kicked me, Max. Though lucky for me he only used his left leg.”

“Oh, dear,” I said.

“Looks like Brutus is taking his role a little too seriously,” Dooley whispered.

“Yeah, looks like,” I agreed.

It happens sometimes, you see. Actors play a part, and decide they’re going to stay in character throughout the entire shoot. If they have to play some creepy part, they act like creeps throughout the shoot, and if they’re supposed to be play some adulterous character, they go around being adulterous for weeks on end. It’s extremely annoying for the other actors involved, and probably for the actors’ significant others, too. And now Brutus had clearly fallen prey to this same erroneous belief that you can only play a part if you really dive into it headfirst and don’t come out again until the movie is in the can.

More cats now came stumbling out of the shrubbery, and finally Gran’s voice could be heard screaming, “Brutus, for crying out loud—it’s Harriet who’s supposed to do the kicking—not you!”

Yep, the life of a director is hard!

Chapter 17

I would like to say that I had a good night, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. And it wasn’t because I was thinking about Jayme languishing in the pen, or even Kingman having to endure his human’s brother’s heavy metal ambitions. It was in fact Brutus who kept me awake all night. Now I think I’ve sufficiently impressed upon you how taken my friend was with his new acting role, and he seemed to carry this through into his sleep as well. In fact his acting had presumably seeped straight into his subconscious, and so he kept acting out his part even when he was fast asleep.

The first time I woke up I didn’t know what had awakened me. As so often happens, you pick up a sound, but by the time you’re awake, of course that sound has dissipated and you’re left grasping for clues as to what could have possibly dragged you out of that pleasurable dream about a new kibble, delicious like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.

The second time I woke up I experienced a distinct sensation of pressure in my left buttock, but when I glanced over I saw nothing out of sorts, so I went straight back to sleep.

And it was only the third time that I finally caught the culprit: it was Brutus, and he was kicking in his sleep! And since he was lying right next to me, unfortunately I was the recipient of his acting prowess.

“Brutus,” I said, shaking him gently.

“I’m sorry, Gran,” he murmured. “Can I have another take? I didn’t feel it that time.”

“Brutus!” I insisted, trying to stir him to full wakefulness.

Finally he opened his eyes and stared at me.“Max? What’s going on, brother?”

“You have got to stop kicking, Brutus,” I said.

He groaned.“That’s what Gran keeps telling me. But I can’t stop, Max. I simply can’t!”

“I know, you’ve kicked me in the rear three times already.”

“I have? How strange.”

“In your sleep,” I specified.

“Oh.” He frowned. “So now I’m kicking in my sleep, huh? It’s getting worse, Max.”

“I know. So either you go and sleep someplace else, where you can’t kick me, or you have to control this habit you’ve developed.”

He quickly glanced around, and when he saw that Harriet wasn’t amongst those present—presumably she’d gone downstairs to have a nibble of kibble—he said, in softer tones, “It’s Harriet, see.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s going on?” asked Dooley, who’d also woken up.

“Brutus keeps kicking me,” I explained.