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With a frown he noticed a spot of crimson on her pillow and he started. What the hell… He slowly slid down the sheet to take a closer look. And as he did, his eyes went wide and all the blood drained from his face. He would have screamed but no sound came. Later he didn’t even remember staggering from the bed, falling to the floor and scrambling back, crab-style, to the door.

Like bile, a scream finally rose from his throat, coinciding with a scream that sounded from inside the house. He was up and racing down the corridor, and as he came hurtling into the dining room he saw Shayonne screaming her head off. When he turned to see what had set her off, he joined her in a long, protracted wail. Right there, in the middle of the table, was Shana’s head, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping, her mouth open and biting down on a Jonagold, like a frickin’ pig roast. A note was taped to her forehead, typed in Arabic script. And then he fainted and went down like a ton of bricks.

Chapter 1

Dooley, Harriet and I were seated next to the bed, staring up at our human, who was still fast asleep, even snoring a little. When Odelia Poole had taken me in, I’d vowed a sacred oath never to let her be late for work. And even though keeping my promise was a lot harder than I’d anticipated, on account of the fact that Odelia slept like the dead, I wasn’t giving up.

I’d snuggled up to her, digging my claws into her arm while purring in her hair. I’d mewled, meowed and mewed up a storm. I’d even scratched the closet door, pounding it in a steady rhythm, and all I had to show for my efforts was Odelia muttering something unintelligible and turning over.

“She looks cute,” Dooley said.

“Is she drooling?” Harriet asked.

“She always drools when she sleeps,” I said.

“I think it’s cute. She’s almost like us,” said Dooley.

“Not me,” said Harriet. “I don’t drool in my sleep.”

“You snore, though,” said Dooley. “It’s so cute.”

“Snoring isn’t cute, and I don’t snore.”

“You do, too. Soft, little snuffles. Like a cute, little hamster.”

“I’m not a hamster!”

“I didn’t say you were a hamster. I said you sound like one. A cute one.”

We went back to staring at Odelia. Her blond hair was a mess, her pixie face full of sleep marks, and her sheets were twisted and tangled as if she’d fought off Darth Vader in her sleep. And there was definitely drool. A lot of drool. As if she’d tried to scare off the Dark Lord by spitting at his helmet.

“All right,” I said. “It’s almost nine o’clock. She’s going to be late.”

The three of us were seated on the fuzzy pink bedside rug and could have sat there indefinitely, as the rug’s softness felt great beneath my tush. But we had a responsibility. Being a cat isn’t just about catching critters and looking cool doing it. It’s about taking care of our humans while they’re taking care of us. At least that’s the way I see it. I may be an exception to the rule.

My name is Max, by the way, and I’m a blorange tabby. Yes, you read that right. I’m blorange. It’s a color. It really is. A kind of strawberry blond.

“I think this calls for a serenade,” Harriet said, licking her snowy white fur. She’s a Persian, and pretty much the prettiest cat for miles around. She belongs to Odelia’s mother, who lives next door, but she’s in here all the time.

“A serenade?” asked Dooley. “What do you mean, a serenade?”

Dooley is a beige ragamuffin. You know, the kind that looks like a big, furry rabbit. Only he looks like a small, furry rabbit. A beige-and-white furry rabbit. Dooley is my best friend and neighbor. He comes with Odelia’s grandma, who also lives next door. Yep. We’re one big, happy family.

“I mean, a genuine serenade, like Romeo sang to Juliet?”

“Who’s Romeo?” Dooley asked suspiciously. Dooley is secretly—or not-so-secretly—in love with Harriet, and jealous of every cat sniffing around.

Harriet rolled her eyes.“Romeo is a fictional character in a Shakespeare play. Don’t you know anything, Dooley?”

Dooley raised his chin.“I know plenty. I know that Shakespeare is some dude who’s in love, that’s what I know. In love with Gwyneth Paltrow.”

“That’s not the real Shakespeare,” Harriet huffed. “That’s just a movie.”

“Well, I don’t see the point. There was no singing in the movie at all.”

“I think Harriet is right,” I said, deciding this was not the time for bickering. “We need to serenade Odelia. She loves our singing so much she’ll wake up the moment she hears our sweet voices. Just like a radio clock.”

“What’s a radio clock?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, go away, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Why don’t we try the song we practiced last night? I’m sure she’ll love it. She’ll wake up gently and in a wonderful mood, completely refreshed. Like you said, just like a radio clock, but without those annoying radio jockeys jabbering about the weather.”

“You meanSorry?” I asked. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? It was a big hit for Justin. I’m sure Odelia will love it.”

“Who’s Justin?”

“Oh, Dooley,” Harriet sighed.