“No, we wouldn’t,” said Fifi flatly. “We have no idea, do we, Rufus?”
“Absolutely not,” said Rufus, but he was smiling, which gave the impression that he was giving a mixed message. Dooley didn’t know what the mixed message was, but he did have the idea that these two might know more than they let on.
“It’s just that Brutus is very worried, you know. He thinks that Harriet is having an affair with Kingman, because he saw the two of them together, and he also says he smelled Kingman in the rose bushes, which is their nooky nook, but now it’s not their nooky nook anymore, since it’s Kingman’s nooky nook now. He’s very upset, Brutus is. It’s not nice when other cats go and do nooky in your nook.”
He looked up when the two dogs started rolling about on the ground. At first he thought they were suffering from some kind of stomach ache, but then he saw they were actually laughing. He decided to leave them be. People were acting funny today. And when he said people he actually meant pets—dogs and cats both. Rolling on the ground. Being nice one minute and angry the next. Talking about dirty minds and nooky nooks and secret secrets. It was all very confusing.
CHAPTER 28
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That night, cat choir was a subdued affair. Harriet wasn’t talking to us, Brutus wasn’t talking to Kingman, and Dooley kept babbling on about my mind needing a wash. Shanille, too, wasn’t her usual self. The choir director usually comes to cat choir well-prepared, with a list of songs that she wants us to sing. But today she didn’t seem to have made any preparations and said she wanted to wing it.
“Wing it?” I said. “What do you mean, wing it?”
“We’ll simply start singing and see where it takes us,” said Shanille in a breezy sort of way that was very unlike her.
“You can start without me,” said Brutus, who was still quietly fuming.
“You’re not singing tonight?” asked Shanille.
“No, I’m not. Not tonight and not any other night as long as Kingman is here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Shanille.
“This town isn’t big enough for the both of us,” said Brutus. “So it’s either Kingman or me.”
But instead of getting upset, as I would have expected, Shanille merely smiled.“That’s fine, Brutus,” she said. “Whatever you say.”
Brutus frowned at her.“Didn’t you hear what I said? I want you to choose, Shanille. Between me and Kingman.”
“Of course,” said Shanille. “Absolutely.”
Brutus muttered something and stalked off, to go and fume some more under a nearby tree, from where he could keep an eye on Harriet and Kingman.
“He’s concerned about Harriet,” I explained. “He thinks she’s having an affair with Kingman, and he’s very unhappy about it.”
“That’s understandable,” said Shanille, still continuing in that breezy way she had adopted. It was frankly infuriating.
“Do you have a secret, Shanille?” asked Dooley. “Because everybody else seems to have them. Max has a secret, and I have a secret, and Harriet has one, even though she refuses to tell us. And Brutus might have a secret, though I’m not sure.”
“Oh, of course I have a secret,” said Shanille.
“So what is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“But why?”
“Because the moment I tell you it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”
Dooley thought about that for a moment.“But if you tell me, it will still be a secret to all the others, right? So technically it will still be a secret, only not to me.”
Shanille smiled at Dooley’s attempt at cunning. “Okay, you win, Dooley. I’ll tell you guys my secret. But only if you promise not to tell anyone else, all right?”
“So what is it?” asked Dooley anxiously.
“I have a ninth nipple.”
“A ninth nipple?”
“Yep, that’s right. Wanna see?”
Dooley didn’t seem particularly interested in Shanille’s nipples, and neither was I, but she was already rolling on her back and counting out her nipples. In case you didn’t know, cats have lots of nipples, usually six to eight. Some cats have more, others have less. Apparently Shanille’s maker had gone the extra mile and had added a little bonus nipple. As secrets go, it wasn’t exactly shocking, but Dooley and I went through the motions of expressing surprise, then admiration. Shanille seemed to think her ninth nipple was akin to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, which I can tell you it most definitely was not.
“So what’s your secret, Dooley?” asked Shanille when she had finished showing off her anomalous nipple.
Dooley, who hadn’t been aware this was a contest, meekly told the story of his defecatory habit of despoiling Brutus’s and Harriet’s little love nook. It caused the choir conductor to crack a smile and then some. She turned to me. “And how about you, Max? Big cat like you must have a big secret, right?”