We’d arrived home, and jumped up on the low wall that borders the front yard. Harriet and Brutus gazing up at the full moon and mooning over each other. And Dooley wondering if the moon was made of cheese, and if it was, how it tasted. And me? I was happy to be in the company of such great friends.Cause if Harriet thought I couldn’t be trusted with a secret, out of fear I’d tell Brutus, what she was really saying was that I loved my friends so much I couldn’t see them suffer.
And when you come right down to it, that’s quite a compliment, isn’t it?
56. PURRFECT BOUQUET
CHAPTER 1
Cat choir is one of those laid-back affairs I very much look forward to each and every day. In fact if it weren’t for cat choir, I don’t know if my life would be half as enjoyable as it is now. Now don’t be fooled by the addition of the word ‘choir’ in cat choir. I know it looks like a choir when a bunch of cats get together to mewl and meow and generally make a huge caterwauling nuisance of themselves, but in actual fact the singing is a mere excuse for us to socialize and shoot the breeze.
And so it was that the sun had finally set on a glorious day, and that our humans were getting ready to go to bed. Teeth were being brushed, the closing credits on movies and TV shows were rolling, curtains were being pulled, and amid all this hubbub and activity, cats were using the opportunity to gobble up those final pieces of kibble, emptying those bowls before leaving the house and making their trek to the local park. Some of them made a detour, to chase some critter or sharpen those claws on some nearby tree, but in due course Hampton Cove’s cat population made its way en masse to the place to be: cat choir.
For as long as I remember, Shanille has led cat choir and has done an excellent job at it, too. Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat, you see, and since St. John’s Church boasts a long choral tradition, she must have gotten the idea from the great man himself. And very creative she is, too. Always has some new songs she wants us to try out, some new ideas she’s come up with. In fact it isn’t too much to say that Shanille lives and breathes cat choir. In other words: she is cat choir personified.
Which is why it came as something of a shock to us when we arrived at the park and discovered that Shanille wasn’t amongst those present at all!
We rehearse in the park’s playground, you see. During the daytime the place is filled with the sounds of frolicking kids having fun, but at night it’s our turn, much to the neighbors’ chagrin, I might add. Oddly enough the same category of people who hate kids also seem to hate cats, but still prefer living in houses overlooking playgrounds and places where kids and cats like to gather. I guess they must be closet masochists, but don’t quote me on that since I’m not a licensed shrink.
As I looked around now, I saw that the jungle gym was there, and so was the seesaw, the swing and the merry-go-round, but of our illustrious and indefatigable conductor there was not a single trace—Shanille was late!
“Where is Shanille, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d also become aware of the marked absence of one usually so undeniably and emphatically present.
“I have no idea,” I admitted.
“Maybe she’s been delayed,” Brutus suggested.
“Or maybe she’s sick,” Harriet said, a touch of hope in her voice.
Harriet and Shanille’s relationship may best be described as fraught with a certain measure of rivalry. They both consider themselves Hampton Cove’s First Feline Females or FFF’s, and as we all know you can’t have two FFF’s, the same way you only have one BFF. Their former enmity has morphed into a tenuous truce, especially since they both have important roles to play that they’ve claimed for their own: Shanille as cat choir’s fearless leader and grande dame and Harriet as its lead soprano, also known as its prima donna.
I guess you could argue that you can’t have two divas in the same ensemble, but so far Shanille and Harriet have managed to make it work. In a sense.
“I bet she’ll show up soon,” I said, trying to take the optimistic view.
“And I’ll bet she’s home being sick as a dog,” said Harriet with relish.
“Why do they always say ‘sick as a dog,’ Max?” asked Dooley. “Why not sick as a cat, or sick as a rabbit? Is it because dogs are more often sick than we are?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. The matter wasn’t my top priority at that moment. Locating Shanille was. For a choir without a conductor isn’t much of a choir at all.
“If she doesn’t show up soon, we won’t have a choir tonight!” said Brutus.
“She’ll show up,” I said. “She has to.” In all the time I’d known her, Shanille had never missed a rehearsal even once.
“Do you think we can be sick as dogs?” asked Dooley, who liked to march to the beat of his own drum. “Cats aren’t dogs. So we can’t be sick like dogs, can we?”
“No, I guess we can’t,” I said.