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The dog was the first one to become aware of my impending arrival, for he lifted first his head, then his upper lip in a vicious snarl.

I hesitated, but decided this mission was too important to be derailed by the pathetic snarls of a cat’s mortal enemy.

“Odelia!” I said, deciding to come in strong and pitch my sentiments before she had a chance to become distracted by her lover and the bearded hipster dude.

Odelia looked up, that frown still furrowing her forehead.

“A word, please?” I said, keeping a keen eye on the canine, whose upper lip was trembling now, his eyes shooting menace and all manner of mayhem in my direction.

“Max!” said Odelia, clearly surprised to see me. She quickly shut up. It’s not a fact widely known, but Odelia belongs to a long line of women who talk to cats. From generation to generation, this gift is passed, and a good thing, too. For far too long, humans have turned a deaf ear to a cat’s desires. Now, with Odelia and her mother and gran to listen to our plea, our voice is no longer ignored. Who also wasn’t ignoring my voice was the dog.

“What do you want, cat?” he snarled, his hind legs tensing as he got ready to pounce.

“This doesn’t concern you, Lassie,” I said, holding up my paw. “So back off.”

“This is my terrain, cat,” he shot back, tail wagging dangerously. “Get lost or else.”

“Or else what?” I asked, sounding a lot braver than I was feeling. Those fangs did not look appealing. Saliva was dripping from them, and already thoughts of rabies and front-page articles about a blorange cat being mauled to death started popping into my mind.

“You don’t want to find out,” he said with a low growl that seemed to rise up straight from his foul innards.

Odelia, who’d followed the tense interaction, crouched down next to me. “Max,” she said quietly, so the kisser and the hipster couldn’t overhear. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, as haughtily as I could. “I saw you,” I added. “Canoodling with that… that… man.”

Odelia frowned, as if not comprehending what I was saying. Then, suddenly, she laughed! Actually burst out laughing!“Oh, Max,” she said, giving my head a patronizing pet. “That’s just acting!”

“Whatever it is, it’s despicable,” I said. Then I frowned. “What do you mean, acting?”

She gestured with her head to the kisser, who now stood chatting with the weird red beard.“That’s Don Stryker. He’s a New York stage actor. And the man with the beard is Wolf Langdon—he’s our director.”

And then I remembered. Odelia had mentioned something about performing in something called Bard in the Park, and had even mentioned snagging an important role.

I stared her.“You mean this is all… acting?”

“All of it,” she assured me, then took an apple from the picnic basket and took a bite, plunking down next to me. She lowered her voice. “And let me tell you, it’s no picnic so far. This guy’s breath… “She rolled her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hoo-wee.”

In spite of myself I laughed.“Garlic. I can smell it a mile away. I thought you liked it.”

“No, Max. Women don’t like it when men chew a clove of garlic before a big kissing scene. Allegedly that’s how Clark Gable annoyed Vivien Leigh inGone with the Wind.”

I decided to skip the small talk. I hadn’t forgotten about my real beef. “What about that,” I said, pointing at the rabid dog, still snarling and softly growling in my direction.

“Scoochie?” she said. “He’s in the scene. He’s an actor, too.”

“The dog is an actor?”

“Sure. Dogs can be actors. Pretty much any animal can be an actor.”

This was news to me. Slightly mollified, I asked the most important question of all:“So… He’s not going to live with us?”

Odelia laughed again and patted my head.“Silly Max. Of course not. He’s going home with his trainer once rehearsals are over. And right now he lives with the rest of the troupe at Whitmore Manor. In his own room. Did you think I’d adopt a dog and not tell you guys?”

“No, of course not,” I said, “Don’t be silly.” But behind her back I gave Harriet and Dooley, who still sat watching from a safe distance, two thumbs up. Or rather, since cats don’t have those nifty and very handy opposable thumbs, two claws up at any rate.

“Hey, what’s wrong with adopting a dog?” growled the dog.

“Nothing,” Odelia was quick to say.

That’s how my human is: kind to animals, children and even dogs.

“I thought so,” grumbled the mutt.

The man Odelia had identified as the director now turned to her.“I liked what you did there, dahling,” he said, “but could you give it a little more—I don’t know—oomph?”

“Oh, sure,” said Odelia, getting up. “What sort of oomph are we talking about here?”

She began discussing the ins and outs of the oomphs of acting in detail, and I soon lost interest. Instead, I glanced around and saw that a small film crew sat hiding behind a nearby tree. They’d filmed the whole thing! Probably to learn from and correct later.

I just hoped they hadn’t filmed Odelia and me chatting. Because that would definitely not be good!

Chapter 3