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We entered the park and made our way to the venue we’d selected for cat choir practice. It was a small clearing with a few benches, which we used to set up the different voice types. You had your sopranos, your altos, your tenors and your basses. Personally I’d always felt I was an alto, but Brutus had dumped me in with the basses. I didn’t like it. They didn’t have an interesting score. Harriet, of course, was a soprano, and always got to sing the solos. She was our very own Kiri Te Kanawa. The people who lived around the park got to enjoy our nocturnal concerts, too. Though they didn’t seem to appreciate them all that much. At least judging from all the abuse they hurled at us. And the shoes. Everyone’s a critic, I guess.

As we padded up to the clearing, I saw Shanille was already there, and so were about a dozen of the regulars, all gabbing away to their heart’s content.

“Oh, there’s Brutus,” said Harriet, and she was about to streak forward when she noticed Brutus wasn’t alone. He was chatting with a gorgeous Siamese and a very red, very fat old cat who sat chewing on something.

“Hey, isn’t that Princess?” Dooley asked. “And look. There’s George.”

I nodded, transfixed. I liked Princess. In fact I liked her a lot. She was John Paul George’s cat, the famous eighties pop singer who recently died at his Hamptons home. He’d lived there with his twelve cats, the oldest of which was George. The cats now lived with Johnny’s boyfriend Jasper Pruce, who probably took even better care of them than Johnny had.

The fat cat caught sight of us and came waddling over, a big smile on his face.“Hey, you guys,” he said. George must have watched too many Marlon Brando movies, because he sounded like the actor’s character inThe Godfather.“Princess told me you’ve got yourselves a genuine cat choir here, so I figured we might check you out. We already met your conductor. Brutus.”

I nodded, still staring at Princess. The moon lit up her white fur, and she looked even more gorgeous than I remembered. God, she was pretty.

“Welcome to the show, George,” Dooley said. “Are you going to join?”

“Nah. I have no singing talent whatsoever. Just thought I’d watch.”

George was a British cat, who’d come over from the old country along with John Paul George, when the latter had tried to make a career in America. He was probably the oldest cat I’d ever met, but he still looked great. Probably all that grade A cat food Jasper fed his menagerie.

While George and Dooley got reacquainted, I trotted over to Princess.

“Hi, Max,” she said in that sultry, smoky voice of hers.

“Hi, Princess,” I breathed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

“You two know each other?” Brutus asked, sounding surprised.

“We met,” said Princess, and gave me a bright smile that melted my heart.

“I was just telling Princess I might let her sing the solo tonight,” Brutus said with a curious look in my direction.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful of you, Brutus,” said Princess. “I won’t disappoint you. I sat by John Paul George’s side for years, singing along. I like to think he drew inspiration from my presence. All artists need a muse, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I was his.”

I knew I was gawking, but I couldn’t stop. I think I was drooling, too.

“A celebrity such as yourself deserves a spot in the limelight,” said Brutus, nodding. “If you like we can work on your solos one on one. Do some private coaching. I don’t like to brag, but I’m something of a musical prodigy myself.”

“You would do that for me? That’s so sweet of you, Brutus.”

I heard a strangled sound and when I looked over my shoulder I saw that it was Harriet. She was staring at Brutus and Princess, making strange noises at the back of her throat. Either she was going to throw up, or throw a hissy fit and hit Brutus. Either way, she wasn’t happy. And neither was I.

“I started cat choir to give struggling young artists such as yourself their first break,” Brutus continued suavely. “Kind of like a mentorship.”

“You didn’t start cat choir,” Harriet said. “Max started cat choir.”

At the mention of my name, I snapped out of my stupor. She was right. Brutus was putting the moves on Princess, and I was letting him.

“Yeah, I started cat choir,” I said. “Dooley and I did.”

Princess turned a pair of cool blue eyes on me.“You started cat choir?”

“Yes, they did,” said Harriet heatedly. “And what’s more,I’m the choir’s lead soprano.I have the best voice.I sing the solos. Not you. Me.”

Princess fluttered her eyes over Harriet, apparently wasn’t impressed, and dismissed her with a flick of her paw. “I’d be delighted to sing the lead.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?!” Harriet exclaimed. “Tell her, Brutus. Tell her I sing the solos.”

“Now, now,” said Brutus airily. “This is not the time for petty rivalries. We have to think of cat choir. What’s good for cat choir is good for all of us. And what we need right now is to boost our reputation. Attract top talent. A celebrity like Princess adds luster to the lineup. And luster is what we want.”