“And I’m so glad that you and Brutus are going to be besties!” she cried.
Dooley and I shared a glance and shook our heads. Yeah, right.
We’d walked around Odelia’s house to the street and were now traipsing along, heading for the park. The moon was out and it was a beautiful night. One of those nights where humans like to bring out the barbecue set and the air is redolent with the smell of grilled meat, smoke and burned grease. Yum. But since it was way past midnight, the only scent I could pick up was ocean brine, the wind picking up a little. In spite of that, it was still warm out. The perfect night for cat choir. We crossed the street and found the park deserted, which was exactly the way we liked it. Humans tend to cramp our style.
“Brutus is such a great singer,” said Harriet. “I’m so curious to see what songs he’s got in line for us tonight. Don’t you feel that since he took over from Shanille we’ve improved so much? He’s a great conductor but an even greater coach. Sometimes I feel like he should be on The Voice Cats. He’s got Adam Levine’s focus and Blake Shelton’s heart and sense of humor and he’s really concerned about our musical development. I mean, he cares so much.”
On and on she prattled. Dooley and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Not that we tried to. When Harriet gushes about Brutus there’s no stopping her.
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 in The 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.”
For a moment, I thought Harriet was going to do a Miss Piggy and smack Brutus in the face, but at the last moment she restrained herself, and simply lifted both her head and her tail high, gave Princess the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen, and stalked off. We’d entered some regular Black Swan territory now.
“Look, you don’t get to decide who sings the solos,” I told Brutus.
“Oh, yes, I do,” he said, casting a worried look after Harriet.
I turned to Princess. “If anyone is the musical expert around here, it’s me. Brutus may be the conductor, but I’m the beating heart of this choir. I’m the heart and soul of cat choir. So if anyone is going to be coaching you, it’s me.”
“Is that a fact?” asked Brutus.
“That is a fact,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes at me, and raised an extended claw. The same claw he used to direct the choir. “You may have started this choir, buddy, but without me you’d still be a ragtag clowder of bumbling amateurs. It took a real leader like me to turn this hapless bunch of losers into a real choir.”
“Oh, you certainly are a real leader, Brutus,” Princess said. She placed her paw on his front leg and felt his bicep. “And you’re so very strong.”
I drew up closer and puffed out my chest. “You’ll have to forgive Brutus, Princess. He’s new in town. He doesn’t know I started this choir to build a sense of community here in Hampton Cove. Forge bonds. Inspire friendship. That’s what I do. I’m a community leader. A leader of the community.”