“That’s a great idea, honey bunch,” he said in that gruff voice of his.
He punched me on the shoulder, slapped Dooley on the back, and we both toppled over. “Let’s do this, fellas,” he growled, and cleared his throat.
Brutus is just about the worst choice when it comes to conducting a choir. The cat doesn’t have a single musical bone in his big-boned body. But that doesn’t stop him from belting his heart out every time he opens his mouth.
I shook my head. At least when Brutus decided to tackle Justin Bieber, Odelia would finally wake up. Judging from the dozens of angry neighbors last night, and the half dozen shoes thrown at our heads, it was hard to sleep through the racket. Then again, waking up Odelia was what we were here for. She’d told me yesterday the Hampton Cove Gazette is going through a rough patch. Circulation is down, so she needs to buckle down and find a killer story. And the first rule to finding a killer story is getting out of bed.
“One, two, three,” Brutus grunted. He’d taken position in front of us, his back to Odelia, like a genuine conductor. He was even swinging his paw just so, claws extended in case we hit a wrong note. Brutus believes in tough love.
“Is it too late now to say sorry?” Brutus bellowed at the top of his lungs. He was eyeing Harriet intently, who was giggling more than she was singing.
“Cause I’m missing more than just your body,” she responded coyly.
“Oh, God,” Dooley muttered.
"Hey! No bungling the lyrics!" Brutus yelled. "Be a Belieber!"
"I'm a Bebrutuser," Harriet tittered. "Is that all right, too?"
“It sure is, cutie pie,” growled Brutus.
“Oh, God,” I murmured.
“Hey!” Brutus repeated, and he slapped me on the head.
“Hey!” I yelled back. “No hitting the talent!”
“Who are you calling talent?” he said with a smirk.
“Oh, God,” a tired voice came from behind Brutus.
He whirled around, ready to admonish her. But when he saw he wasn’t talking to one of his choir flunkies, he snarled, “Look who’s up!” instead.
“What was that racket?” she groaned.
“Sorry,” said Harriet.
“That’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”
“No, that’s the name of the song.”
"You could have fooled me," Odelia said, rubbing her eyes. "It sounded like a dozen cats being strangled, their heads chopped off with a lightsaber."
I know I should have felt offended, but I was so glad she was finally up I decided to forgive her. Not everyone appreciates great music the way us cats do, and the most important thing was that we’d finally achieved our purpose.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I said. “Time to go to work.”
“Ugh,” was Odelia’s response. “Just promise never to sing to me again.”
“I promise,” I said, crossing my claws. Until next time.
Chapter 2
I was glad we’d accomplished our mission, even though the awakening hadn’t been as gentle and pleasant as I’d hoped. Odelia obviously wasn’t a fan of cat choir, or Justin Bieber, or either. We probably needed to practice more. Then again, with Brutus at the helm we might never get to be as good as the Wiener Sängerknaben, my inspiration to start cat choir in the first place. Especially if Brutus kept hogging the spotlight to impress Harriet. It didn’t impress the other choir members. And it didn’t impress me.
We trudged down the stairs and padded into the kitchen, waiting for Odelia to join us, fresh from the shower and ready to start preparing breakfast. We didn’t have to wait long. She breezed in, wearing ultra-short Daisy Dukes, pockets showing on the bottom, a canary yellow T-shirt that announced she was ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ and pink Converse sneakers. She started up the coffeemaker and switched on the TV to watch the news.
“Ugh. The Kenspeckles are still in town,” she said as she dumped Corn Flakes into a bowl and poured milk on top of it and a few spoonfuls of sugar. “I keep hoping they’ll leave, but that obviously isn’t happening.”
“Who are the Kenspeckles?” asked Dooley.
We’d all hopped up on the kitchen counter barstools and were watching Odelia’s breakfast preparations intently. As soon as she’d finished preparing her own breakfast, we knew she’d start on ours.
“Just some family whose lives have been turned into a reality show,” she said. “The only reason I’m interested is because they decided to spend the summer in Hampton Cove and Dan keeps pushing me to do a piece on them. I’d rather poke my eye out with a fork than to come anywhere near them.”
“Why Hampton Cove?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Cause it’s the Hamptons. Cause it’s the place where all the cool people hang out. Cause after shooting a gazillion shows in LA they like to shake things up. I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not a fan.”
That much was obvious. “You don’t like the Kenspeckles?” asked Harriet.
“Nope. Too much talk. I like a show with a little action and a great story.”
“Like Game of Thrones,” said Brutus, nodding.
“Yuck. A show where people’s heads get chopped off? No way.”
“I know what you like,” said Brutus. “You like to watch the game.”
She stared at him. “Game? What game?”
“Football, of course! At Casa Chase we watch it all the time.”
“At Casa Odelia we watch The Voice,” I said.
Brutus made a face. “The Voice? Are you crazy?”
“It’s all about singing, Brutus. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I like singing,” he said with a quick glance at Harriet. “In fact, I love it. But The Voice? I thought you said you liked action and a great story, Odelia?”
“It doesn’t get any better than Blake and Adam,” she said, taking a seat and scooping up her flakes. “Add in some great songs and I’m hooked.”
Brutus shook his head. It was obvious he didn’t agree. “To each his own.”
The sliding glass door in the living room opened and Odelia’s mom walked in. “Good morning, family. And what a glorious morning it is.”
A slim woman with long blond hair just like her daughter, Marge Poole was wearing hers in a messy bun this morning. Her white polka-dot shirt was belted with a thin leather sash and she was donning skinny black slacks. She gazed at us through horn-rimmed glasses and gave us a smile and a wave.
“Hey, Mom,” said Odelia. “Aren’t you the sight for sore eyes?”
“Oh, just my work clothes,” said Mom with a deferential gesture.
Marge Poole was a librarian and ran the Hampton Cove library.
“I’d certainly borrow a book from you, Mrs. P,” said Dooley.
“Dooley!” Harriet hissed.
“What? I would,” said Dooley.
“She’s a human and you’re a feline. That’s just wrong.”
He frowned. “Why can’t I borrow a book from her? I know my ABCs.”
“Oh, you mean an actual book?”
“Of course. Why else would I go to the library?”
“I just thought…” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
“We were just talking about Chase,” said Brutus.
“No, we weren’t,” said Odelia. “We were talking about the Kenspeckles.”
“Chase is such a nice young man,” Marge said. “And such a blessing for this town. Your uncle Alec keeps telling me he’s so glad Chase decided to stay put instead of going back to New York to shoot with the big boys.”
“Run with the big boys,” Odelia corrected automatically.
“That’s what I said. He could have had any job he wanted with the NYPD but he chose to stay in Hampton Cove. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
“Super,” Odelia murmured. “They should give him the keys to the city.”
“I’m sure glad he stayed,” said Harriet, practicing her best starry-eyed look on Brutus. “I don’t know what I would do without my Brutus.”