Purrfect Heat

Chapter 1

I was luxuriating in my all-time favorite spot: at the foot of Odelia’s bed. I’m blessed with a smallish human, which means I’ve got the foot of the bed all to myself. I’ve heard horror stories of other cats, whose owners stretch out all the way to the edge of the bed, and then wriggle around all night, making it absolutely impossible for any cat to get any sleep.

In that sense, Odelia is the perfect human. Well, not just because she’s short, but also because she’s super nice and sweet. She always makes sure I’m well fed and well taken care of, never stingy on the cuddles and the strokes, and she keeps my blorange fur looking nice and shiny by giving me a vigorous grooming every week without fail. She’s even installed a pet door so I can come and go as I please. A nice, big door, as I’m big-boned.

Odelia is a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and if there’s one thing that sets her aside from most humans, it’s that she speaks feline. Yep, she and I have a perfect understanding—literally. She takes care of me, and in return I collect gossip from all over town and give it her hot off the griddle. All the news that’s fit to print, straight from the cat’s mouth.

Odelia stirred, and I pricked up my ears. I can tell when she’s about to wake up, which is my cue to snuggle up to her and bury my nose in her armpit for an extra cuddle. It’s our morning ritual, and the start of our day.

This morning, however, things were going to prove different, and the first sign I got was when Dooley and Brutus came barging into the bedroom, looking excited, but not in a good way.

Dooley is my best bud, a gray Raggamuffin who belongs to Odelia’s Gran. Brutus is a black cat and… not exactly my buddy. He belongs to Chase Kingsley, a cop and occasional kissmate of Odelia’s. Yes, I know kissmate isn’t a word, but how else can I describe Chase and Odelia’s relationship? They’re not a couple, they just… kiss… sometimes. And flirt a lot, I guess. I know, it’s disgusting, but what can you do? Humans are weird that way.

“Max!” Dooley cried. “Terrible news! Terrible, terrible news!”

I reluctantly heaved my head from the soft blanket. “What is it?” I murmured, then yawned cavernously. Dooley is one of those overexcited cats who get their tail in a twist just because their human got them a new brand of kibble or a new smell of cat litter.

“A new cat,” Dooley said, still panting. “There’s a new cat in town.”

I looked from Dooley to Brutus, who was, at least in my eyes, still the new cat in town, even though by now he’d been here a couple of months.

“No, not me,” Brutus grunted. “A new new cat.”

I frowned. “So? New cats are born every day. What’s so special about this one?”

“He’s not a kitten,” Dooley announced, looking highly perturbed.

“He’s a full-grown cat,” said Brutus. “And he belongs to Chase.”

“Your Chase?”

“My Chase.”

“That’s not possible. Your Chase doesn’t even like cats. He just took you in because his mother is living with her sister who’s allergic to cats.”

It was a long story. Brutus had belonged to Chase’s mom, but when she couldn’t take care of him anymore, Chase had graciously agreed to give him a home. Though he spent most of his time either at Odelia’s or next door, at Odelia’s mom’s place, where Dooley lives with Gran.

“Martha loves cats,” Brutus explained. “She just can’t help herself. So when she saw this rascal roaming the streets, she took him home with her, and immediately got into a huge argument with her sister.”

“So Chase took him over? Again?” I asked, incredulous.

Brutus nodded somberly. “And he’s something else, this one.”

“He’s called Diego and he’s a real charmer. A regular ladies’ cat.”

“Like Brutus, you mean,” I said, giving Brutus a level look.

“I’m not a ladies’ cat,” Brutus protested. “Can I help it that the ladies all love me? It’s not as if I go out of my way to seduce them or anything. They just take one look at me and bingo. They go all gooey on me.”

“That’s a ladies’ cat,” I said in measured tones. “That’s you.”

“You got it all wrong as usual, Maxie, baby,” Brutus growled.

“No, you got it all wrong. As usual,” I countered.

“No, you got it all wrong!”

“No, you got it—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Dooley cried. “Diego is here and Harriet is going to take one look at him and she’s going to go weak at the knees and fall for him!”

“Not my Harriet,” Brutus said, though he didn’t look convinced.

“Your Harriet?” Dooley asked. “Harriet isn’t your Harriet.”

“Oh, yes, she is. I know you’re devastated by the fact that she likes me more than you, but she is mine,” said Brutus with a smirk. “All mine.”

“Harriet isn’t yours. Harriet is a free spirit. She belongs to no one.”

“All mine,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “All the time.”

“Where is Harriet, by the way?” I asked.

Harriet belongs to Odelia’s mom and also lives next door. She’s a white Persian with green eyes. Even though she’s totally not my type I have to admit she’s very pretty. And she likes to hang out with Brutus, he wasn’t lying about that. Much to Dooley’s chagrin, cause he’s got a crush on Harriet himself.

“I have no idea,” said Brutus. “When I woke up just now she wasn’t there.”

I cut a glance at Dooley, and he nodded somberly. Brutus had taken to spending the night at the house, occupying the spot next to Harriet on the bed. When they weren’t traipsing all over town, that was.

Odelia muttered something, and I wasn’t surprised. All this meowing and hissing had probably woken her up. “Now see what you’ve done,” I said. “You’ve gone and woken up my human.”

“What do you care?” Brutus asked. “She needs to get up anyway.”

“I like her to wake up gradually.”

“Max likes to snuggle with Odelia,” said Dooley. “He’s a snuggler.”

It’s a good thing us cats are covered with fur, otherwise Brutus would have noticed the blush that was now creeping up my cheeks.

“I am not,” I said indignantly. “You take that back, Dooley.”

“I’m not taking it back. You are a snuggler. You like to snuggle.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, Maxie,” said Brutus with a sly grin. “Some cats are snugglers and others aren’t. I for one would never want to be caught dead trying to stick my nose in Chase’s armpit, or sniff at his hair. Yuck. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the guy, but that’s not how we roll.”

“So how do you roll?” I asked, giving him my best scowl.

He studied his claws. “You know, us catly cats just hang, you know. Like bros. Like buds. Chase, Chief Alec and I like to watch the ballgame, knocking back a few brewskis, swapping some off-color stories from our sordid pasts. It’s what real cats do. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t drink brewskis,” I said heatedly. “And you definitely don’t swap off-color stories about your sordid past because Chase doesn’t speak feline and neither does Uncle Alec. You’re making all that up.”

He grinned. “Keep telling yourself that. Whatever makes you feel good, bro. Just keep on snuggling. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”

“There is nothing wrong with that!” I cried.

“That’s what I just said.”

“No, but you said it in a way that makes it sound wrong!”

“Hey, don’t you go getting all weird on me, Maxie. I said I’m fine with you being all feminine and girly so why don’t you just let me be all manly and butch, huh? To each his own is what I always say.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, and I was itching to give him a piece of my mind—or my claws. Then again, Brutus is a formidable cat. Strong and athletic. I may be bigger, but I’m not afraid to admit it’s mostly blubber.

“Easy there, big guy,” said Brutus, catching my glare and holding up his paws in a peaceable gesture. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket. We’re all buds here, okay?”

“Right,” I said dubiously.

“Do you really drink beer, Brutus?” Dooley asked.

“Of course. You’re not a real cat if you haven’t downed some suds.”

“I haven’t downed some suds,” said Dooley. “You think I should try?”

“First chance you get,” Brutus assured him. “But go easy, slugger. Not everyone can stomach the stuff.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Only real cats can, right?”

“That’s right, Maxie. Though if you can’t keep it down, that’s fine, too.”

He was playing with me, as usual, and I wondered if this new cat was going to be just like Brutus, for if he was, Dooley was right. This was bad.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and I groaned. Now I was never going to get my morning cuddle. Brutus grinned at me. He’d read my mind.

Odelia murmured something, smacked her lips, and sat upright in bed, blinking confusedly. When she saw us, she blinked some more. “Um, Max? Are there really three of you or am I seeing things?”

“You’re not seeing things,” I said. “Dooley and Brutus came over.”

“Oh, hi, Dooley—Brutus.”

The doorbell rang again.

“There it is,” she said. “I thought I’d heard something.”

With her blond hair a mess, her green eyes trying hard to focus, and her nose wrinkling in confusion, my human looked cute as a button. She swung her feet to the Finding Nemo carpet by the bed, and I saw she was wearing her pink Betty Boop pajamas. She staggered from the bed, and shuffled to the door.

“So what were you guys talking about?” she asked as she stumbled down the stairs, rubbing at her eyes with one hand while holding onto the banister with the other.

“About the new cat,” Dooley said.

“His name is Diego and he’s a real charmer,” I said. “At least according to Brutus.”

“Well, he is,” Brutus said. “I only talked to him for all of five minutes and I could see he was one of those ladies’ cats.”

“You mean like you,” Odelia said, not missing a beat.

“I’m not a ladies’ cat!” Brutus cried. “Ladies just like me!”

“That’s a ladies’ cat,” I said.

“Diego belongs to Chase,” Dooley said.

Odelia halted on the bottom step and looked down at Dooley. “Chase has a new cat?”

“Used to belong to his mother, just like Brutus,” I explained. I gave her a worried look. She nodded. She understood Dooley and I didn’t like Brutus. And if this new cat was anything like him, we were in for another nasty surprise.

“I’m sure Diego will prove to be a perfectly nice cat,” she said.

Odelia is always the picture of optimism. For her the glass is always half-full. You have to admire that about her, of course. Then again, sometimes the glass is half-empty. Or completely empty. Like in the case of Brutus.

Odelia made her way to the door and peeked through the peephole.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, and quickly turned and looked in the hallway mirror. “Ugh,” she said, and finger-combed her hair and checked her eyes for sleep gunk. Then she heaved a resigned sigh and opened the door. Odelia’s uncle Alec stood on the mat, along with Chase Kingsley, who was holding up a small orange cat.

“That’s Diego!” hissed Brutus.

“Surprise,” said Chase with a smile, and handed the cat to Odelia.