The small dining room table was cluttered with baskets, ribbons and bows on top of bows.

  The ceiling fan whirred quietly on low, so as not to create a hazardous waste site.

  Now with everyone seated, Sheila opened the meeting with her trademark hostess charm.

  Just shy of a tap dance.

  “Welcome to the Kitten Brigade! Thank you all for coming, and thank you, Andrea, for hosting us.”

  “Normally, as you regulars know, we meet at my house, but it’s being fumigated this week.”

  “So… here we are.” She shrugged with a laugh, then thumped both hands on the table like a rimshot.

  “Ba-dum-tss!”

  Marco wondered why her house was being fumigated.

  Cat fleas?

  He liked Sheila but was glad he chose to sit on the other side of the table from her.

  “Uh, hi.” Marco blinked, unsure about what he was supposed to say.

  He could feel everybody’s eyes on him, making him nervous.

  “I’m Marco Polo. I’m thirteen. Uh… uh…”

  His mind went blank, so he blurted the only thing he could think of.

  “Some lizards can squirt blood from their eyes!”

  “Whoa! Okay,” Sheila said, clearly unsure what to do with the lizard fact but powering through anyway. “Thank you, Marco!”

  Crap. Why did I say that?

  His mother spoke next, greeting everyone with a calm, clear voice.

  “Hi. I’m Andrea Polo, Marco’s mother. This is my first real Kitten Brigade meeting, though I’ve heard all about the great work you do, thanks to Sheila. I’m a biologist. These days, I’m working from home while undergoing cancer treatment. It’s been a strange time, but I’m glad to be here.”

  Marco was glad his mom had a wealthy, outgoing friend like Sheila in her life. It was a strange relationship. His introverted, logical mother and this famous, beloved Palm Springs lounge singer couldn’t be more opposite. Yet somehow they clicked. Like each of them filled in something the other needed to be whole.

  He didn’t have any friends like that, nobody at all. Just Rowf.

  Who needs friends anyway? Does it smell like catnip in here?

  The tall, older man with the tattoos cleared his throat and rose from his chair.

  “Name’s Captain Anton Cookie-Montebello. Retired California Hotshot firefighter—forty-one years on the line. This is my lovely and brilliant wife, Ginger. We’re charter members of the Palm Springs Wild Bird Society.

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  While it’s true most birders hate cats, we love ’em. So, uh, do us a favor…”

  He lowered his voice and whispered, “Don’t tell any other birders we’re here.”

  Laughing at his own joke, he sat back down.

  Marco giggled and rolled his eyes along with everyone else.

  The confident, older woman with the blue-streaked ponytail stood and declared,

  “I’m Professor Ginger Cookie-Montebello. Retired rocket scientist from NASA, and a huge fan of avian aeronautics. It’s true, Anton and I are birders. Big, big birders. And we do love kittens. In fact, we have four little babies at home.

  Besides birding, kittens, and rocket science, I devote all my free time to my greatest passion of all: crochet!”

  She opened her tote bag and pulled out a pile of amorphous, fuzzy objects.

  “These are Kitten Brigade hats I designed using avant-garde crochet materials, Buckminster Fuller’s geodesic principles, and a few classified techniques I may or may not have borrowed from NASA. I made quite a few, so please pick one and pass the leftovers back to me.”

  When Marco saw the hats come out, he cringed.

  Oh crap. WTF?

  One looked like a jellyfish. Another resembled a tactical satellite in pink chenille.

  “They’re wonderful!” Sheila was the first to try one on.

  “Oh wait. I think I put it on inside out,” she said, flipping it around.

  But the hat was so weird, it was impossible for anyone to tell.

  This is ridiculous… whatever.

  They were all equally ugly, so Marco picked the soft burgundy one closest to him. It was small so he hoped it wouldn’t fit, and he wouldn’t have to wear it. But as he pulled it on, the fabric stretched in a way that felt engineered, like it had studied his skull in advance.

  Crap.

  Ginger’s tone changed, becoming serious and resolute.

  “I believe that finding a safe indoor home for every kitten is not only responsible and humane, but also the best way to protect those cute little innocents and all the wild birds and tiny creatures we love so much.”

  Her gaze drifted across the group but landed, inevitably, on Marco.

  Oh shit.

  The eye contact burned. Marco wasn’t one to engage with strangers and he didn’t know why.

  All he knew was that it made him feel anxious, and he didn’t like it.

  In a quiet, mournful voice, Ginger said, “Did you know that every year, homeless kitties around the world kill over two billion wild animals?”

  Marco met her gaze, forced a smile and slowly nodded.

  “Birds. Mammals. Reptiles. Insects. Gone. Just gone.”

  He put on a concerned face and stared back down at the table as if he cared.

  Hoping her gaze would jump to somebody else.

  Ginger slammed her fist on the tabletop, rattling the jars of glitter and knocking over a big plastic bottle of glue, startling him.

  Yikes! Right, cats eat birds. Got it. Geez, calm down, lady.

  “We must find a home for every kitten!”

  Sheila clapped her approval. “Wow, you said it, Ginger!”

  The others joined in with scattered claps, a few whoops, and a burst of “Yes! Yes!”

  Oh, okay, so there is a point to this after all.

  Marco liked the logic but was wary. The last two times he’d volunteered for a charity the adults ignored him. Making him lick envelopes or do other dumb chores, nothing to do with actual animals and plants or even the outdoors.

  If they think I’m scooping litter boxes…

  There was no way he was going through that bullshit again.

  But then he saw his mother’s smile.

  Okay… maybe just this one time.

  Facing the fire, he braced himself for whatever indignity came next.