James Edward Bristlefur is living like a king.

The sophisticated secret agent has won a competition to be the new spokescat for the delectable cat food Le Chat Gourmet. (He looks fabulous, even if his humans insist on calling him Mr. Stink.) So the Green family is off to France, the land of fine food and beautiful felines.

What starts off as a pleasant holiday takes a sinister turn as a mysterious assassin shadows Mr. Stink's every move. Who is the dark figure lurking in the background? A secret in Mr. Stink's past will soon be revealed, and the hidden paw will at last appear.

In his most thrilling adventure yet, the international cat of mystery is about to find out who he really is.

The Stink Files, Dossier 003: You Only Have Nine Lives

By Dennis Holm & Hamel

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright ©2006 Dennis Holm & Hamel
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0060529857

Chapter One

Bon Voyage

It was a beautiful summer day in Woodland Park, New Jersey.

Mr. Green was balanced precariously on a ladder outside the pet food store, hanging a banner.

"Is it straight?" he asked his son, Aaron.

"I guess so," my boy said.

Mr. Green climbed down and admired the sign. There was a huge photo of me on it. A rather dashing photo, I might add. I smiled up at the sign too, imagining a whole new life as a famous spokescat.

Parkside Pet Foods

Home of Mr. Stink: Le Chat Gourmet!

But no, my past life in the spy game would always haunt me. Sir Archibald and I had made too many enemies, and the diabolical Macavity was only one of them. Attracting so much attention would be hazardous to my health. The sign would have to go when we returned.

"Pretty exciting, huh, Aaron?" Mr. Green grinned. "By this time tomorrow, we'll be in Paris, the City of Light."

Aaron shrugged. "Space Camp would've been cooler. Or Disney World."

I had to disagree with my boy. Paris is the most exciting and beautiful city in the world, and I had spent quite a lot of time there, ferreting out assorted nefarious characters. There was a time when Paris had quite a reputation as a hothouse for criminals. Of course, it also had a reputation as home to some of the loveliest pussycats in the world. I, for one, was planning to look up a few old acquaintances.

"C'mon, it's gonna be great," Mr. Green enthused. "And we have Mr. Stink to thank for it all!"

What he meant was that he had entered me into a contest for Le Chat Gourmet, a delicious gourmet cat food from France. They were looking for a new spokescat -- someone with culture, breeding, and impeccable taste. Not surprisingly, I had won. I am, after all, an unusually handsome Bengal cat, and in exceptional shape thanks to my counterspy experience.

Check it out. Yer famous, boss! a voice squeaked.

Can we get a raise now? another voice chimed in.

It was Frankie and Vinnie, two street mice whom I regularly used as informants.

"I'll need you two to watch the store while I'm in France," I told them.

"Sure, boss," Vinnie said. "Don'tcha worry 'bout nuttin'."

"I ain't never been nowhere but Woodland Park," Frankie said longingly, rubbing the nub of his missing tail.

"Ain't never been nowheres," Vinnie corrected,smacking his partner on the shoulder. "And sure ya have. We been to Staten Island dat one time, remember?"

"Oh yeh," Frankie said, licking his lips. "Boy, dat was some gooood bologna."

"If you two would pay attention," I said, "there is an open bag of gerbil food in the back storeroom that you are welcome to." I stared hard at them both. "There had better be nothing else missing when I return."

"Cheese," Vinnie swore. "We don't get no respect around here."

Mr. Green was fiddling with the lock on the front door. The piranhas in the aquarium in the window looked on in dismay. Mr. Green had recently reorganized the store, and the piranhas attracted quite a bit of traffic in their new location.

"I wish Robby could come," Aaron said.

"You'll see him in two weeks." Mr. Green sighed.

"Yeah, two boring weeks," my boy groused.

"Come on now. You'll get to see castles and armor and all kinds of neat old stuff," Mr. Green said. "Let's get moving before your mother sends out the police to find us." He tapped on the window directly above a sign that read "Don't tap on the window!" "Bye, fish! Don't worry, someone will be by to feed you."

I swear one of the piranhas glared at me.

The three of us went around back to the parking lot, where we climbed into a tomato-red MGB. Mr. Green revved the engine, and I looked out happily.

Good-bye, Woodland Park, New Jersey. Bonjour, Paris!

Back at #9 North Tenth Avenue, everything was chaos.

Mrs. Green was running around looking for passports. Lily, Aaron's six-year-old sister, had a little orange suitcase of her very own and was filling it with biscuits for the trip. Or cookies, as Americans call them.

"No, Lily!" Mrs. Green said. "Put those cookies back right now."

"But what if they don't have cookies in France?" she whined.

"I'm sure they have cookies," Mrs. Green said in exasperation. "I think they invented cookies."

"I thought they invented French toast."

"Hey, hon," Mr. Green shouted. "Look what I got for Mr. Stink when we get back." He held up a box labeled "Inflatable Kiddie Pool."

"How come Mr. Stink gets his own pool?" Lily asked.

"But cats hate water," Aaron said.

"Not Bengal cats, apparently," Mr. Green said. He tossed his son a book. "Page twelve in All About Your Bengal."

"Really?" Aaron grabbed up the book. "Cool! Thanks!"

It is true that I enjoy the occasional swim, just for the exercise. Bengal cats like myself are famous for their love of water, unlike other breeds who fear the stuff. Some have claimed it is because the wild Asian Leopard Cat, our ancestor, hunts for food in water. But to me, it has always been proof of our proper breeding and nobility.

"Get a move on it," Mrs. Green shouted. "Or we'll miss the plane."

I had preparations of my own to make. I needed to give explicit instructions to my assistant, Kitty, on how to secure the Greens' property. I had enemies.

My previous human, Sir Archibald, had been the Director of a top-secret counterspy organization we shall call MI9. He had been murdered with a poisoned biscuit, and I had recently learned that the culprit was a six-toed fluffy white Persian cat named Macavity. The Persian was obsessed with revenge on both Sir Archibald and myself for putting away his late human, a dealer in stolen nuclear arms. As a result of this, I was now required to take extraordinary precautions to protect my new humans.

Continues...

Excerpted from The Stink Files, Dossier 003: You Only Have Nine Livesby Dennis Holm & Hamel Copyright ©2006 by Dennis Holm & Hamel. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.