— 10 —
OPERATION RACCOON WAS OFF TO a rocky start.
The first thing Oscar had done was to send everyone out on secret reconnaissance missions. (Marco and Polo insisted that he call them reconnaissance missions instead of Oscar’s preferred term, “things on their to-do list.” Oscar’s cage was also now known as Command Central.)
Marco and Polo’s mission was to tell Biscuit what was happening. Wallace’s mission was to try to get the sailor shirt back from Ken. Walt and Oscar were responsible for coming up with the actual details of Operation Raccoon. And Butterbean’s mission was to provide cover for the rest of them by chewing the face off of her new squeaky lamb toy. She was very good at chewing the faces off of her toys.
So far the biggest problem with Operation Raccoon was that Walt and Oscar had no idea what the plan should be. Oscar had tried everything—staring at the ceiling, throwing fruit onto the floor, examining his feathers—but nothing had helped. He just didn’t know what to do about the raccoon problem.
“Anything?” Walt said finally. She had spent her time pacing back and forth across the living room, hoping inspiration would strike. But it hadn’t given her a single idea.
“Nothing,” Oscar said, his feathers drooping. “What are we going to do?”
“Maybe it’s not that big a deal,” Butterbean said, spitting out a piece of cotton fluff. (Her mission was turning out to be a complete success.) “You told those rats to stay in the vents, right? I’m sure they’ll listen to you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Oscar sighed. “They did seem to respect my natural leadership qualities.”
“I hope so, because HOOOBOY is Biscuit mad,” Marco said, crawling out from behind the sofa and brushing himself off. “We succeeded in our mission. We told him all about the raccoon situation.”
“And we explained that you had a plan and it would be fixed in no time,” Polo added, climbing out after Marco.
“But he’s having a hard time keeping it together. He really wants to bark,” Marco finished. “I mean, a LOT. He’s just barely holding it in.”
“He looked like he was going to explode,” Polo said, making big explosion motions.
“I think his exact words were ‘I can take them, let me at them, I’ll rip them all to shreds,’ ” Marco said. “Then he shrieked into a couch pillow for five minutes straight.”
“We had to help him take some deep cleansing breaths,” Polo said. “He couldn’t find a paper bag, though.”
“I give him maybe a day before he snaps and starts barking again,” Marco said.
“Totally.” Polo nodded in agreement.
“Maybe I could talk to him again,” Butterbean said, blowing a piece of fluff off her nose. “It helped last time.”
“Maybe,” Walt said, watching. She hated the idea of going back down to that apartment, but they might not have a choice. Butterbean may have totally misunderstood what therapy dogs did, but Walt had to admit she did have a calming effect on Second Floor Biscuit.
“Thanks for the report,” Oscar said, watching Butterbean spit out another mouthful of fluff. (Butterbean’s mission was maybe a little too successful. Someone was going to have a lot of cleaning up to do.)
“Did you happen to see Wallace while you were in the vents?” Walt asked.
“Yeah, he was right behind us.” Marco leaned back toward the couch. “HEY WALLACE, TIME TO REPORT!” he yelled. “I think he had a rough time. He looked kind of messed up.”
Wallace staggered out from behind the couch. Marco hadn’t been kidding. Wallace’s hair was sticking up in weird places, and he had a dazed expression on his face. He also had something orange and powdery on his hands and cheek that Butterbean was itching to sniff. She restrained herself.
“What happened to you?” Butterbean’s nose quivered.
“That rat. Ken. That’s what happened,” Wallace said.
“You couldn’t get the sailor shirt back?” Polo said sympathetically.
“No, I got it.” Wallace grimaced. “He wasn’t happy about it, but I got it.”
“Did you have to go for the eyes?” Walt asked. (It was her number one recommended move.)
“No, nothing like that,” Wallace said. “He’d just gotten some kind of powdery cheese dust all over the sleeve. I had to lick it off. It took a while.”
“Erm. Good work,” Oscar said, trying to ignore the way his stomach turned over. He was not a fan of cheese dust. “Did you put the shirt back in Mrs. Power Walker’s apartment?” He wasn’t sure how clean it would look after having cheese dust licked off, but he wasn’t going to be critical. It wasn’t like Wallace had access to laundry facilities.
Wallace nodded. “I put it on the floor behind one of the chairs. It’ll look like it fell off.”
“Wow, that must’ve been a lot of licking,” Marco said, eyeing the orange patch on Wallace’s cheek. He loved powdery cheese dust. “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”
“Not exactly.” Wallace stared at the floor. “I, um. Well, I also moved out.”
“Moved out?” Marco gasped. “From Mrs. Power Walker’s apartment? But you just moved in!”
“You love Mrs. Power Walker’s place!” Polo said.
“Think of the brownies!” Butterbean yelped.
Wallace shrugged. “I know, you’re right. But I don’t trust those rats not to come back. So I screwed the vent cover back on so they can’t get in.” Wallace looked pained. “It’s just temporary. But I don’t want to risk them sneaking in and messing things up for me.”
“That’s probably smart,” Walt said, patting Wallace awkwardly on the head with one paw. She wasn’t sure she trusted those loading dock rats either.
“You can stay with us, if you need to,” Polo offered.
“Thanks. I checked all the vent openings to the other apartments,” Wallace said. “Just to be sure. That’s why I took so long. The basement vent’s still open, but as far as I know, there’s only one other apartment that’s accessible by vent besides this one. And I don’t think any rat would be stupid enough to sneak into that one.”
“Oh really?” the white cat emerged from behind the sofa with a scrawny wriggling rat in her mouth. “Ptttppheewww!” She spit the rat out onto the floor. It looked around wildly for a minute before spotting Walt and bolting back behind the sofa without a word. They could hear its footsteps echoing as it made its escape down the vent.
“I found that guy peeking into my living room while I was doing my warm-up dance routine,” the white cat grumbled. “Groupies. My concentration was ruined.”
“Who was THAT?” Butterbean gasped. “Did we know that one?”
Wallace shook his head. “I think that was Pocky? She’s always been a snoop.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Oscar said.
“No, it’s not,” the white cat said. “But trust me, we’ve got bigger problems now. Or rather, I have bigger problems right now.” She sat down and took a deep breath. “Look, I hate to do this. But I need your help. I’m desperate.”
Oscar blinked. He’d never seen the white cat look that way. “Of course. What’s happened?” It had to be something bad if the white cat was asking for help. He braced himself. He didn’t think he could take more terrible news right now. He was feeling a little overwhelmed, to be honest.
“Okay, thank you.” The white cat looked relieved. “Wait here.” She ducked behind the sofa and came out again carrying the bag of caviar treats she’d tried to give to Chad earlier.
“Now watch carefully,” the white cat said.
Walt shot a skeptical look at Oscar, who shrugged.
“This is so exciting!” Butterbean whispered, watching the white cat intently. She had no idea what was going to happen.
The white cat slowly pawed a treat out of the bag, bent down, and popped it in her mouth. Then she started to chew.
Slowly her face contorted into a twisted grimace. Tears popped up in her eyes, and one eyelid started to twitch. Her nose started to dribble. She smacked her lips and then plastered a painful-looking smile on her face. “MMMMMMM,” she purred. Then she turned and hacked violently behind the couch.
The animals looked at her in stunned silence.
“Um, what?” Walt finally said as the white cat reemerged, her eyes still watering. “What were we supposed to be watching, exactly?”
“THAT WAS SO EXCITING!” Butterbean barked. “WHAT DID YOU EAT?”
The white cat sat down nervously and cleared her throat. “So. Give me your thoughts. Did I give the impression that the treats tasted…”
“Like vomit?” Polo said. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Terrible? Horrible? What’s the word I’m looking for?” Marco tapped on his chin thoughtfully. “Repulsive? That one. Repulsive.”
“Was it POISON?” Butterbean squealed. “Did I guess right?”
“GOOD! I was going for GOOD!” the white cat wailed. “It was supposed to look like a tasty treat.”
“Um.” Polo made a yikes face at Marco, who made one back.
“I’m guessing it was not convincing,” the white cat said softly.
“In a word, no,” Oscar said.
“Was that acting?” Walt said. “Because I don’t think any of us were getting a ‘good’ vibe there.”
The white cat slumped against the couch. “Oh misery! This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me! Even I, with my amazing talents, can’t manage to make those disgusting treats look yummy. What am I going to DO? HELP ME!”
“But…” Polo looked confused. “Help you… how? Make them yummy?”
“Make them LOOK yummy,” Marco whispered to Polo. “I think?”
Oscar cocked his head. “Wait, this is it? This is the big problem? This is what you think is worse than the raccoon situation?” Oscar jumped against the bars of his cage. “Cat, we’ve got real problems here!”
“MY PROBLEM IS REAL,” the white cat wailed. “I CAN’T MAKE THOSE TREATS LOOK YUMMY! I’m a FAILURE.”
Walt sniffed at the bag. “Cat, I don’t think anybody can make those treats look yummy. They smell like sewage.”
“I could lose my JOB!” The white cat moaned. “I have to eat these for a COMMERCIAL!”
Polo and Marco exchanged a significant glance. Then Polo stepped forward. “Um, I was just kidding earlier. Those looked DELICIOUS. Right, Marco?” She nudged Marco in the ribs with her elbow.
“Um. Yes, yum yum.”
The white cat narrowed her eyes. “Really? I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. We were making a bad joke,” Polo said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Right, Walt? Because I was…”
“Jealous. We’re just jealous of your success,” Walt said in a flat voice. “Aren’t we, Oscar? Tell the cat how good those treats looked.”
“So good,” Oscar said. “Now can we get back to the raccoons?”
The white cat sniffed. “I did try to make them look tasty. It’s a hard job.”
“Your performance was… stunning,” Oscar said. “Indescribable. Really. We can help you practice more later if you want. But first, raccoons.”
“Well, there are rats all over the vents,” the white cat said. “So you’d better get that sorted out fast.”
“Yes. Thanks for your input,” Oscar said, clenching his beak. “Now, if you would just—”
He stopped midsentence. A key was turning in the lock. Madison.
“Get out! Go! You too, Wallace. She can’t see either of you!” Walt hissed. Wallace ran for cover while the white cat rolled her eyes and sauntered behind the couch. She disappeared just as Madison opened the door.
“Madison…” Oscar said slowly. Then his face lit up. “Walt, that’s it!” he crowed happily. “Madison’s our solution.”
Walt frowned in confusion. “Madison?”
Oscar hopped gleefully on his perch. “Of course! When she goes to the storage unit, maybe she’ll see the raccoons! And if not, at least we’ll get a status report. If we’re lucky, we might not need to do anything. Heck, Bob might have already chased those raccoons away on his own.”
“Maybe?” Walt said. She wasn’t convinced. But at least they had a plan. Even if the plan was only waiting to see what Madison said.
Oscar nodded. “If I were a raccoon, I’d think twice about raiding Bob’s building.” He clicked his beak. “Let’s make it official. Operation Raccoon is now Operation Wait and See.”
Operation Wait and See took a lot longer than they’d expected.
Madison didn’t seem to feel any urgent need to rush down to the storage area, no matter how many times Butterbean barked the words “storage area” at her. (And it was quite a few times. Oscar finally had to ask her to stop.)
She didn’t go downstairs until after she and Mrs. Food had finished dinner.
“Oh shoot!” Madison said, making a face as she picked up pieces of squeaky-lamb fluff. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot to check the storage area. I’ll go now.”
“THANK YOU,” Butterbean said. “FINALLY.”
“You know the code?” Mrs. Food asked.
“Of course,” Madison said, putting her shoes on. “I’ll just be a sec.”
“I’ll go with her,” Butterbean said, heading after her. But Madison was too quick for her. Butterbean almost got her nose caught in the door. (She had done that once and never wanted to do it again.)
Madison was back exactly seventeen minutes later. (Oscar had watched the clock. It was a very long seventeen minutes.)
“Anything missing?” Mrs. Food asked when she got back.
“Nope,” Madison said, taking off her shoes and heading back to her room. “Everything looked just the same as always. There was just one unit that looked like it had been messed with. Probably the one that belongs to that lady on six. Ours looked fine.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Mrs. Food said, picking up her book. “I’ll let Bob know tomorrow.”
“Maybe the raccoons really did leave,” Walt said quietly after Mrs. Food had gone to bed. “Could it be that easy?”
“Bob probably scared them away,” Butterbean said. Bob could be pretty intimidating sometimes.
“So Operation Wait and See continues,” Oscar said.
“Operation Wait and See, Part Two,” Butterbean said softly. She lay her head down on her feet. She had a lot of experience with waiting.
They didn’t have to wait long.
The knock at the door came the next morning while Mrs. Food and Madison were eating breakfast.
Oscar dropped his piece of fruit onto the floor of his cage.
Butterbean dribbled kibble out of her mouth.
Walt looked up from her grooming in alarm.
“Well, here we go,” Oscar said quietly. “The moment of truth.”
Madison opened the door to find Bob standing in the hallway, solemnly holding his clipboard.
“Oh, um, hi,” Madison said. “We checked the storage area, and everything looked good.”
“Did it?” Bob said, taking a step inside. He didn’t smile. “Because I checked this morning too. We’ve had another break-in. Vandalism. You know what vandalism is, Madison? Theft? Burglary?”
Oscar gripped his perch tighter. “Uh-oh.” He shot Walt a panicked look. The raccoons were not gone. Operation Wait and See was turning into Operation Disaster.
“Um, yeah.” Madison gave Bob a weird look.
“What’s all this about, Bob?” Mrs. Food said, getting up from the table.
Bob smoothed the front of his shirt. “After we discovered the thefts this morning, we checked the security cameras. Looks like only one person went in last night. One.” Bob tapped his clipboard against his hand. “Seems like we’ve got a pretty clear suspect.”
“And who would that be, Bob?” Mrs. Food had a hard note in her voice.
Bob’s face was grim. “Madison.”
