— 13 —

“YOU HIT BOB IN THE FACE?” Butterbean couldn’t believe it. She’d never even considered something like that, and she and Bob had had some issues.

Oscar cringed. “It was an accident,” he said for the third time. He hadn’t even realized it had been Bob at first—Bob had just been an obstacle to deal with as he was making his escape from the raccoon. Oscar had been so relieved to see that door open, he hadn’t stopped to consider why it had opened. Or who had opened it. Or that Oscar might want to take evasive maneuvers when he flew inside. It was just the shortest way to get home again (and the only way he thought his wings could handle). Oscar made a mental note to do some more wing exercises in the future. (And to look where he was going.)

“But the FACE!” Butterbean said again. “And then Madison’s face! So many faces!” She couldn’t get over it. As far as she could remember, Oscar had never hit ANYONE in the face before, and now here he was with two in one day! It was definitely a day to remember.

“Again, accident,” Oscar said. “Not something I’d recommend.” He cleared his throat. “Now, we need to get down to business. Plan out Operation Raccoon, um, Part Two.”

“Right. We need to figure out what to do next,” Walt said. “Any ideas?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Butterbean asked. “Forget Operation Raccoon, Part Two. It’s time for Operation Dog Therapy. I’ve got to go down there.”

Walt took a deep breath. “No, Butterbean. You can’t go down there. How many times do we have to tell you? Therapy dogs and therapists are not the same thing!”

Polo raised her hand tentatively. “It’s true, Butterbean. I’ve seen shows on TV with therapists. I don’t think any of them are dogs.”

She looked at Marco for confirmation. He nodded. “She’s right. No dogs.”

“It’s true. They’re mostly people,” Wallace agreed.

“Besides, therapists are licensed professionals,” Walt said. “You know how important licenses are, don’t you?”

Butterbean looked down at her dog tag. “Yes,” she grumbled. “But…” She looked around the group. “But Madison said I’d be a great therapist.”

“Maybe you would,” Oscar said. “But it’s not safe, Butterbean.” He hopped farther down the perch to be nearer to Butterbean. “Those raccoons aren’t playing around. That big raccoon, he threatened us. We need to be stealthy. Going down there like I did was a mistake. I was lucky to escape.”

“Besides, thanks to Oscar, Madison and Mrs. Food are going to be watching us all like hawks,” Polo said. “No offense, Oscar.”

“None taken,” Oscar said grimly. He knew it was true. Now that they knew he could get out, he didn’t know what was likely to happen.

“So, what are we going to do?” Marco said finally.

“We’ll figure it out,” Walt said. She flattened her ears as Madison came into the room. “Later. We’ll figure it out later.”

Madison came over and sat down on the floor next to Butterbean, rubbing her ears sadly. “I can’t even investigate, Bean. They won’t let me do anything.”

Butterbean leaned heavily against Madison’s leg. “Tell me about it.”

“I know, I know,” Madison said. “Mrs. Fudeker said she’d handle it. But I’d feel better if we could go down there and see for ourselves. Do a stakeout, like we did with that apartment on the fifth floor! We’d have it solved in no time.”

“We’re working on it, Madison,” Butterbean wuffled softly. “We’ll clear your name.”

“You’ll help too, won’t you, Bean? You’ll keep an eye out for me?” Madison asked.

“Of course I will,” Butterbean said, leaning her head against Madison’s. “Didn’t I just say that?” she whispered to Walt. Walt shrugged.

Madison smiled and hugged Butterbean. “You crazy dog. I know you can’t do anything, but you make me feel better.” She smiled a watery smile and scrambled to her feet. “Good night, you guys,” she said to the animals as she turned and went down the hall to her bedroom.

Butterbean beamed at Walt. “See? What did I tell you? I’m a terrific therapist.”

---

Since Madison had gone to bed early (after wandering around grousing about how unfair it was that she couldn’t go investigate herself), the animals hoped they’d have a chance to make a new plan. But no such luck. Mrs. Food didn’t seem like she had any intention of going to bed. After Madison went to her room, Mrs. Food picked up her book and started reading. And reading. And reading some more.

“HOW LONG IS THAT BOOK?” Butterbean whined, watching Mrs. Food read. (It was less exciting than it sounded.) “What are we going to do?”

Mrs. Food smiled at her. “Shh, Butterbean. It’s bedtime.” Then she went back to her book.

“How are we supposed to plan with her here? She keeps shushing me!” Butterbean complained in a spitty whisper.

Oscar adjusted his feathers. “We may not be able to take any action tonight. But that might be a good thing. I have to admit, I’m at a loss as to what we should do.”

“Oscar? Quiet down now,” Mrs. Food said without looking up.

Oscar clicked his beak in frustration. “We’ll reassess the situation in the morning,” he whispered, keeping one eye on Mrs. Food. “Come at them when they don’t expect it. Sound good?”

“But we need to do something NOW!” Butterbean whimpered softly.

Walt stalked over to Mrs. Food and sat down, waiting to be petted. Mrs. Food patted her once on the head absentmindedly and then went back to her book. Walt shook her head. “She’s not going anywhere, folks.”

“That settles it. Early night for everyone, and we’ll reconvene in the morning,” Oscar said, fluffing up his feathers. He tucked his head under his wing. To be honest, he hadn’t been looking forward to a long night of planning. It really had been an exhausting day.

“If you say so,” Marco said, stifling a yawn. “Me, I could plan all night, but sleeping on it might be a good idea.”

“Sounds good to me,” Polo said, burrowing into a pile of cedar chips.

“Wallace, we’ll be starting early tomorrow, so you’ll want to stay here,” Oscar said sleepily.

“If you insist,” Wallace said, snuggling down into the cedar chips in the corner of the cage. It was nice to have a sleepover, now that his apartment was off limits.

“But… that’s not… We should…” Butterbean said, veering back and forth between the birdcage and the rat cage. She turned to Walt. “Walt, shouldn’t we do something? What about Biscuit? What about the raccoons?”

Walt sighed. “Mrs. Food is awake and RIGHT THERE. Even if we had a plan, WHICH WE DON’T, we couldn’t do it until really late.” She patted Butterbean on the back. “Oscar is right. We need sleep. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

Walt curled up in her bed and closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. “Butterbean? Go to sleep.”

“But…” Butterbean wuffled, looking around the room and wandering aimlessly for a few minutes. They were right. There was nothing she could do. But doing nothing just felt wrong. Butterbean lay down behind Madison’s book bag on the floor. She might not be able to do anything, but she’d be ready for the morning. She closed her eyes.

A sharp tap on the door startled them open again. Butterbean’s head jerked up. She looked from the door to Mrs. Food. Mrs. Food looked as surprised as she was.

“What on earth?” Mrs. Food checked her watch and put down her book. The tapping came again.

“Wha—” Oscar untucked his head and looked around. “What’s going on?”

Walt opened one eye. “Huh?” She wasn’t prepared to open the other one unless it was something important.

Mrs. Food hurried over to the door and peered out through the peephole. She muttered angrily to herself.

She took a deep breath and pulled the door open. “Harriet.” Her voice was flat.

Butterbean peeked around her legs. Mrs. Food didn’t even notice her. Butterbean looked out into the hallway. Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six was standing there, her arms folded. “Beulah.”

“It’s very late, Harriet,” Mrs. Food said stonily. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m here about that juvenile delinquent living with you,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six said, curling her lip like the words left a bad taste in her mouth. “I know she’s the one who destroyed and stole my valuables. I know she vandalized the storage room. And I’m here to let you know that she’s not getting away with it. If Bob and the management don’t take action, I will. I will be calling the police and having that child ARRESTED. And you will be EVICTED, do you hear me? EVICTED.”

“I have to do something,” Butterbean said under her breath. Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six couldn’t evict Madison and Mrs. Food! And Madison in jail? Butterbean couldn’t let that happen.

Mrs. Food set her jaw. “Good night, Harriet.” She started to close the door, but Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six reached out and stopped it.

“Did you hear what I said?” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six demanded.

“I’ll be back, you guys,” Butterbean said softly, looking over her shoulder at Walt.

“Butterbean, no,” Walt said, sitting up abruptly.

Butterbean eyed the partially open door. She tentatively reached out and put one paw into the hallway. Then she looked up at Mrs. Food and Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six. They were locked in a stony staring contest. It was her one chance.

Butterbean gritted her teeth and quietly slipped out between Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six’s legs. No one noticed. No one except for Walt and Oscar.

“BUTTERBEAN!” Oscar squawked, throwing himself against the side of his cage. “STOP!”

“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six asked again. “Jail, Beulah. That’s where that criminal is going,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six smirked. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“OH NO YOU DON’T,” Walt said, streaking across the room.

Mrs. Food leaned down and intercepted Walt just as she reached the door. And when she stood up again, her face was calm and unconcerned.

“I understand you’re upset, Harriet, but Madison is not the one responsible,” Mrs. Food said quietly. “And it’s far too late for me to listen to your threats. Good night.”

She closed the door firmly in Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six’s face. Then she locked the door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. She pressed her face into Walt’s fur.

“That woman,” she said shakily. “I’m just glad Madison wasn’t awake to hear that.” She set Walt down onto the floor. “I’m too angry to read anymore. Time for bed.”

“But BUTTERBEAN!” Walt wailed, jumping up against Mrs. Food’s legs, and then turning and pawing at the door.

“BUTTERBEAN GOT OUT!” Oscar shrieked, flapping his wings against the side of the cage. “THE RACCOONS!”

Mrs. Food looked over at Oscar. “Oh, you poor thing. You’ve had such a scary day. And I know that woman didn’t help matters.” She walked over to his cage and touched the bars lightly. “Sounds like you could use your cover tonight.”

“What?” Oscar’s eyes got wide. “NO! NOT THE COVER!”

Mrs. Food picked up a quilted cage cover and put it over Oscar’s cage. “Good night, Oscar,” she said softly, fastening the corner of the cover so it wouldn’t come off. And so the cage door wouldn’t open.

“NO!” Oscar’s voice became muffled.

Mrs. Food patted the top of the cage and looked down at Walt. “Come on, you. I could use a little company tonight.”

Walt shrunk back. “No, I’ve got to get Butterbean!” Mrs. Food picked Walt up and carried her off down the hall. “She’s in danger!” Walt yowled.

She stared back into the living room, her face panicked. “Marco! Polo! Butterbean got out! Wallace, wake up! You’ve got to stop her!”

Marco flopped over onto his back and let out a loud snore.

“Popcorn,” Polo muttered in her sleep before snuggling back down into the cedar chips.

“BUTTERBEAN!” Walt cried one last time as Mrs. Food closed the door to her room.

The living room was almost silent. The only sound was of three rats sleeping, and a muffled rattling from the birdcage in the corner.