— 15 —
BUTTERBEAN WAS SURROUNDED. THE RACCOONS were pressed in so close around her that Walt and Oscar could only see the top of her head. Oscar swallowed hard. There were so many raccoons. But strangely, they didn’t even seem to notice Walt and Oscar.
“Butterbean!” Oscar croaked as he and Walt pushed through the wall of raccoons. It didn’t matter how many there were. They had to get to Butterbean. They had to save her.
Walt ducked under tails and around raccoon armpits as she made her way into the circle, followed quickly by Oscar. But whatever they’d expected to see, this was not it.
“Butterbean?” Walt said in a hushed voice.
“Shh!” Butterbean said, frowning at them. She was sitting on a thin pillow in the center of the circle, right next to an ordinary cardboard box. Walt blinked. A cardboard box that had the big raccoon lying on top of it. Butterbean shot Walt and Oscar another stern look and then turned to the raccoon. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“It’s just… do you know what they call us?” the raccoon said, a tear trickling down his cheek. Oscar couldn’t believe it. He didn’t sound anything like the scary raccoon he’d been earlier. But it was definitely the same one. “Do you? They call us… they call us…”
“You’re in a safe space,” Butterbean said, patting him on the shoulder.
“TRASH PANDAS!” The raccoon sniffled. “They call us trash pandas!”
“Ooooohhhhhhhh,” the crowd of raccoons murmured.
“And how does that make you feel?” Butterbean asked.
“Terrible! It feels horrible,” the big raccoon said. “Why would they say that?”
Loud sniffles came from the raccoons in the circle. It was obviously an emotional moment for all of them. Oscar edged closer to Walt. He’d never called a raccoon a trash panda in his life, but he still felt guilty somehow.
“You know you’re not a trash panda,” Butterbean said quietly. “Pandas are bears. I’ve seen them on the Television.”
“Right?” the raccoon said. “It’s not even ACCURATE. It’s so wrong!”
Oscar cleared his throat. “Um, Butterbean?”
“Oscar?” Butterbean said softly. “Could this wait until the session is over?”
“Um, sure, no problem,” Oscar said awkwardly. “We’ll be, um… over there?” He waved vaguely in the direction of the door. He didn’t think he had it in him to be more specific.
“Good, that’s fine. The hour is almost up,” Butterbean said calmly. She turned back to the raccoon. “Now. Tell me about your mother.”
Walt and Oscar sat on the floor next to the door, with Chad dangling over their heads, staring blankly into the room. It was a lot to take in.
“How many therapy shows does Butterbean watch?” Walt finally asked.
Oscar shook his head. Obviously way more than he’d realized.
“I hear she’s very affordable,” a small raccoon in a sequined tube top said in a low voice, sidling up to Oscar. “Although it’s hard to get an appointment.”
“You don’t say,” Oscar said. The whole thing was like a dream. He wished he could pinch himself to see if he was awake, but wings weren’t great for pinching.
“That’s it. My tentacles are getting crispy,” Chad said, dropping to the floor. “If you need me, I’ll be in the utility sink.” He scooted across the floor, around a pair of raccoons playing with croquet mallets, and climbed up into the sink. “Step aside, bub,” he said to a raccoon who was carefully washing a shiny harmonica.
Butterbean’s therapy session seemed to be ending. The big raccoon patted her on the back a few times and gave her an awkward hug. Then he turned and looked over at Oscar. They locked eyes, and after a second the big raccoon raised his hand in a half salute. Oscar blinked. This could not be happening.
Butterbean trotted over. “Hey, guys, did you see? I did a whole therapy! I knew I’d be great at it. Reginald said I really helped him work through some things.”
“Reginald?” Walt stared at Butterbean like she’d never seen her before.
“You know, the big raccoon over there. He says he knows you, Oscar,” Butterbean said. She looked over her shoulder at the big raccoon. “REGINALD! Come say hi to my friends!” She turned back to Oscar. “Is he the one who threatened you?”
“Urk,” Oscar said as Reginald the big raccoon lumbered over and stood looming over them.
“Reginald, you know Oscar, and this is Walt,” Butterbean said. “I think you have something to say to Oscar?”
Reginald grimaced. “Yeah. Um. About that. I said some stuff earlier, and… I shouldn’t have.” He punched Oscar lightly on the shoulder. (Not as lightly as Oscar would’ve liked, though. He almost knocked him over.) “No hard feelings?”
“Um, no, none at all,” Oscar said, fluffing his feathers, doing his best to look calm and collected. “We both said things we shouldn’t have.” Although, to be fair, Oscar didn’t recall grabbing anyone by the foot.
“I told Reginald about Madison and the ‘situation,’ ” Butterbean said, making clumsy air quotes.
“And about that dog’s bangs,” Reginald said, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s a tough break.”
“And?” Walt said suspiciously. Sure, he seemed friendly now, but Walt still wasn’t sure she trusted this Reginald character.
Reginald folded his arms. “And I’m in. We’ll do whatever you need. What can we do to help?”
Marco opened his eyes. He had the distinct feeling that someone was staring at him. It had messed up his dream. (Which was a particularly good one too, involving a mountain of popcorn.)
He sat up and immediately let out a scream.
“WHA? What is it?” Polo said, jerking upright into a sitting position. Then she stifled a scream too.
The white cat had her face pressed up against the side of the rat’s aquarium and was silently watching them.
“Don’t DO that!” Polo squealed, getting up and stomping over to the water bottle to climb up.
“I wondered how long it would take you,” the white cat said, smirking. “You have NO IDEA how long I was here.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. Good joke,” Marco said shakily. An enormous cat face was not the way he liked to wake up in the morning. Although, looking around, he wasn’t sure it was morning. It still looked like night to him.
“Cat treat?” The white cat nodded toward the package of caviar treats on the counter.
“For the last time, no.” Polo made a face. “Those things are disgusting.”
“I know,” the white cat said sadly. “So, where is everyone? I thought with everything going on, you’d at least be planning some daring escapade. No plans for a late-night confrontation?”
“What do you mean, where is everyone? We’re right here,” Polo said. “HEY, WALLACE,” she called down. “Wake up!” She turned back to the white cat. “See, there’s Wallace. All accounted for.”
The white cat gave her a pitying glance. “All accounted for except for one bird, one dog, and one black cat. Any idea where they might be?”
Polo’s eyes got wide. “Oh no.” She looked down at Marco and Wallace. “They’re not here?”
The white cat stood back so they could see the living room. “Do you see anyone else?”
The white cat was right. The room was empty. And Polo could just make out a piece of orange paper that had been slipped in between the door and the frame. The piece of paper they used when they needed to sneak out.
“OH NO!” Polo turned to Marco, her eyes huge.
“Basement?” Marco said, climbing out of the cage.
Polo nodded. “BASEMENT! NOW!”
“No way. Forget it,” Reginald said, his face stony. “Absolutely not.”
Oscar reeled back a little. They’d gone from “whatever you need” to “no” in record time. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Why not?” Walt said, lashing her tail.
“What’s wrong with the plan?” Butterbean asked.
“What’s WRONG WITH IT?” Reginald demanded. “You want us to GET CAUGHT!”
“Well,” Butterbean said. “Just a little.”
“And not really CAUGHT caught,” Walt said.
“We just need them to know that Madison’s not the one doing this,” Oscar clarified. “That’s all. We don’t want them to actually catch you.”
Reginald glared at them, his eyes cold. “Look, I’ve got a soft heart. I don’t want the kid to go to jail. But do you KNOW what they do to raccoons that get caught?”
Oscar shifted uncomfortably. “Um. Not exactly.”
“ME NEITHER,” Reginald boomed. He seemed 100 percent back to his old intimidating self. “And I DON’T WANT TO FIND OUT.”
“Urk.” Oscar swallowed hard.
“That goes for these guys too,” Reginald said, waving his arm around at the other raccoons, who seemed to be building blanket forts with some bedding they’d found. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. (Butterbean had the distinct impression he was also counting to ten.)
“I see your point,” Oscar said, frowning. It was true, those didn’t look like raccoons who would do well in captivity. And that was the best-case scenario.
Oscar clicked his beak in frustration. If the raccoons got caught in the act, it would definitely clear Madison’s name. But Reginald was right. He hadn’t fully appreciated the risk to the raccoons.
Oscar stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “Reginald, I have to apologize. I wasn’t considering the implications.” He turned to the others. “We’ll have to come up with something else.”
“But what other options do we have? There’s nothing else. What are we supposed to do?” Walt demanded. “Frame someone? Because I can’t think—”
“Well, look at that.” The white cat stalked into the storage area flanked by Marco, Polo, and Wallace. She sat down and shot an accusing look at Walt and the others. “I thought we’d be leading a rescue expedition, but it looks like somebody forgot to invite us to a party.”
Walt and Oscar exchanged a significant glance.
“You left us behind!” Polo complained, stomping up to Butterbean.
“You should’ve told us,” Marco muttered.
“Yeah,” Wallace said weakly. He still hadn’t quite woken up.
“And you’re buddy-buddy with this guy now?” The white cat nodded toward the big raccoon. “Weren’t you saying something about threats, Oscar?”
A raccoon wearing a tutu reached out slowly toward the button around Polo’s neck. Polo shot him a nervous side eye and edged closer to the white cat.
Oscar shifted his weight awkwardly. “Well, see, Butterbean did some therapy…”
“Oh, of course. Butterbean did therapy. It’s all clear now.” The white cat rolled her eyes as she smacked the tutu raccoon’s hand away. “Puh-leaze.”
“It’s true!” Butterbean said. “And the raccoons are going to help us clear Madison.”
“Oh, so they’re confessing to Bob? Is that it?” The white cat twitched her tail. “Again, I say, PUH-LEAZE.”
Walt shot another significant look to Oscar.
“So we were just um, thinking about you, actually,” Walt said to the white cat in her sweetest voice. “About what a talented actor you are.” She nudged Oscar hard.
Oscar snapped to attention. “Right. So talented.” He swallowed nervously. “And we were hoping… well, we were thinking we could um, hire you? Maybe?”
Butterbean’s eyes grew wide. “OOH! RIGHT! I get it! Like last time! That would be perfect!”
The white cat had done them a favor once, giving a showstopping performance to help get the animals out of some trouble. (She’d done an amazing job. Residents of the building were still talking about it. At least, the white cat was still talking about it.)
The white cat inspected her paw. “So let me get this straight. You’re thinking that I’ll step in and save the day for you again by pretending I’m the one who made this mess? Is that it?”
“Yes?” Butterbean said hopefully.
“No,” the white cat sniffed. “I have an exclusive contract with Beautiful Buffet Cat Food, remember?” She waved the package of caviar treats in the air. “I couldn’t help even if I wanted to. No more side gigs. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?” Reginald said, staring at the white cat with a baffled expression.
“Um, excuse me. Could I…” Two small, thin hands were trying to grab at the waving treat package. The white cat looked down to see the small raccoon wearing a tube top wiggling its fingers in anticipation. “Would you mind if…” the raccoon said in a tiny voice.
The white cat tossed the package to the raccoon. “Oh, please, take the whole thing. You’re doing me a favor.”
The small raccoon took a treat, examined it, and hurried over to the utility sink to wash it carefully. Then she took a delicate bite. “Oh yes, thank you. Very nice,” she said, her eyes shining. She took one more and then tucked the package into her tube top.
The white cat’s eyebrows shot up. “At least somebody likes them,” she muttered.
“LISTEN UP!” Reginald clapped his hands loudly. “Here’s the solution. We’ll just stop, okay?” He scratched his stomach. “This place is getting old anyway, what with that lady and that maintenance guy always snooping around. Besides, we’ve already found most of the good stuff.”
Butterbean looked at Walt and Oscar. “That sounds good, right? If they just stop? It’ll be all solved then!”
“Well…” A strange look crossed Oscar’s face.
Reginald nodded. “Done.” He turned to the raccoons behind him. “NEW RULE! No more messing things up, okay? From now on everything goes back where you found it.”
“Oooohhhhh.” The raccoons gave a half-hearted thumbs-up before continuing on with what looked like a costume party. (Except for the group in the corner, which had started what sounded like a barbershop quartet.)
“NO!” Oscar said suddenly. “No no no, that’s the absolute worst thing you could do. Do NOT stop.”
“But that’s what we want, isn’t it? For them to stop?” Butterbean was so confused. It was late, and she’d put in a long night of work already. Being a therapist was harder than she’d thought.
“Don’t you see? If they stop now, it’ll look like it was Madison all along,” Oscar said. “Think about it. She’s not coming down here anymore. So if it stops…”
“They’ll still think it was her!” Butterbean said. “We need to make it worse, right?”
Reginald sighed and clapped his hands again. “LISTEN UP! Change of plans. DO NOT put things back where you found them. Let’s mess this place up!”
“WHOOHOO!” The raccoons gave a much more enthusiastic thumbs-up and cheer and flung various bits of clothing into the air. Chad even clapped from the sink (splashing the harmonica raccoon in the process).
“Thank you,” Oscar said to Reginald after the cheering had ended. “I think this will work.”
“It has to,” Butterbean said.
“We’ll make sure it does,” Reginald said. He nudged Butterbean. “And don’t worry, Doc. We’ll put that lady’s stuff back where she’s sure to see it. Clear the kid’s name.”
“Thanks,” Butterbean said, beaming. “You’re a very good patient.”
Reginald’s ears turned pink. “Well, you know. Felt good to talk to someone.”
“Doc?” Walt stared at Butterbean for a long second and then shook her head.
Reginald picked up a throw pillow and tore it in half with his bare hands. “Now, you guys clear out. We’ve got a mess to make!” he said, throwing the fluff in the air.
“Um. Yes. Thanks again,” Oscar said, edging carefully out of the room.
As they waited for the elevator, Oscar felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. “You did it, Butterbean,” he said quietly as he took his place on her head. “You fixed it. Trust me, by tomorrow morning, everything will be back to normal.”