— 20 —

“WELL?” MRS. FOOD LOOKED UP as Madison and Butterbean came into the apartment. “How did it go? Is Butterbean going to be a therapy dog?” She muted the Television program she’d been watching.

“How did it go? Terrible, that’s how it went,” Madison said, unclipping Butterbean’s leash and throwing herself into a chair.

“I failed!” Butterbean said cheerfully, trotting over to Oscar’s cage.

“Oh no!” Oscar said, hopping to the end of his perch. “I’m sorry, Bean.”

“Oh no!” Mrs. Food said sympathetically. “What happened?”

“They just didn’t appreciate my techniques,” Butterbean said with a shrug.

“What didn’t happen?” Madison grumbled. “She did EVERYTHING wrong.”

Mrs. Food chuckled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it was,” Butterbean said.

Madison started counting on her fingers. “One, she jumped up on everyone in the room and licked them in the face, no matter how many times I tried to get her to stop. And not just once. Repeatedly.”

“They weren’t very friendly,” Butterbean said. “I tried to win them over, but it didn’t work.”

“Two, she refused to sit and stay when I told her to,” Madison went on. “It’s like she’d never heard the words before!”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “But you know how to sit and stay.”

“They brought another dog in!” Butterbean said defensively. “OF COURSE I had to go say hello. I was just being POLITE.” Butterbean pouted. “I don’t see why they would hold that against me.”

“Three, she ate the food that they put out, even after I told her to leave it,” Madison said. “I told her a million times!”

“It was ON THE FLOOR!” Butterbean said indignantly. “It’s not like it BELONGED to anyone.”

“But it was a test!” Oscar pointed out. “You were supposed to leave it alone.”

“I didn’t want it to go to waste,” Butterbean said. “It was PERFECTLY GOOD FOOD.”

“It’s not your fault,” Walt said, inspecting her tail. “It sounds like it was a setup.”

“Do I need to go on?” Madison said, throwing up her hands. “Everything she did was wrong.”

“Poor Madison,” Mrs. Food said. “After you tried so hard.”

“They didn’t even have a couch,” Butterbean grumbled, lying down. “I didn’t even find out about their childhoods. It wasn’t what I think of as therapy at all.”

“It’s okay, Butterbean. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a therapy dog,” Polo said sympathetically.

“Yeah, if they won’t even let you eat loose food,” Marco agreed. “What good is it?”

“It’s fine. I’m thinking of opening a private practice,” Butterbean said thoughtfully. “Maybe keep it small at first… it’s just an idea.” She looked up hopefully. “Do you think Reginald and Biscuit would be willing to give me references?”

Walt sighed and looked at Oscar, who shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

Mrs. Food patted Madison on the leg. “Well, that’s too bad. I’m sure they’ll let you try again,” she said.

“Nope, I think I’m just done. I’ll just—OH!” Madison sat up. “Look, on the TV—aren’t those the raccoons from the surveillance channel?”

Mrs. Food frowned and unmuted the Television. “I mean, they’re raccoons, but…”

Madison pointed at the screen. “See? The way that raccoon is holding the treats bag—I’m sure it’s the group that was in our storage room!”

Mrs. Food leaned forward. “No, I don’t think so, Madison,” she said after a few seconds. “These raccoons are obviously trained professionals. They’ve got music and costumes. And the video is much clearer.” Then she laughed. “Besides, nobody was filming our raccoons, and that’s hardly footage from the surveillance camera.”

Madison grinned. “Right. It’s not like there was a cameraman down there.”

“Exactly.” Mrs. Food smiled.

“Um,” Wallace raised a hand. “Hello? I’m RIGHT HERE.”

“I can’t believe the white cat was right. They ARE famous,” Oscar said, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe it’s on the Television so fast!” Butterbean said.

“I can’t believe they’re using raccoons to sell those treats,” Walt scoffed. “It’s like they’re admitting cats won’t eat them.”

Mrs. Food looked down at Walt thoughtfully. “Hmm. Maybe Walt would like those treats? The raccoons really seem to enjoy them.”

Walt gagged involuntarily.

Madison picked her up and petted her head. “I don’t know. Don’t forget that those are actor raccoons,” she said. “Who knows what the treats really taste like?”

“Thank you. Exactly,” Walt said, her stomach recovering. “Don’t ever mention those treats to me again.”

“Oh, look at how late it is!” Mrs. Food turned off the Television. “Madison, go get your coat. Carmen is back in town, and I told her we’d meet her to see a movie this afternoon. Sound good?”

Madison put Walt down quickly. “Sure!

“She wants to hear about all the weirdness from this week,” Mrs. Food said, going to the door and picking up her jacket.

“Oh! Talking about weird!” Madison said, putting on her shoes. “I forgot to tell you. I ran into that woman in the elevator this morning. You know, the one on seven?” Madison said.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Mrs. Food said dryly.

“The one who power walks?” Madison said. “That lady?”

“Oh right, I know who you’re talking about.” Mrs. Food nodded.

“Mrs. Power Walker?” Butterbean’s ears pricked up. “They’re talking about Mrs. Power Walker!”

“Did you know she designs doll clothes? It’s like, her job. And she said the weirdest thing.” Madison put on her jacket. “She told me all that out of the blue, and then she said she hoped the clothes had been useful. Isn’t that weird? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“WHAT?” Marco and Polo looked at Wallace, whose eyes were wide.

Mrs. Food frowned. “That is strange. Useful how?”

“That’s just it—I don’t know,” Madison said.

“I PUT THEM BACK!” Wallace said, looking around in disbelief. “HOW DID SHE KNOW?”

“She’s just eccentric, I think,” Mrs. Food said, picking up her keys. “If you see her again, just humor her and tell her how helpful they were.”

“Did you hear that?” Butterbean barked, as Mrs. Food and Madison headed out the door. “They were talking about Mrs. Power Walker!”

“You bet I did,” the white cat said, coming out from behind the couch. “She said the raccoons were OBVIOUSLY PROFESSIONAL! Somebody has good taste.”

“Were you there the whole time?” Polo gasped. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Chad said, climbing out of the sink in the kitchen.

“CHAD?” Marco said, whipping his head around. “YOU GUYS!”

“It sounds like she didn’t mind you using the clothes,” Walt said thoughtfully. “You know what this means, right, Wallace?” Walt said.

“You bet. Tiny clothes for everybody!” Wallace cheered. He’d really liked the little sailor shirt.

Walt shook her head. “Well, no, I was thinking—”

“Spy disguises for everybody!” Polo cheered.

“No, I was going to say—” Walt started again.

“Free snacks?” Butterbean said.

“Snacks?” Chad’s voice came from the kitchen. It sounded like his mouth was full.

“It means things will finally be back to normal?” Oscar said wistfully. He was hoping to be retired again very soon. He still had that to-do list to tackle.

“You’re all being ridiculous,” the white cat sniffed. “That’s not what it means.”

“Thank you,” Walt said. “I was going to say, it sounds like you’ve got your old roommate back, if you’re still interested.”

Wallace nodded, his eyes shining. “I can move back in!” He’d really missed living in Apartment 7C.

The white cat sniffed. “Well sure, I guess that could be what it means. But you know what it really means?” A strange smile spread across her face.

“I don’t even want to ask,” Walt said. She didn’t like that look.

“I’ll ask!” Butterbean said, scooting forward in anticipation. “What does it really mean?”

“One word,” the white cat said, a gleam in her eye. “COSTUMES!”

“Oh no.” Oscar put his head under his wing.

“Oh yes,” the white cat said, striking a pose. “That’s right. It’s SHOWTIME.”