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It wasn’t one of those places I enjoyed visiting. In fact the further away from the pound I stayed the better I felt. But our friend was in need, and so there we were.

“I don’t see him,” said Harriet nervously as we surveilled the squat gray-brick building from across the street. It looked like an army barracks, or a prison, or even a police precinct.

Dark, ominous, and absolutely evil, it didn’t look like no paradise to me.

“Let’s check the back,” I said. “Maybe we can look in through the windows.”

“If this place has windows,” said Dooley, and he had a point. The only windows I could see had either been bricked up or were covered with the kind of thick safety glass that is impossible to see through.

Still, we’d come this far, so we needed to see our mission through. So we crossed the street—after checking left then right then left again, like our mama taught us—then stealthily moved around the building. There was nothing but a strip of wasteland behind the pound, which neighbors had happily used to dump their rubbish: broken bicycles, old couches, mattresses, even a car wreck provided a backdrop to Hampton Cove’s scariest building.

“There!” Harriet cried suddenly. “It’s Brutus!”

I half expected her to be pointing at the mangled body of the former butch cat, but Brutus looked fit as a fiddle, staring into the only window that seemed to offer a glimpse of the pound’s innards. We quickly joined him but he barely looked up when we did.

“Brutus!” Harriet said. “What has gotten into you!”

He shrugged, still staring intently through the grimy window.“Milo told me that the pound was paradise,” he said in a low, dispirited voice. “Look at that. Does that look like paradise to you?”

We all looked where he was looking. And I knew I was looking at hell when the scene unfolded before my eyes: rows and rows of cages, with dogs of every variety locked up inside. Most of them looked absolutely listless, huddled up near the back of the cage, lying on the concrete floor. Some of the dogs were barking up a storm.

“Newcomers, I’ll bet,” said Brutus softly. “Listen to them.”

We listened.“Let me out!” a Labrador was yelling. “This is a mistake! I don’t belong here! I have a family! Let me out!”

“All I did was root around in the trashcan,” a Poodle was lamenting. “I like trashcans. What’s wrong with that? There’s always something new to be found in a trashcan. So when will this punishment be over? And what are all these other dogs doing in here? Are they all punished, too? What is this place? A prison for dogs?”

“More like a concentration camp for dogs, buddy,” said a Beagle sadly.

“Where are the cats?” asked Dooley. “Maybe they’re treated better?”

“You wish,” scoffed Brutus. He tracked a path to the right side of the building, and sank down in front of another grimy window, affording a glimpse inside.

This was obviously the feline part of the pound, with dozens of cats locked up in cages, looking equally demoralized and unhappy.

“Oh, this is just terrible,” said Harriet. “Poor cats!”

“Milo tried to convince me this was paradise,” said Brutus. “Now I see he was just lying, as usual.” He directed an apologetic look in my direction. “I’m sorry, Max.”

“Sorry for what?”

“He said you were a dictator. That I was your minion, having to kowtow to you. I should have known he was full of crap. When did I ever kowtow to you? We butted heads so many times we both have the bruises to prove it.” He placed a paw on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for believing those lies about you, buddy. I feel like such an idiot.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

He laughed.“I deserved that.”

Dooley was still looking through the glass.“You guys. Do you think this is where Milo lived for the first part of his life?”

“Yeah, I think he wasn’t lying about that part,” said Brutus. “His human probably picked him up here.”

“Don’t you think… this is why he turned into the cat he is now?” asked Dooley. He looked up. “This could all be some kind of… survival mechanism.”

We were all so surprised that Dooley would even be aware of such a big word that we simply stared at him.

He went on,“I mean, this place is like prison for cats and dogs, right? So maybe this is why he lies so much—to protect himself from the harsh realities of life? And why he sets cats up against each other. So they wouldn’t pick on him?”

“Direct their attention away from himself. Divide and conquer,” I said, nodding.

“Dooley, you’re a lot smarter than you look,” said Brutus.

“Hey, thanks, Brutus,” said Dooley, suddenly chipper.

“It’s no excuse for Milo’s behavior, though,” said Harriet sternly.

“No, it’s not, but it definitely explains a lot,” I said. I thought I understood our new housemate a little better now. And even though I didn’t approve of what he did, I was beginning to see things from his point of view. Entering a potentially hostile environment, with four other cats to contend with and one human to dole out punishment and reward, he must have automatically reverted to his old ways of sowing discord and making fantastical statements.