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“What message? Last night?” Biscuit looked suspicious. “I didn’t get any message.”

Butterbean frowned. Maybe it would’ve worked better if she’d had Biscuit lie down on the couch. That seemed to be the prime therapy position, at least from what she’d seen on the Television. She tried again. “The white cat said you were in trouble, so we sent Marco and Polo to tell you we were coming. They were in the vents.”

“Marco and Polo are rats,” Walt added.

“So those things in the vents were your friends? Well, thanks for the extra trauma, I guess,” Biscuit said grouchily.

“We just wanted to help.” Butterbean tried to keep her voice even. Being a therapist was harder than she’d expected.

“Look, I’ve got enough invaders to deal with, okay? I don’t need any extras from you. I’m already having to monitor the perimeter of the apartment 24-7.”

“Invaders? What invaders?” Butterbean frowned. “Where?”

On the couch, Madison clasped her hands together and leaned forward.“So!”

“Uh-oh,” Walt said.

“You know, we should really get out of your hair,” Madison said, smiling. She could probably still make it on time, if she brushed her teeth really quickly. That would do it. She’d just be super fast. “This was a lot of fun, though.”

“Oh no, please. Give them just a few more minutes. They’re being so quiet,” Mrs. Biscuit said, gripping Madison by the arm a little too tightly. She had a strange hollow look around her eyes too, just like Biscuit. “There’s been so much barking.”

“But…” Madison looked over at the pets, who had frozen and were watching her carefully. She shrugged and sank back down onto the couch. “Okay, I guess. Just a few minutes.” She didn’t really need to brush her teeth.

Mrs. Biscuit gave her a weak smile.

Walt lashed her tail in the air.“Come on, Biscuit. We’re on a deadline.”

“If the white cat knows the situation, it’s all over the building. So you might as well share. Express your emotions. Um. Find your center.” Butterbean wished she knew more therapy terms, but she hadn’t even started her classes yet.

Biscuit snorted.“Look, that’s not my problem. My problem is—”

Mrs. Biscuit sneezed softly.

“Excuse me. INSPECTION!” Biscuit yelled, launching himself up into Mrs. Biscuit’s lap. He examined her nose thoroughly, and after a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, all clear.”

“Um,” Madison said.

“That’s just something he does,” Mrs. Biscuit said, dabbing her nose with a tissue.

Biscuit jumped off the couch.“Sorry, just one of my dogly duties.”

“Wait, what? Sneeze inspections are a DOGLY DUTY?” Butterbean had never once inspected Mrs. Food’s nose after a sneeze.

“It’s not a requirement, Bean,” Walt said softly. She really didn’t want sneeze inspections to become a thing.

“But if it’s a DUTY—” Butterbean started.

“My PROBLEM, since you’re so concerned,” interrupted Biscuit as he trotted over, “is the INVADERS on the LOADING DOCK!” He jumped up onto the cushioned bench under the window. Butterbean’s eyes widened. It was like his feet were made of springs.

Biscuit pressed his face close to the glass, making more nose smears. Butterbean was surprised he could even see outside anymore.

“Oh no, here we go,” Mrs. Biscuit said, holding her breath.

“Invaders? That’s your problem?” Walt jumped up onto the bench and looked out of the window. “Oh come on, Biscuit. Seriously?”

“What?” Butterbean said, jumping up clumsily after them. She didn’t want to miss out on any invaders. Maybe she could do some therapy on them.

Walt rolled her eyes.“That’s the loading dock. Those invaders? They’re the loading dock rats. Are you seriously freaked out because of a couple of rats?”

“Our friend Wallace knows the loading dock rats,” Butterbean said, finally getting her footing. That bench was taller than it looked. “They’re not bad. Did you just notice them or something? Because I think they’ve always lived there.”

Biscuit made a face.“No, the loading dock rats aren’t freaking me out. I’ve lived here my whole life—you think I care about a couple of rats? No, this is something new. INVADERS. A lot of them.”

“Something new,” Walt said.

“I can hear them, every night. Scratching. Lots of them. And I can see their eyes. THOUSANDS OF GLOWING EYES. I hear them clawing at the walls. Trying to get in. I’VE GOT TO STOP THEM!”

“Calm down, okay?” Walt said, shooting a look at Mrs. Biscuit, who had started to wring her hands in agitation. “They’re not getting in. Nothing’s getting in.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Butterbean said. “Tell me about your mother. Take some deep cleansing breaths. Go to your happy place.”

Walt rolled her eyes.“This isn’t the time, Bean.” She looked at Biscuit. “Butterbean’s going to be a therapy dog.”

“Therapist,” Butterbean corrected.

“Whatever,” Walt said.

Biscuit leaned over and took some deep cleansing breaths. Then he nodded.“Better. That worked.”

From the couch, Mrs. Biscuit suddenly gave a brittle laugh.“I don’t suppose you rent those pets of yours out, do you? To keep mine quiet?” She gave another shrill laugh.