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“Yes, very sparkly, ha-ha, thank you!” Oscar shook his foot desperately, but as soon as he’d freed one foot, a hand latched onto the other. Panicked, Oscar launched himself into the air, pulling against the raccoon holding him down.

In one huge effort, he jerked his leg free and shot up into the sky. He looked down just in time to see raccoons swarming onto the loading dock from all sides, looking up at him with glowing eyes and outstretched hands.

Oscar swerved around and flew directly into the loading dock door, tapping against it repeatedly.

The door opened a crack. One eye peered out.“Was that three taps? We agreed to three taps.” Chad’s voice came through the crack.

“Yes, that was three! You know it’s me. LET ME IN!” Oscar yelled, beating his wings against the door. He glanced back just as one large raccoon rose up out of the group on the loading dock.

“You don’t make the rules around here, OSCAR,” the raccoon said in a deep, echoing voice. “I don’t like being told what to do. Better fly away while you still can.” He laughed a low, booming laugh, which was immediately accompanied by giggles from the other raccoons half-hidden in the shadows.

Oscar cringed. That was the authoritative voice he’d been trying for earlier. No wonder the raccoons hadn’t listened to him.

He crashed against the door again, just as Chad’s eye disappeared, and the door swung open another inch. Oscar threw himself at the gap, managing to squeeze inside (only losing a feather or two in the process).

He could still hear the big raccoon laughing as the door swung shut behind him.

“So what did they say?” Butterbean asked, sniffing at Oscar’s foot as he collapsed in a heap in front of them. She blinked at him expectantly.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Walt said, wrapping her tail around her feet.

“You could say that,” Oscar said.

“We heard laughing,” Polo said. “Did they agree to go away?”

“Not exactly,” Oscar said, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t think they’re leaving.”

He ducked his head so that Polo’s button slipped off his neck and onto the floor. “They did like your button, though.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her just how much they’d liked it.

“Well, duh,” Polo said, picking it up and putting it back on. “It’s beautiful.”

Walt raised an eyebrow at Oscar, but he shrugged it off.

“So what do we do now?” Butterbean asked.

“Nothing,” Oscar said. “We do nothing. We go home.”

“I told the rats we were getting the loading dock back for them,” Butterbean said. “They’re kind of our clients now. So we need to do SOMETHING.”

“We’ll see,” Oscar said, climbing tiredly onto Butterbean’s head. He wasn’t worried about disappointing the loading dock rats. He wasn’t worried about Biscuit getting evicted. What he was worried about was that raccoon. Because now it knew his name.

— 8 —

THE WHITE CAT WAS LYING on the couch when they got back.

“Well, that took forever,” she said, stretching full length on the cushions.

“You’re not supposed to be here! You don’t live here!” Polo said in frustration. “Mrs. Food could come out at any minute.” They’d managed to navigate the hallways and elevators all the way back without anyone seeing them. The last thing they needed was to get caught because the white cat didn’t know how to be careful.

“Relax, it’s the middle of the night.” The white cat yawned. “No one is coming out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Marco said, crossing his arms. “It’s risky.”

“Yeah, yeah. What about him?” The white cat waved a paw at Chad, who had climbed up onto the kitchen counter and was browsing the contents of the refrigerator. (He said all that dangling had made him weak with hunger.) “Or him!” The white cat waved a paw in Wallace’s direction. “He’s not supposed to be here either, and I’d be a lot easier to explain than a rat in a nightgown.”

“It’s a sailor shirt, and I’m taking it off,” Wallace said. Marco and Polo looked at him with horrified expressions. “As soon as I get home, I mean. Sheesh.”

“Well? I want details. What happened in the basement?” The white cat sat up expectantly and plumped the couch pillows. “Last I heard there were slavering jaws?”

Wallace nodded.“YES! SLAVERING. It was TERRIBLE.”

The white cat cocked her head.“Really!”

Oscar flew up into his cage and landed heavily on his perch. It had been a long night.“So to speak.”

“We’ve got a raccoon situation,” Walt said, sitting down in front of the couch. “That’s what’s upsetting Biscuit.”

“And the rats,” Wallace added.

“Ooooh, raccoons. That’s bad. They’ll take over in a heartbeat, right?” The white cat’s eyes widened. “I’m guessing you weren’t able to talk sense into them.”

“Not exactly,” Oscar admitted.

“But what about you, Butterbean? Aren’t you a therapist now? Surely they listened to you, right?” The white cat seemed to be enjoying herself a little too much.

Butterbean flopped down with a huff.“They WOULD’VE, I’m sure of it. But no one would even let me talk to them!”

“Why not? It’s just a couple of raccoons, right?” The white cat shot Walt a look.

“I know, right?” Butterbean whined.