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The secret device was a small plastic box with a button that Mrs. Food wore on a cord around her neck. She always said that if anything happened to her, the device would save her. (Although from what Butterbean could tell, it hadn’t done much so far in the way of saving.) What the devicewas had been the subject of much debate. Oscar maintained that they didn’t need to know what it was, and Walt just wanted to push the button. Because, you know, buttons.

“WE DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE DEVICE DOES!” Oscar screeched again, raking his beak against the bars of his cage.

Walt just watched him, calmly twitching her tail.

“We don’t know what it does,” Oscar said, visibly trying to calm himself. “I’ve seen shows on the Television. It could destroy us all.”

“Destroy us all,” Butterbean echoed.

“It could mean the end of the world,” Oscar said ominously.

“End of the world,” Butterbean echoed.

“Of course,” Walt said, batting the box with her paw.

“We’ll figure out another way,” Oscar said. “Right?”

“Right,” Butterbean said.

“Right. Of course. We shouldn’t push it,” Walt said, pushing the button. “Oops, too late.”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” Oscar shrieked, flinging his wing over his face to protect himself, as Butterbean dove for cover under the couch (unsuccessfully again).

There was silence.

“Apparently nothing? Nothing is what it does?” Walt said, swatting the button again. “It’s a button that does nothing. Mrs. Food must’ve been making a joke this whole time.”

“It’s not a funny joke,” Butterbean said, backing away from the couch. She was starting to get a bald spot on the top of her nose from jamming it under the couch so many times. “Not funny ha-ha, anyway.” Although to be fair, sometimes Butterbean didn’t get Mrs. Food’s sense of humor. She’d never been a fan of the hilarious “we’re going for a fun ride, oh wait, it’s actually a trip to the vet” joke that Mrs. Food seemed so fond of.

“We’re just lucky we weren’t blown to smithereens,” Oscar said smugly. “We could’ve all been killed. We need a new house rule about button pushing.”

Walt licked her paw and shrugged.“I pushed a button. Sue me. No harm done, right?”

It was then that they heard the sirens.

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“WELL, THAT DOESN’T SOUND GOOD,” said Walt, looking uncertain for the first time.

Then the doors burst open, and the apartment was under attack.

From her position under the coffee table, Butterbean watched three strangers storm the apartment. They were wearing matching outfits and seemed to be aided in their invasion by Bob the maintenance guy. Butterbean growled. Traitor.

“INVADERS! INVADERS!” Oscar shrieked, jumping from his perch to the bottom of his cage in the noisiest way possible. The cage rocked so violently that it sounded like it was about to crash to the floor.

Walt leaped into position on top of the bookshelf and hissed angrily at the strangers, who seemed to have taken an unusual interest in Mrs. Food.

“One wrong move and I’m going for the eyes,” Walt said, claws at the ready. She also inadvertently knocked a book off the shelf, but she shot it a look that told it not to try any more funny business. It didn’t.

The strangers didn’t seem to be intimidated by the fearsome displays put on by Oscar and Walt. (Butterbean wasn’t sure if her growls actually qualified as fearsome, but she was doing her best.) In fact, they ignored the animals completely and continued their inspection of Mrs. Food. If Butterbean hadn’t known better, she would’ve said that those were the same checks she and Oscar had tried to do. But slightly more effectively, since they had people hands with working thumbs and seemed to know what they were doing.

“Are they going for her vitals?” Butterbean said. She glared at Bob the maintenance guy. She would deal with him later. Nobody betrayed Mrs. Food and got away with it. Not on Butterbean’s watch.

“If they try anything with her vitals, I’m going for the eyes,” Walt hissed.

“Are they waking her up? What are they doing!” Oscar screeched angrily. Walt kept waving her tail and blocking his view, so he was missing a good portion of the action. It was very frustrating.

“They’re not even going to TRY the deep nostril probe?” Butterbean said, watching carefully. “It’s the number one wake-up method!”

“If they try a nostril probe, I’m going for the eyes,” Walt hissed again, leaning forward and teetering dangerously on her toes. “We’ve got to save Mrs. Food.”

“Don’t go for the eyes, Walt!” Oscar said, hopping onto the side of his cage. “It’s too late for Mrs. Food! Save yourselves!”

It looked like Oscar was right. The three strangers grabbed Mrs. Food, and before anyone could launch a counterattack, they loaded her onto a wheely contraption and rolled her out into the hallway. (It was a stretcher, Oscar reminded them later. How could they not remember that? They’d seen them on the Television a thousand times.) At the last minute, Walt tried to go for the eyes, and a panicked Butterbean made a dash for the hallway, but it was no use.