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Bob the maintenance guy pushed Butterbean back into the living room with his foot.“Don’t worry, dog. Your mommy is in good hands,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Wait, what?” Butterbean said, frowning.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s delusional,” Walt said. She looked up at Oscar. “Well, now what?” She sat down in front of the door and twitched her tail anxiously.

“We’re doomed,” Oscar said, sitting on the floor of his cage. He didn’t even make sure he was in a clean patch, that’s how depressed he was. (He wasn’t, incidentally. In a clean patch, that is.)

“Wait, WHAT?” Butterbean gasped. “Mrs. Food is my MOMMY?” She swayed slightly on her feet. It was a lot to take in. She always knew she had a bond with Mrs. Food, sure, but she thought it was more of a snack-based relationship.

“Good grief,” Walt muttered under her breath. “Not this again. Oscar?”

Oscar sighed.“No, Butterbean, Mrs. Food is not your mommy. We’ve been over this before. You were adopted, just like the rest of us,” he said, still sitting on the floor of his cage.

“There are papers,” Walt said. “I’ve seen them.”

“Ah. Papers.” Butterbean nodded in relief. She did remember having this talk before, but she still didn’t understand why people like Bob kept lying to her about her relationship with Mrs. Food. It was very confusing.

Walt rolled her eyes and turned back to the door. All three animals watched it carefully. It didn’t open.

“So what now?” Butterbean said. Her butt had started to go numb from sitting so long.

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“What do you mean, what now?” Oscar said. Only the top of his head was visible from Butterbean’s position on the floor. It was a little disturbing to Butterbean that he hadn’t gotten back up onto his perch.

“I mean, what do we do now? How long until Mrs. Food comes back? I miss her.”

“We do nothing now. There’s nothing to do. Mrs. Food isn’t coming back. Ever. We’re doomed.” Oscar’s voice was totally flat. Butterbean had never heard him sound that way before. His voice usually fell somewhere between shrill and shrieky. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he sounded depressed.

“What? But I want Mrs. Food back,” Butterbean whimpered.

“Me too,” Walt said under her breath.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.” Oscar didn’t even look up.

“But Bob said not to worry.”

“Bob’s a liar,” Walt said.

“Bob said Mrs. Food is your MOMMY,” Oscar said.

Butterbean winced.“Yes. I remember that.” She licked her lips anxiously. “But who will feed us? I can’t use the can opener. And who will take me out? Will I use Walt’s box?” Butterbean tried to control the panic in her voice, but it was hard. She was starting to freak out.

“You’re not using my box.” Walt shot her a nasty look.

“NO ONE!” Oscar screeched finally, jumping up onto his perch. “No one is walking you. Don’t you get it? Mrs. Food is gone. I’ve seen this on the Television. When people go out in stretchers, they don’t come back. And as for food, even if we could open the cans, we’re still doomed, because we can’t get new ones. According to my sources, a can of dog food costs a dollar forty-five. And I don’t have that kind of money. Do you?”

Butterbean shook her head. That sounded like a lot.

“Sources? What sources?” Walt asked skeptically.

“THE PRICE IS RIGHT!” Oscar screeched.“My Television sources are never wrong! Grocery products are very expensive!”

Butterbean nodded in agreement. She wasn’t as intoThe Price Is Right as Oscar was, so she wasn’t entirely sure of her facts. But she definitely didn’t have a dollar forty-five. “But wait. You mean Mrs. Food is gone forever? She won’t be walking me ever again?”

“Yes. Gone. Forever.” Oscar tucked his head under his wing, ending the conversation.

Butterbean looked at Walt, who shrugged and went back to watching the door.

Butterbean lay her head on her paws and watched too. Just in case Mrs. Food came back.

They were still watching as the light faded and the room grew darker.

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3

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WHEN THE KEY TURNED IN the lock, Butterbean jumped to her feet. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she had definitely been awake the whole time and hadn’t fallen asleep once. Not even when she’d rested her eyes that one time. Okay, two times.

“Heads up,” Walt whispered. “Stranger danger.”

Butterbean sniffed nervously. Walt was right. It wasn’t Mrs. Food coming through that door, that was for sure. Whoever was coming in smelled more like erasers and pencils and fruit juice and pretzels. Butterbean hadn’t ever smelled that particular combination before—she’d remember someone who smelled like pretzels. “Any ideas?” Butterbeanwhispered to Walt.

Walt shook her head.“Be ready for anything.”

Butterbean sniffed again and felt the fur stand up on the back of her neck. She recognized a new smell. It was the smell of spackle and paint and toilet cleaner. Butterbean felt a growl form in the back of her throat. She knew who that was. BOB.

“Easy, Bean,” Walt whispered again. “Wait till the door opens. Then you go for the ankles. I’ll handle the rest.”