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“Got it,” Butterbean said, swallowing her growl. She really wanted to let loose with the barks, but she knew the element of surprise was important. She’d learned that much from Oscar’s shows.

The door swung open, revealing two people silhouetted in the doorway.

“Now!” Walt said. “Wha— Abort! Abort!” Her pounce turned into an awkward hop.

“Walt.” Butterbean stopped with one foot in the air, then overbalanced and landed in a clumsy heap. “That’s a kid. Do I go for the ankles on a kid? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Hold your position,” Walt said. “We need to reassess.”

Standing in front of Bob in the doorway was a medium-sized girl, not a baby, but also not a grown-up. She had long straight black hair, and she gave a little wave when she spotted Butterbean and Walt.

Butterbean blinked. She’d never been waved to before.

Walt narrowed her eyes in suspicion. It was obviously a tactical maneuver designed to make them let down their guard. But Walt was onto her. It wouldn’t work.

“So here they all are,” Bob said, flipping on the lights without even giving the animals a heads-up so they could shield their eyes. Walt hissed. Oscar gave a bloodcurdling scream, followed by some low-level grumbling.

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Bob pointed at Butterbean.

“That’s the dog, there. It’s the biggest problem.”

“Thanks,” Butterbean muttered.

Bob acted like she hadn’t even said anything. “It’ll need to be walked what—two, three times a day maybe? I don’t know, however many times dogs need to be walked so they don’t mess up the carpet.”

“Ten,” Butterbean said seriously. “I need to go outside ten times a day. Maybe twenty.”

“Shut it, Butterbean,” Walt hissed. “Don’t engage with them.”

“Okay, so I’ll walk her three times a day. What’s her name?” the girl asked, squatting down to look at Butterbean.

“Says here…” Bob consulted a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “Oscar. No, that’s the bird. The dog is Butterbean. He’s a wiener dog.”

“She,” Butterbean corrected. “I’m a she. SHE’S a wiener dog.”

The girl stroked Butterbean’s ear. “Long hair for a wiener dog.”

“I’m a long-haired wiener dog,” Butterbean said. She didn’t know whether this girl could be trusted, but she did appreciate a good ear rub.

“Mouthy little mutt,” Bob said, giving Butterbean a dismissive look. He wasn’t a dog person. “So that’s the dog. And that up there, that’s the bird. Oscar. It’s a mynah bird, so don’t be freaked out if it talks to you. According to this it can say words.”

“Kiss off,” Oscar said in his best out-loud Human voice. He was in no mood. He glared at the girl almost like they were in a staring contest.

“Boy, you’re not kidding,” the girl said, her eyes wide.

Bob didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t need to do much there, just change the food and water and paper, if it gets gross. And that down there is Lucretia.”

Butterbean cocked her head.“Who’s Lucretia?”

The girl broke eye contact with Oscar (who silently cheered himself for winning the staring contest) and looked back at Bob.“Which one is Lucretia?”

Bob pointed at Walt.“That one. That weird-looking black cat with the long nose.”

“I’m an Oriental shorthair, thank you,” Walt said quietly. “And my name is Walt.”

“Huh.” The girl squatted down next to Walt and stared into her eyes. “You don’t look like a Lucretia to me,” she said.

“I’m not. My name is Walt,” Walt said.

“You look more like a… hmm…” The girl cocked her head in almost the same way Butterbean had. “What do you look like?”

“Walt,” Walt said. “I look like Walt.”

“You look more like…”

“Walt,” Butterbean barked.

“Walt,” Walt said again.

“You look more like a… Walt.”

“I like this girl,” Walt said, turning to Butterbean. “The attack is canceled.”

“How’d you DO that?” Butterbean stared at Walt in amazement.

Walt shrugged.

Bob snorted.“Look, kid, I don’t care what you call them, as long as you take care of them, okay? It’s not like they’ll be around long, if you know what I mean.”

The animals got very still.

“What do you mean?” the girl asked.

“Just between us, it doesn’t look like their owner is going to be coming back any time soon. Don’t get too attached or you’re in for heartache.”

“But why?” the girl said.

“Look, she’s got no family, okay? Even if she gets better, she’s probably heading for a home, and these guys? Well, nobody wants to take care of a pack of stinking animals. If it was just one, maybe, but this gang? I’d say they have a week, more or less.”

“A week?”

“Give or take. Then it’s the pound for them. It’s not like they can take care of themselves. So like I said. Don’t get attached.”

“Right.” The girl looked doubtful. “Me, I can take care of myself.”

Bob gave her a strange look.“That’s great, kid. Now maybe you should stop with the jaw flapping and walk this guy?”

“Girl,” Butterbean pouted.

Bob consulted the list.“Hold off just a minute. I almost forgot the last two.”

He disappeared into Mrs. Food’s office.

“Last two?” Butterbean cocked her head again. It was getting quite a workout.

“Clear a space on the table, okay, kid?” Bob called from the office.