The white cat snorted.“Trust me, I’ve got a whole seafood platter with your name on it.” She smoothed the fur on her forehead in the shape of a curl and stepped onto the small mat in front of the storage room. Then she put on her best stage face. Her eyes were practically twinkling in the dim light. “And… action!”
Chad started to enter the code into the keypad. But before he could finish, the door abruptly opened, leaving him awkwardly hanging in the doorway.
A small raccoon wearing a sequined tube top stood just inside the door and stared at them, unblinking. Behind her, the room was filled with raccoons. More raccoons than the white cat had ever imagined. Raccoons were clinging to the wire walls of the storage units. They had broken into one and were rummaging around in a suitcase filled with clothes. Three were wearing hats (two baseball, one cowboy), one was playing a ukulele (badly, you could tell he hadn’t had lessons), and one had a thick cashmere scarf wrapped multiple times around his neck (you could hardly see his face, it was wrapped so high).
“Who’s that? What do they want?” A high squeaky voice came from the middle of the suitcase-raccoon pack. (The white cat thought it was the raccoon in the cowboy hat, but she wasn’t sure.)
“What do you want?” the tube-top raccoon asked.
“Um. I…” The white cat swallowed hard. She didn’t usually get stage fright, especially when it was a performance as important as this one. But she hadn’t been prepared for this. Even Chad was speechless. He was still dangling motionless overhead, his eyes wide.
“I’m a celebrity,” she finally said.
“She’s a celebrity,” Chad echoed.
“Oh. Congrats,” the raccoon said. There was an awkward silence as they stared at each other.
A raccoon wearing a snorkel mask pushed up on his forehead appeared in the doorway. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed the small mat under the white cat’s feet and tugged it out from under her. Then, hugging it close to his chest, he ran away into the shadows on his hind legs.
“Nope,” the white cat said, turning around. “Nopey nope nope.” This was not what she’d signed up for. This was not an appreciative audience.
The white cat made sure she kept her steps even and calm until she heard the door shut behind her. Then she shot into the vent at top speed, running so fast that her feet hardly touched the floor. Once she was safely inside, she whirled around, the fur on her back bristling. Chad squelched into the vent after her. (He was not nearly as fast.)
“Give me a rave review, and I’ll double your salary,” she said as Chad pulled himself inside. “I was fabulous. Dazzling performance. You were blown away. Deal?”
Chad took a moment to consider. He could always use some extra shrimp.“Deal.”
“So?” Oscar opened one eye when he heard the white cat creep back in.
“Amateurs,” the white cat said, blowing air out of her nose. “Nothing but a bunch of amateurs. Hardly worth the trip.”
“So are they gone?” Walt asked.
“Are they a troupe?” Polo asked, poking her nose out of her cedar chip pile.
“Do they need therapy?” Butterbean asked hopefully. “I’m still available.”
“No, who knows, and probably,” the white cat said. “And now I’m leaving. They’re hardly worth my time. Although… Chad?” She looked expectantly at Chad, who was halfway to the kitchen sink. “Don’t you have something to add?”
Chad looked around and then nodded.“Right. She was fabulous. Amazing. Eight tentacles up,” he said in a deadpan voice as climbed into the sink and slid down the drain.
“See? Well, I’m leaving. I’ve got a photo shoot tomorrow,” the white cat said, turning to leave. Then she hesitated. “Oh. You might be interested in knowing. Those raccoons have taken over the storage area. They’re going through everyone’s stuff. Anyway, cheers!” She disappeared.
Walt looked up at Oscar.“Well, that’s not good.”
Oscar sighed.“It’s not our problem. I’m sorry, but we need to stay out of it.”
“But…” Butterbean started, but Oscar held up one wing.
“Butterbean. This is a large number of raccoons, whatever we call them. We’re just a group of seven pets.”
Butterbean sat up.“Excuse me, but we’re an International Crime Syndicate and Investigator Gang,” she said indignantly.
“And spies,” Marco said sleepily from the top of the water bottle. “Don’t forget spies.”
“Well. True. But as spies, we need to know when to fade into the background. This is one of those times. Let someone else clean up the mess for once.” Oscar puffed his feathers out. “Besides, I’m sure this will all blow over soon. Trust me. You’ll see.”
He tucked his head under his wing.
He didn’t realize how wrong he was.
— 9 —
“WOW, I HAD THE WEIRDEST dream last night,” Madison said to Mrs. Food at breakfast the next morning. Five sets of eyes slowly turned to look at her. “I was in the living room, right? And there was a ghost cat and a tiny little sailor, who I think was a mouse or something? Maybe a squirrel? And all the pets were there, and they were just staring at me. Kind of like…” Madison trailed off as she looked into the living room. “… that.”
Butterbean was listening so intently that she had forgotten to chew and had kibble dribbling out of her mouth. Walt had paused midlick with one paw extended. Marco and Polo had their faces pressed up to the side of their cage (with unintentionally hilarious results). Oscar was frozen with one foot hovering over his food dish.
When they noticed Madison noticing them, they immediately unfroze and pretended to be engrossed in their activities. (Marco and Polo didn’t really have any activity to pretend to do, so they just inspected the side of their cage thoughtfully.)
“Huh.” Madison frowned. Then she turned back to Mrs. Food. “But then I was in the kitchen and—”
There was a knock at the front door.
“Did they say anything? The animals?” Mrs. Food took a piece of toast as Madison jumped up from the table.
“I don’t think so. But it was so real! And oh! There was an octopus!” Madison opened the front door. Bob the maintenance man was standing in the doorway holding a clipboard.
“Oh, hi,” Madison said. “Mrs. Fudeker? It’s Bob.” Madison smiled quickly at Bob and then stepped back so he could come inside.
Butterbean stopped eating again, dribbling more kibble. Too many interesting things were happening. There was no way she could concentrate on food.
Bob pretty much ran things at the Strathmore Building. He had a history with Butterbean and Walt. He’d always been more than a little suspicious of their activities, but he’d never found any concrete evidence to hold against them. (Butterbean had concrete reasons for being suspicious of Bob, but she kept them to herself.)
“Sorry to bother you all so early,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “So. It looks like we’ve had an incident down in the storage room. A lady on the sixth floor has made a complaint.”
“Probably Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six,” Butterbean whispered darkly. “She complains about EVERYTHING.”
Bob consulted his clipboard.“She says the valuables in her storage unit have been ransacked, and some things are missing. We’re planning to set up additional cameras, but in the meantime, you might want to check and see if you’re missing any items.”
“Wow, that’s terrible!” Madison said.
“Yes, terrible.” Mrs. Food looked concerned. “We’ll go down today and take a look. Make sure everything’s there.”
“Good, good.” Bob made a check mark on his clipboard. “Hopefully it’s just some kind of mistake.”
“A mistaken ransacking?” Madison wrinkled her nose. “Does that ever happen?”
Bob shrugged.“No, but who knows. Just between us, this lady? She complains a lot.”
“I knew it!” Butterbean barked. “Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six! It has to be!”