The Great Pet Heist

by Emily Ecton

  “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.

  “Sure.” The girl looked almost as confused as Butterbean, but she cleared away Mrs. Food’s newspaper and place mats.

  “Whoooaaa whooooaaaa!!!”

  She had hardly cleared a space when she was stopped short by series of shrieks coming from the office. Tiny, thin shrieks that sounded like someone very small riding a roller coaster. Or two someones.

  Bob came in carrying a glass aquarium. The shrieks got louder. They were definitely coming from inside the aquarium.

  “Whoooaaa whoooaaa WHOOOAAAA!! YEE-HAW!!” came a tiny voice.

  “AIIIIEEEE! MAKE IT STOP!!” came another tiny voice.

  Butterbean stared at the aquarium in horror. There were two rats inside, and they weren’t even attempting to hide. One was covering its face with its paws and peeking out through its fingers as it tried to keep its balance. The other was waving its arms in the air and shrieking with glee, like the moving aquarium was a surfboard or a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “WHO ARE THEY??” Butterbean squealed, trying to get a closer look.

  “Down, boy,” Bob said, nudging Butterbean aside.

  Butterbean toppled onto her back in shock, furious at herself. She had often thought, while she chewed on her rawhide chew or disemboweled a squeaky vegetable, that Mrs. Food’s office smelled like it might have an infestation of some sort. There had been some distinctly ratty odors wafting through the doorway occasionally. Not all the time, but often enough. But then she would realize how unlikely that was, laugh quietly to herself, and go back to her chew toy. Because come on. Mrs. Food’s OFFICE? Infested with RATS? Hardy-har-har. And yet, here was Bob with the cold hard evidence. Butterbean’s whole life was a lie.

  “So yeah, these two also. I guess just keep their cage from stinking and give them food and whatever. Looks like they’re good on water, but keep an eye out.”

  The girl peered inside the aquarium. The rats stared back at her. They’d stopped acting like they were on their own personal amusement park ride and were watching her expectantly. “Do they have names?”

  Bob checked the crumpled paper in his hand. “They didn’t give me names. So just Rat One and Rat Two, I guess. Or call that one Colleen and that one Elizabeth. Who cares? I mean, they’re rats. It’s not like they know the difference.”

  “HEY!” said one of the rats (aka Colleen).

  “RUDE,” said the other one (aka Elizabeth).

  Butterbean slowly turned from the infestation and stared at Walt in horror. Walt, who spent a good amount of time in the office. Walt, who could climb on high surfaces. Walt, who liked to keep secrets.

  “Did you KNOW?” Butterbean demanded. “That we had RATS?”

  Walt shrugged.

  “You KNEW? And you didn’t say ANYTHING?”

  Walt shrugged again. “I didn’t know it was a secret. They were right there on the shelf. You went in the office. They weren’t hidden.”

  Butterbean’s jaw dropped. “I’m SHORT. I’m a SHORT DOG. I don’t see things up high. YOU KNOW THAT.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I’m telling you now. We’ve got rats.”

  “Yes, so I understand. Rat One and Rat Two,” Butterbean grumbled. “And those are just the ones we can SEE.”

  “Marco!”

  “Polo!”

  Butterbean whipped her head around and glared at the aquarium. “EXCUSE ME?”

  “I’m Marco,” said Rat One (aka Colleen).

  “And I’m Polo,” said Rat Two (aka Elizabeth).

  “We don’t really go by Rat One and Rat Two, no matter what that guy says.”

  “Or Colleen and Elizabeth. That guy is bonkers.”

  “Totally.” Marco rolled his eyes.

  “Totally,” Polo echoed, making twirly “crazy” motions next to her head.

  “Well, yeah.” Butterbean had to agree there. They may be infesting the office, but those rats weren’t stupid.

  “Ahem.”

  The animals immediately stopped their conversation and stared up at the girl, who was looking at them with a puzzled expression. “Are they always this… chatty?”

  Bob shrugged and handed her Butterbean’s leash. “How would I know? Mice squeak, right? They’re chatty. Dogs too, I guess.”

  “Rats,” Marco and Polo said in unison. “Not mice.”

  “Right.” The girl frowned. She clipped the leash onto Butterbean’s collar.

  “Bean,” Oscar said in a low voic
e. “Be careful. Observe everything. Urgent house meeting when you return.”

  “Okay,” Butterbean said, trying hard to control her tail. It was her natural instinct to start wagging when the leash went on, but it didn’t seem appropriate this time, somehow.

  “House meeting,” she said as she trotted to the door, girl in tow. “Urgent meeting. Got it.”

  “Urgent,” Oscar said as the door shut behind them. “Because if what Bob just said is true, I was right. We’re all in serious trouble.”

  4

  BUTTERBEAN WAS DOING HER JAUNTY walk when she came back. Tail wagging, high bouncing, the whole bit. Oscar was disgusted.

  Butterbean obviously didn’t understand how serious their situation was. Oscar averted his eyes as Butterbean licked the girl on the hand and then bounced on into the living room.

  “Hoo! What a workout!” Butterbean flopped down onto the carpet as the girl left the apartment. Oscar gave her a disapproving look, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “That girl goes so much faster than Mrs. Food! My legs were flying!” Butterbean went on, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

  Oscar cleared his throat. “Yes, well, obviously. Mrs. Food was older, and susceptible to falls. I’m surprised you didn’t realize that. Especially in light of recent events.”

  “Right. Falls.” Butterbean snuffled in embarrassment. “Look, I SAID I was SORRY, okay?” She wished she hadn’t said anything. She was never going to live that barf down.

  Walt put a paw on Butterbean’s back. “It’s fine. Now, what happened while you were out there? Did you see or hear anything? Do you have any new information?”

  Butterbean looked at the ceiling while she thought. It was important to focus so she wouldn’t forget anything. She didn’t want to mess this up too. “Yeeess. There was something. They’re using a new cleaner on the rugs—it’s very strong. I think it’s supposed to be a floral smell? I don’t like it.”

  Oscar raised an eyebrow at Walt. “Okay, that’s new. And?”

  “I saw Biscuit from the second floor. He has a new haircut. You can see his eyes again. It’s a good look.”

  Walt refused to even glance at Oscar. “And?”

  Butterbean considered for a minute. “Well… there’s been a lot of activity at the trash can out front. Mostly Biscuit, I think, but I think someone new had been by too. OH! And the doorman had a hamburger from a fast food place. I smelled the wrapper. Extra onions. No cheese, though.” Butterbean looked at them hopefully. “Does that help?”

  Walt shot Oscar a warning look. “Yes, thank you. Anything about Mrs. Food?”

  Butterbean frowned. “Well, no.”

  “Did the girl say anything?”

  Butterbean perked up. “Yes. But it was mostly ‘hurry up’ and ‘do your business.’ I don’t think she was talking about Mrs. Food. It was all very cryptic.”

  “Yes. A mystery,” Oscar sighed.

  Walt turned to Oscar. “So now what?”

  “Emergency meeting,” Oscar said. “Now I’m not going to pretend our situation isn’t bad. But we shouldn’t overreact. We just need to determine how bad.”

  “It’s more than bad,” Walt said, slowly licking a paw. “It’s really bad.”

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe not. I saw a news story just the other day about a dog who lost his person, and he inherited millions of dollars. Millions! He even inherited a new person to take care of him!”

  “Lucky dog. What’s your point?” Walt didn’t even pause in her licking.

  “Mrs. Food is very responsible—I’m sure she’s made provisions for us.”

  Walt shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

  Oscar looked hurt. “Walt, surely it’s worth a look. There are probably papers.”

  Walt stopped licking. “No, it’s not. Because yes, there are papers, and no, we’re not in them.”

  “What? How do you know?” Butterbean gasped. This conversation was moving too fast for her. Walt should have given a spoiler alert at least.

  “I live in the office, people. You think I don’t go through her papers? It gets boring around here. I’ve been through everything in there at least three times. I know her passwords. I know her secrets.”

  “Mrs. Food has secrets?” Butterbean gasped again. She couldn’t believe she’d been so blind. First the rats, now secrets? The whole day had just been one cruel blow after another.

  “Well, no, that’s my point. Mrs. Food has no secrets from me. She also has no provisions for us. She’s only made provisions for the Feral Cats Charitable Foundation and Dog Fancy Magazine. And unless I’m mistaken, that’s not us.”

  “But… but…” Oscar sputtered. He thought he’d considered everything. He had a carefully planned set of talking points. His whole speech was ruined. Oscar’s feathers drooped. “Well, then I don’t know what to say. We’re not overreacting. We’re doomed.”

  “We’re not doomed,” Walt said. “We have options. We just need to make a plan.”

  “But how?” Butterbean said. “What is there to do?” If Oscar said they were doomed, they were pretty much doomed.

  Walt twitched her tail. “Like I said, I know Mrs. Food’s secrets. I can use her computer. I’m not a fast typist, but I can do it. I can order things online. At least I think I can.”

  “What things? Toys?” Butterbean wagged her tail so hard that her butt almost lifted off the floor. She loved new toys.

  “I was thinking food. We can have things delivered. That will tide us over until her credit card runs out, at least. All we have to do is figure out a way to open the door and get the boxes.”

  Oscar shook his head. “That only works if we can get Bob off our backs. Whatever we do, we have to do it fast. In a week.”

  “Give or take,” Butterbean said solemnly. “More or less.”

  “I’ll deal with Bob,” Walt said, her eyes gleaming. “I could go for the eyes. Still an option.”

  “Yes. Well.” Oscar cleared his throat. “Even with Bob out of the way, as I see it, our options are limited. Option one? Get jobs. Or option two, become independently wealthy. Personally, I prefer option two.”

  “I could get a job!” Butterbean said. “I’ve seen the commercials, work from home! I’m at home, I could work. Maybe I could do that?”

  Oscar shifted on his perch. “That’s a nice thought, Butterbean, but what kind of work do you think you could do?”

  Butterbean hesitated, thinking back over the job descriptions she’d seen listed. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she was really qualified for any of them. She had zero teaching experience. And she didn’t even know what coding and transcription were. “Or maybe you could work? A phone job? Since you speak Human?”

  “I can also speak Human,” Walt grumbled. “In a sense. There’s software for speaking Human. I could use that.”

  “EXCUSE ME,” a tiny voice said from across the room. “Would you mind either SPEAKING UP or opening our cage? It’s kind of hard to hear you.”

  Butterbean gasped. “We can’t let them out!”

  “What do you think they’re going to do?” Oscar asked.

  “RAT THINGS.” Butterbean shuddered. Like it wasn’t obvious.

  “We’ll have to risk it. They’re in the same boat we are.” Walt hesitated. “And Butterbean, you know that’s a figure of speech. There’s no boat.”

  “Of course there’s not,” Butterbean scoffed. She knew they weren’t in a boat. She wouldn’t have even suspected it if Walt hadn’t said that they were.

  “Never mind, we’ll handle it,” Polo called. “Marco, give me a boost.”

  Marco held out his hands like a step, and Polo launched herself up like a tiny acrobat onto the top of the water bottle.

  “HRRRRRRUUUUUUUNNNNNNGGG,” Polo grunted, lying on her back and shoving the top of the cage with her feet. Slowly the lid shifted to the side.

  Butterbean’s jaw dropped. Those rats could be in the circus.

  “Good job, Polo,” M
arco said, scrambling up to the top of the bottle and giving her a high five.

  “Thanks,” Polo said, climbing up onto the lid and dusting herself off.

  “You mean you can just GET OUT?” Butterbean said.

  “You don’t think we stay in there all the time, do you?” Marco said.

  “That would be ridiculous,” Polo agreed.

  “WHAT?” Butterbean yelped.

  “Can we get back to business?” Oscar said, frowning at Butterbean. He’d learned to unlock his cage when he was just a fledgling with pin feathers. He didn’t see why rats would be any different. (Except for the pin feathers.) “Now, the job option is certainly something we can explore. But since the independently wealthy option is preferable, I think our first move should be to take stock of our assets and see where we stand.”

  “What?” Butterbean cocked her head. “What does that mean?”

  “One of us may own something of value. We won’t know until we see what we have. Now, everyone gather your treasures, and we’ll reconvene here in ten minutes. Again, we might be worrying needlessly.”

  “You just don’t want to get a job,” Walt smirked.

  “You couldn’t have told us this BEFORE we climbed out of our cage?” Marco rolled his eyes.

  “Our treasures aren’t exactly lying around the apartment, you know.” Polo shook her head.

  “Apologies,” Oscar said, nodding to the rats. “Ten minutes.”

  The animals scattered, grumbling quietly to themselves. Oscar was bossy, but he had a point. In ten minutes they would know whether they would be living the life of luxury or making telemarketing calls. Or worse.

  5

  “SO,” OSCAR SAID, LOOKING AROUND the circle. “I have to admit this doesn’t look promising.”

  The animals had collected their personal treasures from their hidden stashes and were hovering over them protectively. They all looked very proud, but Oscar had been watching as they made their piles, and he felt a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. He had expected the piles to be, well, bigger.

  “I’ll start,” Oscar said. “It’s not much. There aren’t many places to hide things in my cage. So. I have a half dollar—very shiny, if I do say so myself. I have a small silver key. And the pièce de résistance—an earring.” He pushed the silver filigree earring forward with one claw.