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Oscar closed his eyes.“No.” Sometimes Butterbean was a bit much.

Walt sighed.“Larry’s not a cartoon, Butterbean.”

“But if that’s Larry…” Butterbean said, frowning.

“That’s just an animated version of Larry,” Oscar said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I’m sure the real Larry doesn’t do tricks like that.” At least Oscar hoped he didn’t. If the real Larry was anything like the cartoon version, Mr. Wiggles had some serious competition.

He watched gloomily as the cartoon octopus balanced on one tentacle while holding sparklers that spelled out OCTAVIO. Then he gave an elaborate bow, and the picture cut back to the reporter.

“That was amazing!” the anchorman said, clapping. Oscar frowned. The anchorman seemed to have a lot in common with Butterbean.

“As you know, the zoo in Paris doesn’t allow videotaping of their star attraction, so live footage of Monsieur Octavio is extremely hard to come by. But we were lucky enough to get a short video of the mysterious octopus. Here, for the first time ever, is our Channel Seven exclusive. Will this be the zoo’s newest attraction?”

The video that started was grainy and dim, and looked like it might’ve been taken with an old cell phone. An octopus sat in the corner of a glass tank, curled up doing nothing. He looked more like a wad of used Silly Putty than the dancing cartoon octopus from before.

“Is he sick?” Butterbean inched closer. The octopus on screen didn’t move.

An unsuspecting visitor strolled by the tank, leaned forward, and tapped loudly on the glass.

Without warning, the octopus erupted, launching himself toward the visitor in a violent display.

“WHOA!” Madison yelped, flopping back against the couch cushions.

“Holy cow!” Butterbean barked at the screen.

The visitor onscreen screamed and lurched back, stumbling and falling down out of sight. Larry curled back up into a ball.

“Wow. That sure was something,” the anchorman said. Then he frowned. “Was he wearing the hat? I didn’t see the hat.”

“Good question, Herb,” the reporter said. “And how is he at picking winning teams? We hope to have answers to those questions and more, coming up,” she said as Madison started flipping channels randomly.

Butterbean turned around wide-eyed.“Boy, Jerome and Chad weren’t kidding!” she said. “The real life Larry really IS a jerk!”

Walt nodded. She didn’t like the looks of that octopus. She was no fan of Mr. Wiggles (and even less a fan of Jerome), but that octopus onscreen was bad news. She could feel it.

“No wonder they made that cartoon of him,” Butterbean said, trotting back to Oscar’s cage. “He was so boring before he freaked out. They have to make people think he’s interesting so they’ll come to see him.”

“People believe what they want to believe,” Oscar said sadly. He had a feeling Jerome was going to be living with them for a long time. It was hard to outdo a tap-dancing cartoon.

“He’s got very good PR,” the white cat said, sticking her head out from behind the couch. “He doesn’t even HAVE to be interesting with publicity like that.”

“Wha—” Oscar fell off his perch.

“SHEESH, CAT!” Marco squeaked, waving his arms in the direction of the couch. “Madison is RIGHT THERE!”

“SHE’LL SEE YOU!” Polo said, looking desperately between Madison and the white cat. Madison might not notice an extra rat, but an extra cat was hard to miss. Especially one draping itself dramatically against the side of the couch.

“It is customary to announce oneself,” Oscar said, climbing back up onto his perch and smoothing his feathers. “To do otherwise is just rude.”

“You can’t just show up like that.” Walt stalked over to the white cat. “You may not care if you get caught, but…” She trailed off and stared at the white cat thoughtfully. “If you get caught…”

“Go on?” the white cat looked at her with a bored expression. “Please enlighten me.”

Walt turned around, a grin spreading slowly across her face.

Oscar stared at her, his feathers forgotten.“Walt?”

Walt lashed her tail.“We have a lot of work to do. Plan Number One is about to start.”

Plan Number One was a lot easier to put into place once they actually knew what it was. They just had to move fast.

“So you know what you’re supposed to do?” Oscar asked the white cat, who was not following instructions and moving fast. (She was doing some casual smoothing of her whiskers instead.)

“Sure, sure. I’m a pro, remember?” She gave her whiskers one final pat. “But just so you know, you’re going to owe me. Big time.” She stood up and turned with a dramatic flourish.

“Yes, I know,” Oscar said, his heart sinking as she stalked into the vent opening behind the couch. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be satisfied with a few cans of sardines.

Walt jumped down from the arm of the couch and landed right in front of him. Oscar gave an undignified squawk. He couldn’t take any more surprises. He puffed his feathers in irritation. “So? Did you do it?”

Walt smiled smugly.“I handled it.”

“You made the phone call? It’s all set?” Oscar just wanted to be sure. They couldn’t afford any slip ups.