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Butterbean cringed.“Well, not anymore,” she said slowly. She leaned forward. “There was a grooming incident,” she whispered, spraying Polo with a fine mist of spit. “He’s got bangs now.” She nodded significantly. “I mean… BANGS.”

“Oooohhhhh,” Polo said, her eyes widening. “But…” She hesitated. “Bangs aren’t bad, are they?” She’d seen lots of people with bangs. Fashionable people, even.

“Not usually. But these?” Butterbean made a face. “Trust me. They’re bad.”

“Okay, wow,” Polo said. “Bad bangs.” She smoothed down her own fur in sympathy.

“SERIOUSLY?” Marco stomped over, rolling his eyes so much it was surprising he could stand upright. “You guys are talking about BANGS? Who cares about a dumb hairdo? We need to know what’s wrong with Biscuit! I’m pretty sure it’s not BANGS!” He waved his paws at the white cat. “You!Explain!”

“Barking. It’s a barking problem,” the white cat said, smirking. “Nonstop, from what I hear. Nobody knows why, and the humans are MAD.”

“Bangs,” Butterbean said knowingly.

“Doubtful,” Walt said.

“It’s probably not the bangs, Bean,” Oscar said. “Marco’s right. No one barks that much over a haircut. Hair does grow out, after all.”

“Besides, haircut emergencies are more a cry-in-the-corner kind of situation,” Walt said. Not that she’d ever had a haircut. She looked around. “Right?”

Marco and Polo shrugged. They’d never had haircuts either.

“It does seem mysterious,” Polo said. “For real this time.”

“Not like the tuna fish,” Marco added. “Sorry, Butterbean.”

Butterbean nodded. It was definitely more mysterious than the tuna fish.

Oscar cocked his head.“I have to admit, it does seem strange. But I don’t see that there’s anything we can do. Shouldn’t he just stop barking?”

“Well, duh,” the white cat said, getting up. “That’s pretty obvious. But he won’t.”

“Then I don’t know what to say,” Oscar said. “I’m sorry, Butterbean. Even if we weren’t retired from investigating, I don’t see how we could help.”

“But if I could just talk to him…” Butterbean whimpered. “I could therapy him!”

Walt sighed.“Sure. Maybe. But you can’t do anything tonight. Whatever we do will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“If he lasts that long,” the white cat snorted. “Sorry to say it, but that dog is toast.”

“WHAT?” Butterbean yelped. “OSCAR!”

“Um, how about us?” Polo interrupted, tentatively raising a paw. “We could check. If you want.”

“We can’t do therapy like Butterbean—” Marco said.

“But we can go in the vents. We could tell Biscuit to keep quiet until tomorrow,” Polo said.

“Really?” Butterbean sniffled.

“I mean, the seed sorting can probably wait a little longer,” Marco said.

“The seeds aren’t actually that important,” Polo agreed.

“Would that make you feel better, Butterbean?” Oscar asked, watching Butterbean carefully. She was twitching like she might start doing laps around the room, and nobody wanted that.

“And it’s not like we’d be INVESTIGATING,” Polo said carefully. “Since we’re retired. We’ll just be CHECKING IN.”

“Yeah, passing a message,” Marco said. His whiskers trembled as he looked at Polo. “A SECRET message.”

Polo clutched at Marco’s arm. “LIKE SPIES!” Polo squealed. “WE CAN BE A SECRET SPY ORGANIZATION.” She turned to Oscar, her eyes shining.

Oscar groaned.

“OOOHHH, CAN I BE A SPY TOO?” Butterbean yelped eagerly. “I’ll be a THERAPIST SPY.”

“I don’t think therapists are supposed to be spies,” Oscar said doubtfully.

“But don’t you see? That’s why it’s perfect! NO ONE WILL SUSPECT ME!” Butterbean was practically levitating, she was bouncing up and down so fast.

Oscar had to admit, a Secret Spy Organization did sound pretty exciting. And he didn’t know any other mynah birds who were International Crime Bosses, Ghost Investigators, AND Secret Spies. He would be the first. It was an appealing idea.

Oscar nodded.“Okay, we’ll see how the secret messaging goes first. Then we can decide on the Secret Spy Organization.”

“YAY! We’re SPIES!” Polo cheered, high-fiving Marco as they climbed out of their cage.

“WHOOHOO SPIES!” Marco and Polo edged past the white cat into the opening of the vent. “Excuse me, white cat. You didn’t see a thing. Because we’re STEALTHY SPIES.”

“I don’t believe this.” The white cat shook her head as the rats streaked past her.

Their voices echoed as they disappeared into the vents.“SECRET SPY MISSION—GO!”

If Marco and Polo had had any doubts about the white cat’s story, they went away pretty quickly. Because the white cat was right—there was no ignoring that barking.

“It’s not so much that it’s loud,” Polo said thoughtfully as they slid down a vent. “It’s more… piercing.”

“Like if a car alarm was a dog,” Marco agreed. He didn’t personally own a car, but he’d seen car alarms on TV, and he always had to cover his ears.

“Exactly,” Polo said.