We’re about to head into the woods when a distinctly Southern voice pipes up behind us.
Well, I do declare, where are y’all headed in such a hairy-scary hurry?
We turn to see Cupcake prancing toward us, her pom-poms bouncing with each step. Even after spending the morning around her, I’m still not entirely convinced she’s a real dog and not some kind of elaborate cotton candy sculpture that learned to walk and talk and beg for treats.
This is official park business,Fish replies with the kind of frost that can ice a cake.Not a social call for pampered poodles.
Oh, come on. Let me come along,Cupcake insists with the determination of a canine who’s never been told no in her entire perfectly groomed life.I am, after all, a guest at this establishment, and I feel it’s my civic duty to assist with any pest control issues. Plus, I haven’t had a proper adventure in ages, and my manicure could use some excitement.
I can practically hear Fish’s teeth grinding.Fine. But try to keep up, and try not to get your fancy fur dirty.
Honey, I’ll have you know I’m tougher thanI look,Cupcake shoots back without missing a furry beat.Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean I can’t handle a little adventure.
We head into the woods behind the pavilion, where the autumn air carries the scent of pine needles and that particular smell that means “small creatures are definitely hiding nearby.” My whiskers twitch with anticipation—not because I’m planning to hunt anything, but because I’m curious to see how our army’s been doing.
Fish leads us deeper into the trees until we reach a small clearing where dappled sunlight filters through the canopy. She sits up straight, takes a deep breath, and lets out a yowl that could wake the dead.
ATTENTION! EMERGENCY ASSEMBLY! ALL UNITS REPORT!
The response is immediate and frankly a little terrifying. Cats emerge from everywhere—bushes, hollow logs, abandoned equipment, places I didn’t even know existed. They materialize like furry ninjas answering a call to arms.
These aren’t your average house cats. These are battle-hardened veterans of the Great Mouse Wars, former strays who’ve found purpose in protecting Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland from rodent invasions. They’ve got scars, attitude, and the kind of streetwise confidence that comes from surviving on their own before landing the best gig in Maine.
There’s Patches, a calico with one torn ear and the disposition of someone who’s seen things. Whiskerface, a gray tabby whose permanent scowl suggests he’s never met a mouse he couldn’t intimidate. Shadow, a black tom who moves so quietly you’d think he was part ninja, part phantom. And at least a dozen others, all looking like they could take down a small army of rodents without breaking a sweat.
They form a loose circle around our little group, and I can’t help but notice that every single pair of eyes is focused onCupcake with the kind of interest usually reserved for intruders and suspicious-smelling treats.
Well, well,Patches drawls, her voice carrying the rough edge of someone who’s fought for every meal.What do we have here? Looks like someone brought their breakfast.
Is that a dog?asks a young orange kitten who’s clearly new to the force.It’s so... fluffy.
That’s not a dog,Whiskerface corrects with the authority of someone who’s seen every variety of creature this park has to offer.That’s what happens when you cross a cotton ball with delusions of grandeur.
Cupcake’s perfectly groomed composure starts to crack. I can see her swallowing hard, and her pom-poms seem to deflate slightly as she realizes she’s surrounded by creatures who could probably take her apart and use her for pillow stuffing.
Now, see here,she starts, but her voice wavers just enough to let everyone know she’s not as confident as she’s pretending to be.
Oh, this is rich.Shadow chuckles from somewhere in the circle.The fancy poodle wants to play with the big cats.
I bet she’s never even seen a real mouse,adds another cat.Probably thinks they come pre-packaged with little bows on them.
The entire lot of them laughs it up.
Maybe we should show her what we do to creatures that don’t belong here,Patches suggests with a grin that shows entirely too many teeth.
That’s when I realize Cupcake is actually terrified. Her breathing grows faster, and despite all her Southern belle bravado, she’s backing up toward the nearest tree as if she’s considering making a break for it.
And you know what? I don’t like seeing anyone get picked on, even if they do look like they fell into a cotton candy machine and decidedto stay that way.
Hey!I step forward, putting myself between Cupcake and the circle of increasingly aggressive felines.She’s with us.
The entire clearing goes quiet. Even the birds stop chirping.
Excuse me?Patches blinks at me.Did the orange marshmallow just defend the poodle?
Her name is Cupcake, and she’s a guest here,I continue, puffing up my chest to make myself look more intimidating. Which probably isn’t very intimidating, but it’s the fluffy orange thought that counts.If you’ve got a problem with her, you’ve got a problem with me.
And me,Fish adds with a sigh that suggests she thinks I’ve lost my mind, but will back me up anyway.As much as it pains me to admit it, the cotton candy sculpture is under our protection.
