Chapter 5: The Feline Informants

"What the hell!"

The vendor clutched his nose, furious. "Where’d this mangy mutt come from!"

He spun in circles, eyes wild, cursing up a storm. People started filming on their phones. I could almost hear the neighborhood group chat lighting up.

Doc limped off dramatically, dragging his paw just enough to lure the man away from the cages. Doc shot me a look, then took off.

Doc’s limp was pure theater, dragging his paw just enough to lure the man away from the cages. He winked at me as he darted behind a pile of crates, the vendor hot on his heels.

"Your turn!"

The cue snapped me into action. I sprinted to the cage, adrenaline burning away my fear. The puppies crowded the bars, eyes full of hope.

A puppy inside peered up and asked, "Are you the Hot Dog Lady’s mom?"

I froze, caught off guard by the question. For a split second, I almost laughed, but there was no time. I nodded, rolling up my sleeves, ready to do whatever it took.

The puppies all barked at once:

"We won’t run. Hot Dog Lady’s mom, you’re here to save us."

Their hope was catching. I gripped the cage, muscles straining, determined not to let them down.

"Open the cage, we’ll follow you!"

I fumbled with the latch, nerves jangling. Most pups bolted out as soon as the door swung open, tails wagging furiously. A few, too weak to move, stayed behind, their eyes pleading.

Most pups followed me as I ran, but two or three too weak to walk stayed in the cage. I lugged the whole thing to my car, popped the trunk—and found Emma crouched inside.

She’d snuck in while I was distracted, her little hands gripping the edge of the trunk. Her face was dirty, but her eyes were fierce. For a second, I wanted to scold her, but I couldn’t help but smile at her courage.

Me: "..."

Words failed me. I just shook my head, half exasperated, half impressed. Kids and dogs—always breaking the rules.

She scrambled to help, her little hands were stronger than I expected as we hauled the cage together. For a moment, we were a team—no questions asked, just action.

...

I drove to our meeting spot. The house dogs were all dusty and battered. Duke’s ear was bleeding, but when he saw Muffin poking her head out the window, he played it cool. His tail was going a mile a minute.

The car was a mess—fur everywhere, the backseat a tangle of paws and tails. Duke sat up front, trying to look dignified. His tail thumped a wild rhythm against the seat. When Muffin meowed, the whole car erupted in happy barks.

Muffin yowled, "Boss! I’m back!"

She strutted across the dash, tail high, meowing like she owned the place. The dogs howled in response, their joy infectious.

Duke replied, "Glad you’re safe," not realizing his tail was going a mile a minute.

He tried to play it cool, but his tail gave him away—wagging so hard it threatened to knock over the cupholders. I stifled a laugh, grateful for this small victory.

Doc scolded, "Dumbass! Your ear’s bleeding!"

Doc hopped up, fussing over Duke like a worried nurse. He grabbed a napkin and pressed it to Duke’s ear, muttering about "idiot heroes" and "unnecessary risks."

I asked Doc, "Are you hurt?"