“…What is it?”

Mittens didn’t answer his rival’s question right away. If he’d let it be known that he didn’t know either, he would never live it down. So he coughed a little into his paw and tried to cover.

“Well, it’s—it’s clearly the Human’s new pet. Its frills indicate it as being a variety of flora, while the aquatic setting of its habitat indicate an amphibious nature.”

Toast was quiet for a moment. “So…what is it?”

Mittens rolled his eyes. Dogs. “It’s clearly a fish…plant, Toast.”

Toast’s eyes filled with stars. “Wow Mittens! You’re so smart! Sorry for asking again, you use so many big words and you’ve been so many places and you can get to the food on the counters! And—“

“Yes, yes, Toast,” Mittens interuppted, eager to avoid another self-deprecating monologue, “I’m well aware of my accomplishments. We have more to worry about, now. This…thing, whatever it is—“

“Fish-plant,” Toast supplied eagerly, missing his slip-up.

“…yes, fish-plant, is no innocent addition to our household. It is, rather, our competition.”

“Wait…human…got a new pet?” dismay filled Toast’s eyes. She was always so sensitive. Dogs. “Does…does that mean the Human doesn’t want us anymore? Will TOAST HAVE NO HOME? OR BACON BITS?” She was wailing now, sharp bursts of sound echoing through the small apartment. Ugh, such an abrupt escalation. And people called cats dramatic.

Mittens reached out a paw to cover Toast’s mouth and silence the ear-splitting barks. “Toast! Calm yourself!”

The command brought the cries down in volume to soft whimpers. The watery eyes still wobbled with tears, like something out of one of those foreign cartoons the Human watched when he was alone in bed.

Mittens sighed. How to fix this? In all honesty, Toast’s reaction wasn’t too far off base. Domesticated animals such as themselves lived and died by their owners’ hands. Finding one was easy enough at first—humans were desperate for affection, and had such a strange affinity for creatures they couldn’t truly communicate with. But humans also tired of things quickly. New puppies became burdens once the novelty wore off. Kittens became little demons. And more and more pets ended up abandoned or given away each year, most unwilling or unaccustomed to fending for themselves.

With such limited, mercurial resources, the battle between Dog and Cat had long been fought. Dogs favored a tactic of unconditional love and pathetic gazes and shivering outside in bad weather. It had worked, massively—especially for those that played well with children. But cats disliked begging. And so they had pulled bait-and-switch tactics, withholding affection from everyone but their owners, playing nice when things went wrong, finding the few humans foolish and insecure enough to put up with whatever pranks and indiscretions cats often pulled.

But there was only so much love to go around. Most humans only had a few pets—some strictly dogs or cats. Some none at all. And for those who lived in a veritable menagerie of other pets, it was no telling when the “money,” as humans called it, would run low enough that the giveaways would begin. Mittens shuddered. He recalled such things from when he had been a young kitten himself. Small, furry bundles ripped away from their mothers. Dogs bred for the purpose of having their children sold, cats kicked to the curb because of unexpected pregnancies, even birds got a bad deal these days.

And so, with this new contender in the apartment, Mittens would pull no punches. He would have no mercy. He could handle Toast for the next ten years or so, but this new fellow’s intrusion would. Not. Stand! He would protect this fragile paradise he had cultivated with his best big eyes and his softest head bumps. And he would never again be cast out like trash!

He leapt onto the counter (who cared—there was no human around to see it and he did it all night anyway). The tank that had loomed above them looked smaller now, its water clear but darkened with plants and those drab little stones along its bottom. Almost sad. But the milky shape in the water swam right up to the side, its face fixed in a pleasant, mild grin. A small hand touched the glass—so much like the Human’s. Was that why he’d gotten it? Because it was like him in ways Mittens and Toast weren’t? Mittens shook the insecurity out of himself. He needed intel.

He wandered around for less than a minute before he found a small paperback with a glossy yellow cover. It seemed to be some instruction manual, with an image of the…fish-plant on it. It read: “How To Care For Your Axolotl.”

Excited, he called down from the counter. “Toast! It’s called a—“ an Ax-oh-lot…el? “An—an AXOLOTL!”

Toast forgot the fear that had gripped her a second ago. Her excited energy drove her in circles, barking all the way: “Oh wow! An Axolotl! Axolotl! Axolotl! What’s he like? What are they? Are they fish or plants? Oh wow, an Axolotl!”

Mittens ignored the frantic display, knowing it would last for at least a minute no matter what he did. He flipped open the book in a chunk of pages and began to read. His Human dialect was rusty, but the words flowed easily.

An axolotl, it seemed, was an amphibian; a salamander native to the area round Lake Xochimilco in Mexico. They were known for their bright pink gills and pleasant faces. Apparently they were quite the fad.

He read the information again, to Toast.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. “A…fad. That’s that thing that only lasts for short time, right? That thing that lots of humans like? So…Human will get rid of it soon, right? Because it will tire him. And…and we can stay!”

Mittens considered. It was possible. But the Human had liked the same foreign cartoons since high school ten years ago. That seemed like a long time to like one thing.

“Maybe, maybe not, Toast. It says here the axolotl is rather easy to care for once properly housed and fed.” He added under his breath, “apparently quite friendly, too.”

Toast’s tail slumped. She sighed and hefted down onto the floor. “Then maybe we will be replaced. The Human is getting bored of us.”

Mittens had to confess to feeling depressed as well. Oh, he’d seen this film before. And he didn’t like the ending. He flopped down onto his stomach, and prepared to say goodbye to the sweetest gig he’d had in years. He felt…oddly sentimental about it. Something was filling him with warm feelings. And he felt like speaking.

“You know, Toast,” he began, “it’s been a hell of a ride. And I can’t say I like dogs all that much, but you were—“ he stopped, hearing the turning of keys in the door. Saved by the bell. The Traitor was home.