The compound was Mama Luna's place. Everything at Mama Luna's was cat-themed, from the weathervane spinning on the roof, to the chimes ringing in the breeze, to the porcelain cat mechanically waving its paw.

Puss sharply bent at the waist as he assumed the stance of an average, four-legged cat. Then he knocked at the door.

From the inside, a voice rang out "Now, I done told you health department people, there are no cats here!"

"Uh," Puss cleared his throat. "Meow?"

This was the magic word. The woman -Mama Luna-opened the door.

"Oh! You're not from the health department, are you? No, you're not," Mama Luna said.

She picked Puss up and clutched him close to her chest.

"We better get you inside because, baby, they are always watching"

Mama Luna gently carried Puss into her parlor. It was teeming with stacked bags of kibble and kitty-litter sacks. Puss had never seen anything like it.

"I am Mama Luna. And this is my home. Now it's your home, too. Your forever home," she said, emphasizing the word "forever." True to her word, Mama Luna did take care of Puss.

She dunked him in water and gave him a sudsy bath.

Then she dried him off with a towel and gave him a pair of mittens.

"I bet you've never even had a name," she remarked to Puss.

"But you know what, I have thought of something perfect! I shall call you Pickles!"
Mama Luna held up Puss, now with a leather collar that said "Pickles," to introduce him to the other cats.

"Brother cats! Sister kitties! Meet your new roommate.

She set Puss down and stared at him. "Say hello to your new family!"

Puss watched as the crowd of cats stared at him.

"Meow?" Puss offered.

The cats hissed and covered their mouths, both shocked and offended.

"What, did I say something salty? It's actually my second language," Puss said.

Later that day, Puss needed to use the toilet, so he shimmied into Mama Luna's bathroom and stood on the rim of the toilet, per usual. But then -SPRRRT!-a spray bottle squirted him!
"Oh no, silly Pickles.

This is a person potty. That's your potty," Mama Luna cooed, pointing to a litter box, which was currently being occupied by a cat named Checkers, followed by a horde of waiting cats.

Puss looked at it, feeling dismayed.
"So, this is where dignity goes to die," he said.

It was difficult for Puss to adjust to-er-lap-cat life. For mealtime, Mama Luna ripped open a bag of kibble with her teeth and set out the pellets for everyone to eat.

Puss sniffled the kibble. Was it food? The other cats seemed to think so, but for Puss, absolutely not. Later, when he was sure that Mama Luna wasn't looking, he stood at the stove, ready to make himself a meal. But alas, Mama Luna found him.

She sprayed him with the testy bottle and said, "No cooking." Relaxing wasn't much better.

When Puss found a patch of sunlight to lay in, the horde of other cats surrounded him, wanting to lie in the sun, too.

Puss gazed up toward the ceiling. He felt like a crowded sardine.

On day two at Mama Luna's, Puss decided to do something out of desperation. He tried some of the kibble.

It was crunchy and disgusting, just as he expected. But it was food.

By day three, Puss was miserable and resigned to his fate. He waited for the litter box, just like the other cats.

As the kibble was poured, Puss assimilated and ate it, just like the rest of the colony. His transformation into a fully bearded, scruffy house cat was complete. He was miserable, but alive.

While eating the kibble, Puss noticed a tail next to him wagging quite overzealously. Puss looked up, irritated. He brushed the tail out of his face.

Do you mind? I'm trying to eat here," Puss said. I mean, meow-whatever"

The tail-owner looked up, but it wasn't a cat at all. It was a dog.

A tiny, teacup mutt in a filthy sweater, pretending to be a cat with broom bristles for whiskers and a feather duster for a tail!

"Sorry," the dog said. Then it sunk in. "Oh, oh, oh! You're a talking cat? I'm a talking cat! Let's talk!" Puss sighed.

"I'd rather eat," he said.

"Not a problem!" replied the dog. He took a mouthful of kibble and sputtered, "We can eat and talk at the same time!"

"No hablo Inglés," Puss muttered.

"Hablas Español? Yo también! De donde eres? Te gusta las siestas?"

"I don't speak Spanish either."

"Ha! You're funny," replied the dog.

Puss sighed again. "Okay, good talk." He motioned to walk away, but the dog was too quick. He parted Puss's beard to find the "Pickles" tag.

"Oh, hang on! Pickles? Is that your name? Me, I don't have a name. Or a home . . . so I'm no expert. But you don't look like a Pickles."

Puss knew that the dog must have been adoptable and homeless for some time, but he didn't care. "Well, you don't look like a cat," Puss pointed out.

This made the dog look anxious. "Okay, okay, full disclosure-I'm not a cat. I'm a dog. I live under the porch. It can get a little lonely down there. It's mostly controlled by the rats and the centipedes, but I have my own little corner."

"Congratulations," Puss said.

"I just come up here for the food and the friends." As the dog said that, the cats hissed at him.

"Okay, so, mostly the food. Please don't tell anyone. I need this!"

"I won't tell. I don't care," Puss replied.

"So, you'll keep my secret? A secret between friends?" the dog pleaded.

"Just a secret," said Puss.

"It's funny. Despite all this best-friend bonding, you're still a mystery to me, Pickles. What's your story?"

"My story?" Puss repeated. Of all the things that had happened, this angered him most.

"My story is over!"

The dog considered how dark this was for a second.

Then he came up with a solution to pivot from Puss's dramatics. "Wanna rub my belly?" He sat back on his haunches and slowly hiked up his sweater, revealing a pudgy puppy belly.

"Hard pass," Puss muttered.

The dog told Puss that he needed the practice. He aspired to be a therapy dog one day.

"When people feel bad, they should rub my belly. It'll make them feel better!"

Then, squaring his eyes on Puss, he repeated, "go ahead, rub my belly."

"No.'

"C'mon. Rub it!"

"No. Not happening," Puss hissed.

"Rub it!"

"No. Let me be clear. I don't want to touch your belly. Okay?"

Puss ran up a cat tower and laid down in the hammock. He'd already been humiliated enough.

"Okey doke. So, what do you want?" the dog asked.

Puss kicked off his bottom booties as he settled into the hammock.

What did he want? He couldn't go back to being the legend he once was, but perhaps Puss couldn't resign himself to this fate as well as he thought he could.

Was this really all that was left for him?
Finally, Puss said simply.

"I want to be left alone." The dog curled up at the base of the cat tower.

Back in Del Mar, the Three Bears Crime Family would prove an obstacle for Puss's plans.

They had heard of the fight with the sleeping giant and came because they had business with the legendary feline.

The three bears - Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear-lumbered through the streets searching for Puss.

Atop Mama Bear rode a blond-haired girl holding a big shepherd's staff: Goldilocks.

"You got the scent?" Goldilocks asked Mama Bear.

She was looking at the footprints of a chicken, but they seemed too small.

And then she saw a massive footprint from the giant, but that seemed too big.

Finally, Goldilocks squared in on some of Puss's boot prints. She added it suspiciously.

"But these ones . .. these ones are just right."

Goldilocks and the three bears went to track that cat.