Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Named Mochi

Morning hit me like a chew toy to the face.

Literally. Someone tossed one into my cage. I flinched so hard I bit my own tongue.

“Cute,” I muttered—or rather, made a soft disgruntled growl that sounded like an old radiator.

The shelter buzzed with noise. Barking, mopping, clattering bowls. Dogs stretching, yawning, peeing on things they shouldn't. Somewhere nearby, a golden retriever was trying to eat the wall.

And then I heard her.

“Mom, wait—that one. That one! The soft, weird-looking one!”

I pressed my face against the bars as two humans came into view. One was a woman with tired eyes and a clipboard. The other was small, with sparkly shoes and wild hair in two tiny buns.

She looked about eight.

She looked at me like I was a treasure chest.

“His face is all smushed and serious,” she said. “I love him.”

“That one?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

The girl nodded solemnly.

“Completely.”

The cage door creaked open.

What. Was. Happening.

“Come on, boy,” the volunteer coaxed, patting her leg. “Let’s meet your new family.”

I backed up.

No thanks.

I didn’t do “new families.” I didn’t do kids. I didn’t do—treats?

She held one out.

I sniffed. Against my will. My stomach growled.

Fine. Bribery works.

I stepped forward, cautiously, and she giggled.

“See? He’s perfect. He’s like a mochi ball. All squishy.”

She turned to the woman—her mom, probably—and declared with absolute finality:

“I’m naming him Mochi.”

No.

Absolutely not.

I was Larry Montgomery, tax-paying, bad-attitude-having, coffee-guzzling, miserable adult.

Not... a dessert.

“You hear that?” the mom smiled weakly. “Mochi it is.”

The clipboard scribbled my new fate.

I glanced back at my cage—at Barkus.

He was lounging like a Roman emperor on his tattered blanket, licking his paw with dignified flair.

“So it begins,” he said.

“What begins?” I barked softly, barely able to control my tail (which, traitorously, was wagging).

“Your journey. Your sentence. Your enlightenment. Or, you know, maybe just years of belly rubs and awkward sweaters. Hard to say.”

I looked at him. The pug I had known for less than a day... but who somehow understood everything better than I did.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “You’re soft. That’s a good start.”

And then he raised one paw in the air, dramatically.

“Farewell, Mochi. May your fleas be few and your snacks be many.”

The shelter door opened. Light poured in.

The leash tugged gently.

I stepped forward.

Not because I wanted to.

But because the little girl holding it looked like someone who hadn’t smiled like this in a long time.

As the door closed behind me, I heard Barkus yell one last thing:

“Tell the humans I demand tuna at my next feast!”

And just like that, I left my cage, my dignity, and Cleopatra the pug behind.

I was no longer Larry.

I was Mochi.

And I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

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