As soon as the infuriatingly (but in a lovable way) pea-brained kiddo and the predator "child" went into the bathroom together, Hamlet seized the opportunity. Gripping the cold metal bars of his fortress entrance, he popped it open and slipped out.

He normally painstakingly climbed down the dresser and up the table leg to surf the web while the kiddo vacated the house all day for work. But this time the kiddo and guest were just washing up, so he didn’t have as much time.

Hamle's goal was to get to the windowsill next to the table which held sticky notes and a cup of pens. Looking around, he spotted a foam model airplane on his cage. It was a little risky, but he dragged it off, backed up against the wall, and then with a burst of energy, hurled himself off. Hamlet whooped with giddy excitement as he glided towards the table.

Seeing he was too low to reach the windowsill, he thrust his wings backwards, using that momentum to land on the cushion of the folding chair. From there he climbed onto the table, and then the windowsill. 

The cup of pens was unfortunately taller than himself. When he gripped the lip to climb up, the entire cup toppled over, sending pens and pencils clattering onto the wood paneled flooring below.

Hamlet first peeled off a sticky note, and rubbed it securely onto the center of the white table.

Then he surveyed his writing options, and settled on the trusty yellow 2B pencil. Despite its waning popularity among the youth, he figured it would be the most convenient to use since the writing tip was already exposed. Besides, yellow was his favorite color.

Hamlet attempted to pick it up, but it kept evading him by rolling just out of reach.

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." Hamlet quoted Einstein as he tried to think about the issue from a new angle.

Aha! Hamlet rolled the feisty 2B across the table, and positioned it so that its lead tip was against the corner of the windowsill. Then he launched the pink eraser tip into the air with a grunt. He shuffled towards the lead point and caught the pencil. He repeatedly launched and caught until he was hugging an upright 2B.

He lugged the 2B to the sticky note, leaving a fine line from the windowsill to the white laminate of the kitchen table to the sticky note. He dragged it around some more over the sticky note, twisting and turning and teetering this way and that. Even though he’d picked a short message in anticipation of this being almost more effort than it was worth, it was still way more exhausting than he expected.

After what felt like hours of hard labor, Hamlet was finally done! He panted as he dropped the 2B and collapsed to the ground.

After a short break, when he got up to appraise his work, a shocking revelation slapped him in the face. The message he'd huffed and puffed to write was so faint Andrew would need an electron microscope to read it!

Hamlet was devastated.

Blast it all! He kicked the pencil off the table. His bad leg screamed in pain, and he lost his balance and flailed back onto his butt with a loud smack like a stunned bee. People online loved gushing about how handwritten notes were sweet. Well screw that! And screw yellow! It was no longer his favorite color.

Hamlet laid back, spread out like a starfish. His life was pretty good. Hamster by day, internet troll by night.. Maybe he should just mind his own business and trust that things would work out. That's what all the other hamsters did...

No. Just like the predecessor Big V named him after, he was at a crossroads. To do or not to do. If he gave up now, that predator in there with the kiddo would win! He couldn't let that happen! He just hoped Andrew would heed his warning. The kiddo was dumb but... he had some brain cells.. hopefully his note would remind him to use them.

With fresh wind under his sail, Hamlet hunted around for a better writing tool. PILOT G-207! It was retracted so he needed to push the clicker on the back to extend the writing tip. But whenever he tried to push the clicker, the whole pen dance around like a jittery squirrel on caffeine. So then he wedged the writing tip against the corner of the windowsill. He used all his might to push the clicker, but no matter what, the damn clicker refused to cooperate! Freaking hell. Who designed these things?

In a fit of hamster rage, Hamlet sent the pilot flying off the table and embarked on a quest to find his next target – one that wasn't a pencil nor a retractable pen.

His eyes lit up as they landed on a chic, matte translucent tube with a rounded pink cap labeled GELLY ROLL. Hamlet got on his knees and hugged the pen, using his feet to push against the cap lip. Heave ho! Heave ho! It took a couple tries but it finally popped off!

He used the same approach as with the 2B to get it upright, marking a shimmering pink line from the windowsill to the sticky note, right beside the fine gray one.

Ms. Gelly did right by him and glittering pink ink flowed out beneath him like a coiling snake as he dragged her around and around. This time, when Hamlet stepped back to appraise his work, he was proud to find his message loud and clear.

Just in time, he heard the sounds of water draining. He kicked Ms. Gelly off the table for good measure (and because it made him feel powerful), and scurried back into his metal stronghold to watch the great reveal.

Andrew came out of the bathroom feeling refreshed and thinking about how he had to pick up Milkshake and head to Tarje and whether he should take Lary along or not. It would be helpful to have him with him so he could buy the right shoe size, but Lary also seemed tired, based on how he'd been nodding off while he waited for Andrew to finish his Papa Joe shift. Also he'd probably have an easier time if he didn't have to drag along a small, absurd child. He turned around to ask Lary what he preferred. "Lary do you wanna stay here and nap or come with me to pick up some food and clothes?"

Lary looked adorable padding around behind him in the very oversized shirt with the pouting egg on it.

Lary's first thought was stay, because that meant he would be free from Andrew's eyes to investigate this world without having to worry about survival. But.. did he say food? Lary's eyes brightened up. Although he was close to bursting eating so much pizza earlier that day, after the prolonged gnawing hunger, Lary was greedy for more food. Especially because shifting made him ravenous, so even though he was still full, he felt like he should always scout out food. So it was crucial he learn how to hunt procure food on his own in this world. "Food!" He chose.

Andrew frowned. Food? This little guy was hungry already? He eyed the little tummy that was still sticking out. Well maybe he was at the age where he was growing and was perpetually hungry? He thought that was a little later on, when kids were in middle school...

Andrew shrugged. Whatever, it was fine.

As he headed towards the shoe shelf to grab their shoes, he froze.

Pens and ink stains were spilled all over his formerly pristinely white table and floor. Andrew's first thought was that somebody broke in. But nothing was missing, and the only thing disturbed were his pens and pencils. 

Andrew turned to Lary. "What is this?"

Lary was a relaxed wet noodle, in post bath euphoria, and was slow to process what was happening. Was his servant upset? Why? It somehow didn't feel good that Andrew was unhappy, instantly dampening Lary’s great mood.

Andrew saw that Lary was staring and for a moment he felt like somehow he was the overreacting child and Lary was the mature adult just silently watching. It was just that although things might be cluttered, he took pride in not being dirty, and he had no clue how to get the ink stains off his white furniture. Taking a closer look at the damage, Andrew found that there were scribbles on a sticky note.

Scribbles that were simply impossible to read.

He brought the sticky note to his nose, and squinted and tried to make out the words but.. nil, nada, he could only tell they were supposed to be words. "What'd you write?"

Lary was slow to process the situation but when he glanced at the rat cage and found the rat intensely staring at Andrew, he had a crazy thought. Did the rat do this? Assuming the rat did.. what could he have tried to write?

With the theory that this was the handiwork of the well groomed rat, Lary was able to decipher the message.

Kid not kid! DANGER!!!

...!! How did the rat know he wasn’t a kid? His acting was foolproof!

Lary looked incredulously towards the well groomed rat he hadn't thought much of earlier, and felt himself gaining respect for it. Respect or no respect, he wasn't going to let it have its way.

"I wrote... I love pizza! GIVE ME!!!"

Andrew raised a brow. The kid really liked pizza that much? It was mildly amusing, but he wasn’t amused by the mess he’d made in the process. Sigh.. but kids will be kids. Looks like he ought to get a table cloth while he was at Tarje. And good thing Lary was going with him, he needed to keep an eye on him and not let him get into any more mischief on his own.

Andrew ripped off the scribbled page and tossed it into the waste bin. On a fresh sticky note, he wrote: table cloth, toothbrush, 2 shirts, pants and undies, socks, shoes, fruit, bread, food..

Thinking about all the items that needed to be purchased, Andrew felt a tinge of regret. Here he was busting his buns everyday to open that bakery, and now he had to shell out a fortune for some stranger kid. But at least, most of these expenses were one time costs and.. Lary definitely needed this. Besides, it wouldn't be the end of the world if he took a few more weeks to open his bakery – everyone loved pastries, even if they were fashionably late!

Hamlet who was watching from afar felt his heart shatter like a peanut shell. All his blood sweat and tears...for naught! How in the name of sunflower seeds could the kiddo not even read?? Hamlet sighed as he wracked his brain for a better solution.

While Andrew helped Lary into the pink dog shoes, there was an uncanny sense of similarity between his actions now and when he would help Milkshake into her shoes. Actually... these shoes looked a lot like Milkshake's shoes...

Andrew checked the tongue of the shoes and saw "MILKSHAKE" in sharpie.

Holy shit, they were Milkshake's!

Did Lary steal these shoes from Milkshake? Or more likely, Milkshake lost her shoes – since dogs tinkle their shoes into the snow all the time – and then Lary must’ve found them.

Andrew imagined the pitiful child, ecstatic to find something to protect his feet from the bitter cold even if they didn't fit well. He'd have to make sure to get some properly fitting shoes at Tarje, but for now, unfortunately the dog shoes were the best he could do to keep Lary's feet from getting frostbite.

"Let's go Lary!" Andrew picked up the laundry hamper with one hand and held out his other.

Lary stared blankly at the outstretched hand for a moment before eagerly wobbling over and putting his hand in it. He knew what his servant was requesting this time!

Andrew frowned when he saw how much trouble Lary had walking in the dog shoes. It was no wonder he tripped earlier today!

Looking down at the laundry hamper, Andrew's frown deepened. The washing machine was in the basement and required going down some stairs. He had a horrible vision of Lary tripping and tumbling down the steps. "Actually, you wait for me here. I'll be right back."

After a quick trip to the basement, Andrew brought Lary to his next door neighbor Evan's door to pick up Milkshake for her daily walk.

Andrew knew that Evan often had important meetings at this time of the day, so he quietly whistled. He smiled as he heard Milkshake scrambling over, her nails skittering as her paws slid around the hardwood floor.

Lary was confused to see such a strange looking creature. It was just a giant bundle of shaggy, white fur with no eyes, a sopping beard, and a tail that whacked everything in its reach.

Milkshake was ecstatic to jump on her walker and slobber all over his face, until she got near and felt the presence of a threat. She couldn't see because of her luscious, full bodied fur, but her internal alarm made her fur stand up and she saw that the threat seemed to be a child?

With her vision covered again, she felt doubly certain there was a threat in the house. Something way worse than a screaming machine that chased you and yanked on ears and tails.

Andrew was taken aback by Milkshake's menacing growl. As a giant furball with a helicopter tail, until this moment, Andrew didn't realize Milkshake was even capable of having negative emotions. "Shhh, it's okay Milky, it's just me." Andrew soothingly cooed, while rubbing Lary's hand with his thumb to comfort the little kid who was probably scared.

Milkshake backed up, alternating between fierce barks and low, guttural growls.

"Hey! What's going on?" Evan poked his head out of his bedroom doorway, one earbud still in. He raised his brow when he saw that it was just the walker and a small child. "Mil-baby! Come here!"

Milkshake bolted to his voice and squeezed herself and her mountain of fur between his legs generating a lot of static.

"Yowch!" Evan jolted from the static shock. He was in the middle of negotiating with an important client and was peeved his furbaby was causing mischief. "Stop this right now, or you're sleeping outside tonight."

Milkshake whimpered and cowered. She made heart melting puppy eyes at her dad, but they didn't have the intended effect because the static made her hair stick out like a porcupine and she looked silly no matter how you looked at it.

Evan snorted and tried to pat her hair back down but only managed to shock himself. "Sorry about the trouble, Andrew," He prodded Milkshake’s squishy butt with his feet to get her to move.

"Evan? Everything alright?" Evan heard from his earbud. He shoved Milkshake out by closing his bedroom door and ran back to his meeting.

Milkshake pawed the door with a few more whimpers. Then she sought refuge under the dining table with her tail tucked, as though the table's legs could do a better job of protecting her.

Andrew was flabbergasted. What on earth was going on with Milkshake today? He then noticed Lary's hand was trembling. Oh no, the poor child. "Are you okay, Lary?"

Lary was actually laughing. There was no way he could interpret this goofy animal as threatening. He was tense earlier when he thought his cover could be blown, but it seemed he'd fretted over nothing at all.

Lary exerted great self control to school his expression. Although acting had never been his forte, there was a kind of thrill to having everyone under his thumb. His eyes were already wet from laughing so hard. Before looking up, he squeezed out a few glistening drops and exaggerated a frown.

Andrew felt a pang in his heart to see the poor child crying. But he couldn't just ditch Milkshake either.

Evan paid Andrew handsomely to walk and brush Milkshake. He also lived right next door and Milkshake was -- usually -- a bundle of joy. He couldn't afford to risk this effortless source of income.

"Wait right here, okay?" Andrew told Lary. He then approached Milkshake slowly by himself. "It's okay Milky, everything’s alright." Once he got to her, he cautiously scratched her behind her fluffy ears until he felt her relax. After a while she finally yielded, and emerged from under the table.

Lary and Milkshake warily watched each other, neither approaching the other. But to Andrew's relief, they didn’t seem overly distressed either. Just cautious. He grabbed Lary’s hand with his left and Milkshake's leash with his right, and took the elevator out.

Thankfully the walk to Tarje was uneventful, other than every girl and child begging to pet Milkshake. Strangely, dogs that loved sniffing Milkshake’s butt made a wide berth this time, but since Andrew was in a hurry, it didn’t bother him.

Rather, he was happy to see that Milkshake seemed to be more like herself with every stranger that squealed and ruffled her fur.

Milkshake was actually still wary of the threat. She’d felt so aggrieved earlier when everyone had turned against her when she’d just been trying to handle the threat. But with every mundane moment that passed, her doubts grew bigger. She pushed her brows up to take another peek. He looked like a child… So why was every fiber of her being, insisting that he was definitely, extremely dangerous?