Glamor, Glitter, and Grooming The Story of Angela, the Cub Celebrity Beyond the great gray melancholy of a cold-hearted city, one with a keen ear could listen to the deep, hidden rhythm of urban filth. The homeless, the washed-up and the worthless all sang different tunes, but all of them sang for the same purpose: to live another day. Be it to earn another quarter or stave off the onset of madness, the songs sung by the city’s refuse were simply a part of its culture. Most people tuned them out after a while, too busy with other things to bother stopping to listen to the music of downtrodden humanity. Not Mr. Waters. Mr. Waters had a nose for unique talent. His keen musical senses didn’t always work out in his favor, but when they did, it usually paid off. He had managed to scrape up some talent from all over the world, and he had a decent portfolio. Lately, however, Mr. Waters had been down on his luck. In fact, he was struggling more than he ever had, beginning to fall behind in a fast-paced and volatile industry. He needed a client, and he needed one fast. As his checking account dwindled, his options grew thin. So, he walked the streets of the city, thinking of ways to pull himself out of his situation. Until, finally, he sniffed a spark of hope from the air. Something sweet and beautiful. Amongst the melody of the downtrodden and the hopeless, Mr. Waters’s ears detected a hidden song, tucked away on a backstreet. And so, the talent agent dove into the alleys, briefcase in hand. After weaving through the working class stragglers and the fucked-up cokeheads, Waters caught the scent of a sweet, gentle sound, and tracked it directly to its source. It was an eleven year-old girl; a young feline bundled in old, torn-up clothes and seated against the wall. By the looks of things, the girl had nothing but the clothes on her back, but her hands were drawn to the strings of a guitar, cradling it carefully in her little paws. She drew a chord with her claws, and a strawberry sound filled the agent’s sensitive nostrils. A few passerby tossed change into a small red cup beside her. She had accumulated a decent amount, but it was far from enough to lift her out of poverty. Many questions swam their way through Mr. Waters’s mind. Where were this girl’s parents? Why wasn’t she in a foster home? How had she not been kidnapped yet? How had other youth agents not scooped her up? It seemed too easy. Before anything else, Mr. Waters needed information. He knew that he had a golden opportunity on his hands: a little potential moneymaker that he couldn’t just let go. A rubber-band bound roll of twenty-dollar bills landed in the girl’s cup, and she looked up at the man that had just deposited it. A dog - and a strange one, at that - peered down at her. He wore a goofy-looking trench-coat over his fancy button-up and tie, and he had his hands in his pockets, looking down at the girl with an odd gleam in his eye. “Okay, McGruff,” she sighed. “What’s the catch?” Mr. Waters wrinkled his nose. “McGruff? Never heard that one before.” “But you wear a trench coat…” “It was sarcasm. And there’s no catch. You’re a talented kitty.” “Well, thanks.” She stopped playing and picked up the roll of twenties, her slight, demeaning scowl softening as she counted more and more individual bills. “Are you rich?” “Not very.” “Aren’t you gonna ask me a bunch of questions?” She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Like where my parents are?” “It’s not important. I’m curious about how you’re not in foster care, though.” “I ran away.” The girl smirked and picked up her guitar, a prideful look on her face as she struck another chord. “That’s very brave of you. But you know it’s dangerous out here.” “I know how to keep weirdos like you away.” She tapped her claws rhythmically on the body of the guitar, reminding Mr. Waters that she was, in fact, a feline, equipped with claws designed for the gouging of eyes and the ripping of throats. “Fair enough. Do you have a name?” She paused. “Mmmmm...nope.” Then she kept playing, a mischievous smile on her face. “Alright then, Miss Nope.” Mr. Waters crouched down to her level, and she drew back somewhat, her tail beginning to puff up. “Have you had guys approach you like this before?” “A couple times. They did the same thing you did. Put money in my cup. The last guy left more.” Mr. Waters pulled another roll of twenties out of his wallet. “And what did they want?” “To touch my junk. So I ran away. With their money.” “Heheheh. Smart girl.” Mr. Waters laughed and shook his head. “Well, you’re free to take the money and run.” He dropped the stack of twenties into the girl’s cup, and then he stood up, putting his hands back in his pockets. “Are you gonna keep putting money in the cup if I stay?” “Most likely, yes.” The girl stopped playing again and squinted at the old dog, obviously scanning his expression for a shred of conceit or an ulterior motive. “What do you want?” she hissed. “I’m a talent agent. I find jobs for actors and musicians. People with lots of potential.” Mr. Waters looked the kitty up and down. “My parents told me about people like you. I wanted to be a musician and they told me kids don’t live good lives in the entertainment industry.” “Plenty of child actors have agents that trick them into signing up to get only a fraction of what they actually earn.” Mr. Waters gestured towards the cup, now full of pristine twenty-dollar bills. “Most of those agents get rich by playing dirty. Which is why I’m not particularly rich.” “You look rich.” She picked up the cup and sifted through the money laid inside. How much money is this?” “Four hundred dollars. Not counting what you’ve already earned.” The girl’s ears perked up, and her tail flicked to and fro as she stared at the strange man. “I don’t know if I can trust you.” “Well, your tail certainly says otherwise.” She almost blushed as she took notice of her errant appendage, quickly tucking it out of sight behind her. “Look, girl. You’ve got more talent than most. Your music’s so good I can smell it from across the block.” He raised an eyebrow at her as he continued. “Whether you play for money, or expression, or out of sheer boredom, there’s a place for your talent. Someone’ll wanna see you perform.” He reached into his trench coat and pulled a business card from one of the inside pockets, presenting it to the little feline. “The name’s Mr. Waters. Here’s my card. When you wanna stop contracting mange and start getting contracted, call me.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the mysterious kid with a fat stack of cash and, hopefully, a chance for a better future. “Hey, mister! Wait!” Mr. Waters smiled. Just as planned. He turned to address her as she rushed up to meet him. “What, kid?” “I don’t have a place to live.” “You can live at my place for the time being.” Mr. Waters folded his arms. “Unless you want me to hook you up with some foster parents?” The girl stuck out her tongue. “Foster parents suck.” “My place it is, then. You won’t regret it.” He fished his car keys out of his pocket and took them in hand. “What’s your name, kid?” “Angela. My name’s Angela.” Chapter One: Warm and Dry “Oh, wow...I expected it to be a lot smaller…” “Told you. It’s a nice apartment.” Mr. Waters held the door open for the little feline, hanging his coat up on the rack as she walked in, her arms hugged tight to her chest. “Make yourself at home.” “Really?” She stepped carefully into the foyer, and her shiny little eyes widened into astounded dinner plates as she scanned the house. Mr. Waters’ living room was a spacious social chamber with a very high ceiling. The furniture was neither gaudy nor garish; calm, sensible tones and deliberately-organized decor suggested the work of a competent interior designer. It was more old-fashioned than modern, abandoning the usual minimalist style for a subtle hint of art deco. Mr. Waters could tell, by the look on Angela’s face, that it captivated her. This was probably the fanciest home this girl had ever seen, even though it was a bit on the small side. “Certainly. There are a few rules, however.” Angela shot him an icy glare. “Relax. They’re simple and easy to follow. Rule #1: Don’t break my shit.” He made his way into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. “You like soda?” “Do you have Sprite?” “Of course I do.” Mr. Waters pulled a can from the depths of the fridge and dropped it into Angela’s paws. “Rule #2: No cussing.” Her jaw dropped, and she scoffed. “Why not?” “Let me be more specific. No cussing in public. If we manage to get you a contract, you need to keep your mouth clean.” Angela smiled and nodded as she struggled to pry open her soda. “Okay, asshole.” “Oh, you’re just a treat.” He chuckled and walked to the window, drawing the curtain aside to reveal a gorgeous sunset beyond the skyline. “And that’s about it. If you have to use the phone, ask me. And there’s food in the fridge.” He took the soda from her little paws and opened it for her before returning it to her. “Where do I sleep?” She asked. He pointed to the couch, and she frowned. “I don’t have another bedroom. Hopefully you won’t be here long enough for me to need to install one.” He could see the disappointment in her eyes as she stared up at him, and he sighed. “...Or you can take the master bedroom.” She giggled and jumped slightly, a bright smile returning to her face once more. “Thank you, mister.” “Yeah, whatever.” He chuckled and shook his head. It didn’t matter; it would all be worth it in the end. She was gonna make him tons of money; There was no harm in keeping her out of the rain for a month or two. He watched as she scurried down the hall, now even more ecstatic than before as she scanned each room, fawning over the spotless bathroom and the warm, comfy bedroom. He heard a flumf as she dove onto his bed. Yeah, she was certainly getting comfortable. That was fine. He took a seat on the couch and pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through the videos he’d taken of her street performance. There were entire minutes of footage, and a little post-processing would make the videos a suitable advertisement for the girl’s incredible talent. It was not common for a girl so young to show so much potential, and her tragic backstory was merely icing on the cake. This little kitty was a gold mine. “Hey, mister.” “That’s Mr. Waters to you.” The old dog looked up from his phone to regard the girl. “Now what…” She’d donned a blue dress, no doubt pulled from the depths of the walk-in closet. It barely stopped at her thighs, showing off a lot more leg than Mr. Waters ever thought he would end up seeing, and much to his shock, she looked...good...aside from the mange and matting, of course. The dress belonged to his ex before he kicked her out for cheating on him. Seeing this girl wearing it...a twinge of regret curled his stomach. Not because she was a threat or anything, but because, upon closer inspection, she looked remarkably like his ex. “Whose clothes are these?” she mewled. “Mmm. Technically mine, because I paid for them.” He stood up and walked past her, trying not to look at her as he made his way back into the kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge. “But they were worn by my ex. Long, sad story you probably don’t want to hear. The bottom line is, you’re welcome to wear anything in the closet.” “Uhhh...anything?” “Yes, anything.” He paused to think for a moment. There was a box of thongs on the top shelf of the walk-in closet, but surely she wasn’t tall enough to reach those... “Mmmm, okay. How do I look?” She stood before him and posed, her figure suddenly taking an uncanny resemblance to the models that covered magazines the world over. Mr. Waters coughed. He looked her up and down, and he nodded. “You look like you need a damn bath. And maybe some dewormer.” She scoffed, breaking out of her pose to glare at him. “Aside from that? You look like a talented young actress. Or a musician going to accept her music award.” She huffed and folded her arms, though she cracked a slight smile through her pouting. “You think so?” “You’ve got what it takes, kiddo.” He took a sip of his soda and set the bottle on the counter top. “We’ll talk paperwork and shit tomorrow. Tonight? Just get some rest. But you better get a bath.” “I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes and wandered down the hall. “I’ll take one in a minute.” Mr. Waters sighed and shook his head. Well, at least he didn’t have to buy her any clothes. At least, not right off the bat. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her wearing those clothes, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He walked over to the closet in the living room and pulled it open. Inside, hidden in the dark, was a safe. He input the combination and pulled the secure container open, placing his keys and his wallet inside, right next to the imposing barrel of his dad’s old revolver. He shut the safe, leaving his belongings locked within. Dinner was hot pizza, delivered fresh from a local pizzeria. Angela had a big smile on her face and a perfect lavender aroma in her fur as she came down the hall, fresh out of the bath. She was dressed in a violet t-shirt and fluffy black pajama shorts. The phrase “dick appointment shorts” crossed Mr. Waters’ mind for a split second before he banished it. “We got pepperoni and supreme.” “Mmmm. Looks good!” She opened a box, and her jaws dropped at the steaming altar of cheese and meat placed before her, revealing rows of hungry white daggers. Without hesitation, she reached her grimy little paws into the box, and Mr. Waters grabbed her by the wrist. “Plate.” He handed her a paper plate. “And sit at the table.” The girl rolled her eyes. Begrudgingly, she approached the pizza with a bit more dignity, picking the slice up carefully and laying it on the plate with one elegant paw. “So where’s your ex?” Mr. Waters had a faceful of pizza at the moment; he’d devoured an entire slice of supreme at once, dropping it into his gaping maw and chewing it violently. Her question took him off guard. He stopped chewing momentarily, taking a second to look at her. Why did she care? He swallowed his food, and then wiped his nose clean with a napkin. “Like I said. It’s a long, sad story.” “I wanna hear your long, sad story.” “Huh.” He looked away from her, glancing towards the front door. The last place he ever saw her. “Well, she was a bad woman. But, like a fool, I happened to enjoy the idea of a...bad woman.” “Did she kill people or something?” “No, nothing like that,” he laughed. “Do you know what a gold digger is?’ Angela nodded. “There you go. She was with me so that I could buy her lots of things. In the end, she cheated on me, and I kicked her out. Simple as that.” It wasn’t that simple. But he didn’t feel like going into detail. “Mmmmm.” Angela took another bite of pizza, looking at the dog quizzically. “What was she like?” “About as tall as you. But she was twenty,” he lied through his teeth. “Was she pretty?” “Mmm, yeah.” He chuckled and took a swig of his soda. “Way uglier than you, though.” She smiled, turning a little to look at herself in the reflection of the window. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” It was getting dark. Angela was clean and out of the rain. Things were looking promising for Mr. Waters’ wallet. It was now a matter of getting her a job. She wouldn’t be freeloading for much longer. But now, he was tired. He turned on the television and put on some cartoons, and the girl was happy to climb onto the couch and lounge about for a few hours. It would keep her occupied while Mr. Waters had a text conversation with one of his most trusted colleagues. Eugene Waters You won’t believe who I found today. John Clementine Let me guess. Lola Bunny Eugene Waters Not quite. I found a kitty. John Clementine Well well well. i didnt take you for a pussy enthusiast Thought you preferred bunnies Eugene Waters A client, John. Not a booty call. John Clementine Those are supposed to be two different things? Lmao Eugene Waters She’s twelve. John Clementine And just like that this conversation has become weird Explain Eugene Waters I picked her up off the street. She’s really good. Look. (1 Media Attachment) John Clementine Oh shit you weren’t kidding Yeah she’s definitely good money, I bet you could smell that music from a mile away Eugene Waters It was like strawberries. For some reason. John Clementine Lmao that’s cool Ive always wondered what it would be like to have synesthesia Eugene Waters Considering it’s impossible to describe qualia to another person, there’s not much of a point in me trying to explain it. The point is, she could use a mentor. John Clementine I will see if i have room in my schedule for her “Who ya textin?” Mr. Waters looked up to see a little white kitten with a wide-eyed stare, her tail waving mischievously in the air as she approached him from the other side of the couch. “Just a colleague of mine. Grown-up stuff.” He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “But, I think it’s bedtime.” “Huh? No way.” She folded her arms and turned her nose to the ceiling. “You’re not my dad! And even if you were, I wouldn’t freaking listen to you.” “Angela, you need to be well-rested for tomorrow. We’ll be sorting out paperwork. I’ve already got you signed up for a professional guitar tutor.” Her ears perked up, and she turned her attention back towards the old dog. “Really?” Mr. Waters nodded as he rose to his feet. “You’ll be meeting him soon. You’re very talented already, but i’m sure you know that there’s more to learn.” “Is he nice?” “He’s harmless.” He glanced off to the side, taking a moment to remember a time when Clementine once entered a high school talent show while engulfed completely in flames. Needless to say, he won that talent show, but it highlighted what a wild card he tended to be. Still, Mr. Waters was sure he wouldn’t be much trouble. “You’ll get along great with him.” Angela pressed a claw to her chin, thinking carefully for a moment. Then, she shrugged. “Okay. But you have to carry me to bed.” She swung her knees around and then lifted her shapely little legs in the air, her arms folded in an impatient half-pout. Mr. Waters rolled his eyes. When he went into the entertainment industry this was not what he had in mind. Oh well. The old dog scooped her up in his arms, carrying her bridal-style down the hall. He was a bit shocked at how light she was; even for a malnourished child, Angela was rather petite. She could stand to gain a few pounds, which she would hopefully do over the next few weeks as he kept her fat and happy. He shivered when he felt warm, fuzzy paws on his sturdy neck. Angela didn’t look at him, but Mr. Waters could sense a bit of trust in such a gentle touch. He continued down the hall anyway, amused at the feeling of her little toebeans as she wrapped them around his neck. Finally, he laid her down on the bed. Then, he pulled the blankets up to her chest, covering her up for the night. He was about to take his leave when she called out to him. “Mr. Waters.” He turned to answer her with one raised eyebrow. “Mmm?” “Thanks. For helping me. And stuff.” She pulled the blankets up to cover her face. “You’re welcome. Now go to bed. We’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.” He flicked the light off and then headed back into the living room, where he fell onto the couch cushions and into a deep slumber. Chapter Two: Trust and Joy “Thank you...Eugene.” “For what?” “Hgk!” The fuzzy black bunny bent over in prostration before Mr. Waters made an odd sound as the leash was snapped, choking her momentarily. She managed to wheeze out another sentence before the old dog snapped the leash again. “For pulling me out of the gutter...Hgk!” “And?” “And making me your little girl…” “That’s right. Good girl.” The bunny gasped as Mr. Waters slammed his hips into her rear end, her entire body reeling under the weight of his hot weapon. He pushed her face into the carpet, working a long, gentle moan from the back of her throat with each prodding inch. The moment he’d hilted his tool, the girl finally sang her gratitude, and he could taste the sweet, blackberry noise that dripped from her mouth. It wasn’t enough. The sensations that passed through the old dog’s nose enticed him to wring more music from her body. What better way to do that, he supposed, than with his dick? He chuckled as he pushed himself back inside of her, becoming now the conductor of a sweet and savoury song, each note played to the rhythm of his movements. He took hold of her floppy ears now, yanking her head back to make her wail a sickly sweet soliloquy of pain and pleasure. Thus he kept thrusting, a twisted smile spread across his sharp white teeth as he played her like an instrument of sounds and aromas. He let go of her ears for a moment, and with a chuckle, he summoned a beat from her asscheeks, striking her body over and over again. “Haaah! Oh fuck, harder, mister…” He paused. Then, he turned his gaze upward slightly, to get a view of the bunny he knew and coveted so much. “Mmm, that’s a name you haven’t called me befo…” He trailed off as he made a grab for her long, floppy ears and found that they were no longer there. They had been replaced with pointy, somewhat triangular ones. And they were fluffy and white. In fact, all of her was white. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back to get a look at her face. Instead of his 18 year-old bunny girlfriend, it was Angela that he saw looking back at him, her little face spread into a salacious grin as she pushed against him. “Mister?” “Fuck!” Mr. Waters knocked over a lamp as he woke up and fell off the couch, hitting the tile floor with a painful thud that knocked the wind out of him. “Wow, nice going.” Angela crouched beside him and furrowed her eyebrows. “You have a bad dream?” “Don’t be silly.” He grabbed a pillow off the couch, moving quickly to conceal his erection. “How long have you been standing there?” “Mmm, I just walked in.” She shrugged and took a seat on the couch. “What’s for breakfast?” Mr. Waters stood up and brushed himself off. “French toast. With...blackberries.” Angela folded her arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can cook?” “I’m not a professional. But I'd like to consider myself a decent chef.” “Okay then,” snickered the girl. “Maybe you’ll make something worth eating.” “Or maybe I’ll make you a bowl of cereal instead.” He looked down at her with a stern glare. “Remember your manners.” She frowned. For a moment, she maintained eye contact and glared right back at him. Before long, though, she faltered, averting her gaze. “Please may I have some french toast?” “You certainly can.” He smiled and stood up. “In fact, you can have as much as you like.” He scratched her behind the ears, and they perked up on contact, a great shiver working its way down the entirety of Angela’s spine as she was pet. It was generally rude to pet cats, but the rudeness of it increased as the petting progressed closer to the stomach or the privates. To Angela, the ear scratches were less of a harassment and more of a gentle reminder of Mr. Waters’ authority, and she took it as such. Besides, having an easy source of french toast was certainly enticing. “Do you want powdered sugar?” He called to her. She nodded aggressively from the other side of the kitchen island. It had been a while, and by now, the french toast was nearing completion. Angela’s mouth watered; were she a dog, she would probably be panting. He placed a giant stack of french toast before her, complete with a generous pour of high-quality maple syrup (the good shit), blackberry compote, a heavy sprinkle of powdered sugar, and a scoop of margarine, in that order. “Oh my fucking god,” she whispered. “Bon appétit." He stuck a fork in the fluffy white center of the pile and then moved to make himself a plate of his own. “Are you trying to make me fat?” she whispered. “Oh please. You’ve been on the streets for a while. You could stand to gain a few pounds.” He stacked a few slices of toast on his plate and doused them in syrup before ladling some compote on top. No powdered sugar or butter, though. “This is like getting dessert for breakfast.” She pulled the fork from the mound and took a moment to examine it. “In a very...very good way…” “So dig in then, kiddo.” He chuckled and set his plate down on the counter right across from her. He didn’t have to ask twice. She began to devour the mountainous breakfast tribute laid before her, digging her fork into the toast with delight before transferring it into her open maw. The old hound chuckled and turned his attention to his food. It was good to see her in high spirits. She would need it for the day ahead; there was quite a bit of paperwork to be done. He checked his phone while he ate, and he was pleased to see a text back from Clementine. John Clementine Good news: i got openings for pretty much every monday Including this monday If your kitty’s down for it i can come in today Eugene Waters I’ll get her opinion on it. Thanks for the help, by the way, I really owe you one. John Clementine Its all good man Btw your pussy hit 500k last night Eugene Waters Are you fucking serious? Eugene switched to the Youtube app to check on the video he’d posted. Sure enough, by the grace of the youtube algorithm, Angela’s music had scored five hundred thousand views overnight. “Angela?” She stopped chewing for a second and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Mmmhm?” “Swallow your food, and then...have a look at this.” She gulped down her french toast, clearing her airway. Then, Mr. Waters slid his phone in front of Angela. “I posted your music to youtube last night. And it blew up.” Angela’s jaw dropped open. Time seemed to freeze as every muscle in her body locked into place. “Five hundred thousand?” She whispered. The awe was apparent in her voice; she could never have predicted that her talent would garner such a following. “Seems to be that way, yes.” He took his phone back from Angela and stuffed it into his pocket. “What do you think about that?” “I…” She paused, staring at the counter as she thought about what that really meant. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But-” “FUCK yes!” She squealed in delight and leapt up onto the counter, crying out in joy and waving her tail about. “This is awesome! I fucking love this!” She broke into a fit of giggles as she walked across the countertop, strutting down like a model on a catwalk. “I could be just like Gazelle. Or Kylie Jenner. Or Shane Dawson!” “Ehh, maybe not him.” Mr. Waters scratched at his ears. “But you certainly have the makings of a celebrity musician.” “You think so?” She stopped at the end of the catwalk and turned to push her hips in his direction, flashing him a smile. A bead of sweat rolled down Eugene’s face. She was almost too good at it. “I know so. Now come down and eat your breakfast. This is great news.” Indeed it was. It meant that Angela had already gained a following. It would be a lot easier to get her a job this way; now it was just a matter of building her a little portfolio. Mr. Waters had lots of connections; it was only a matter of time before she would be publishing her own albums, and then Mr. Waters would rake in some serious cash. And then, he could rope her into shittier and shittier contracts until she was just his little cash kitty... Thus, Mr. Waters sent her to brush her teeth and her fur, to get ready for the arrival of Mr. Clementine. She had to look presentable, after all. He was curious to see what her first impression of him would be; though he was a seasoned professional, Clementine was...a bit of an eccentric. Waters had known him since middle school and knew that Clementine never passed up a chance to take a wild risk. Interestingly, though, Clementine was remarkably good at it. Whether he was smarter than he looked, or perhaps he was just lucky, Clementine had lived a very full and exciting life. Never in his life had Mr. Waters followed his example...up until now. “How do I look?” Mr. Waters turned to look at his feline ward, and he very nearly blacked out. A tight pair of black denim shorts fit snugly to her crotch, and a t-shirt managed to cover the rest - though just barely. He could see the outline of one of his ex’s A-cup bras underneath. And as Angela stood before him, awaiting the judgement of her choice of apparel, Mr. Waters turned his gaze downward to find that she was wearing his ex’s black thigh high socks. It had nothing to do with Angela, he thought. It was all about how he was wearing his ex’s clothes. Yeah. “You look fine.” He coughed and averted his eyes. “H-hey, let me show you something real quick.” “What is it?” She followed him, out of the living room and into another hallway. He led her into a different room, separate from all the others, and pulled open the door, inviting her into the chamber within. “This is the sound room,” he explained. “It’s not exactly a professional studio, but no noise gets in or out. Good place to practice.” “Oh...oh my God…” She brought her hands to her mouth, frozen in awe the moment she stepped through the doorway. It was a vast, open room with an array of speakers and expensive sound panels lining the walls, each one backlit with LED lights. The floor was a pristine carpet, and the whole area was well-lit. In the center of the room was… “Guitars, drums, a bunch of microphones and a keyboard.” He shrugged. “If you need more shit, I can buy you more.” She seemed to move into the room with an air of reverence. She was a rather chatty kitten; to see her dumbstruck by the sound room spoke volumes. “If you need help setting anything up, you can always let me know.” He scratched at his ears briefly. “I’ve got a maintenance guy in my contacts, and...ouf!” He felt a weight in his arms: the weight of an elated young feline that pounced haphazardly onto him. Luckily, she was light enough that he didn’t fall. She buried her face in his chest, hugging him tight with her entire body, and when she began to slip, Mr. Waters had to reach down and lift her up by the ass to keep her from falling. She didn’t seem to mind; she was too busy getting his expensive new shirt wet with her tears. “You alright?” he whispered. She looked up at him and whimpered a shaky affirmation, nodding her head erratically. Her tail found its way between his fingers, and it quivered and flickered violently in the air. “I take it you’ve never gotten to work in a studio.” She squished her face against his chest again and clung to him, struggling not to show her tears. Mr. Waters was shocked to see the girl so emotional all of a sudden; She’d been rather guarded around him for some time now, and he supposed that, after seeing the studio, she couldn’t really keep it in any longer. “Thank you…Mr. Waters...” she mewled. “Don’t mention it.” He lifted her up and held her close, letting her have her moment of vulnerability. He figured she needed it after being alone for so long. “And, uh…” “...Call me Eugene.” Chapter Three: The Unusual Tom Cat There came a rapid, obnoxious rapping at the door; the kind that came only from a frequent and somewhat rowdy visitor. Mr. Waters knew the knock; he rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door, calling out to assure Clementine that he was on his way. “Calm down, you mangy creature. I’m coming to the door.” Eugene opened the door; standing on the other side was a lanky orange disaster of a tomcat. His pineapple button-up and shorts were loosely buttoned and tossed into disarray, and the top of his head was an outrageous mess of scarlet fur. “I have no idea how anyone can take you seriously when you go out looking like that,” huffed Eugene. “They don’t. That’s how I get them: They underestimate me, and then I pounce.” The wild feline walked into Eugene’s apartment and immediately went straight for the fridge. “Assuming you can pounce anything with that damned mop.” “Whatever. It’s not like I don’t groom myself.” He plunged his grubby little paws deep into Eugene’s fridge and pulled out a can of Mountain Dew. “I keep my fur trimmed.” “Except for the top of your head.” He rolled his eyes and gave Eugene’s hair a tug. “Ready to meet the girl?” “Yeah, let’s see your pussy, Eugene.” He snickered and took a swig of his soda. “Angela! Come out here.” In came a little white kitty with enormous blue eyes. She turned those eyes onto Clementine as she entered, evidently a little shocked to see another adult - a Tom, no less - in the apartment. “Angela, this is Mr. Clementine.” Eugene gestured for Angela to come closer, and she extended a paw to him, which he took in his own, giving her a firm handshake. “Hi!” She mewled. She flashed a pointy little smile. “Good to meet you in person. This old sap wouldn’t shut up about you.” He punched Eugene in the shoulder, and the old dog shot him an icy glare. She giggled, a faint shade of pink on her fuzzy little cheeks. “All good things, I hope.” “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard you play. You got those magic claws.” Clementine chuckled and took a short walk, pacing around the room as he spoke. “But there’s always more to learn.” Her eyes lit up. “Is that what you’re here for?” “That’s right, kitty.” He stepped up onto the coffee table (much to Eugene’s dismay) and folded his arms. “I teach cats how to make music. I specialize in all the basics.” He pulled something out of his inside shirt pocket and tossed it, letting it flutter into Angela’s grasping claws. It was a polaroid of Jessica Rabbit, in one of her more...provocative outfits. “Is this...Jessica Rabbit?” whispered Angela, a note of reverence in her voice. “She’s known mostly for her voice, but that woman was queen of the ivory keys. It’s just that when men heard her play the piano, they tended to propose to her on the spot.” He raised an eyebrow at Angela. “You wanna know who taught her that?” Angela’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Clementine with an adorable little grin. “Was it you?” “Yep.” He leapt off the coffee table and sauntered over to the counter, picking up his mountain dew again. Eugene swiped the picture of Jessica Rabbit from Angela and took a good, long look at it. “First of all, shame on you for showing Angela this…” He rolled his eyes. “Second of all, how the hell did you even get this picture? Did you…?” “Naah. She hated me.” He snickered and threw his arms up in a shrug. “But a magician never reveals his secrets.” Eugene’s eyebrows furrowed. Oh, yeah. He’d almost forgotten about one of Clementine’s biggest quirks: He was a major pervert. He liked to creep on his students; it was lucky for him that they never found out. Eugene could only imagine what kind of photos Clementine had managed to get over the years. Still, it’s not like he needed to be so voyeurish. He was a handsome tom in his own right and had fucked his students on several occasions. Eugene wasn’t worried about that happening with Angela, though; Clementine was into more...well-endowed women. And the occasional twink, but that was beside the point. “Anyway, let’s get started. Angela, you may lead the way to the studio.” She nodded aggressively, and with a giggle, the little white kitty dashed away, beckoning for the two men to follow her into the studio. For the first time in several months, sweet music echoed through Mr. Waters’ apartment, piercing the melancholy with the smell of succulent strawberry. Claws plucked at lonely strings that hadn’t been touched for a long time. Angela’s talent was obvious, and her progress was rapid; under the tutelage of the strange and eccentric John Clementine, Angela came to understand the gentle nuances of many a song and chord, and Clementine grew fond of Angela quite quickly. “It’s refreshing to teach someone who isn’t a complete fucking beginner.” He smiled and propped his feet up on one of the seats in the sound room, which Eugene disliked. “Sure, seeing their progress is refreshing, but it’s so much easier when I don’t have to go over the basics as often.” He pointed at Angela with one claw. “And you are a natural. A very cute little musician.” The little white feline smiled at him and his antics, her tail flickering happily in the air. “Thank you. It was...really hard, to get this far on my own…” “I fucking bet. You’re very committed to your craft; I'm honestly a little jealous. I would have given up under your conditions.” Clementine flipped through another page of sheet music and presented it to Angela. “Alright, check this out…” Page after page, chord after chord, Eugene watched from afar, propped up against the wall with a smile on his face. She was...happy. So much different from the cat he picked up off the street. She looked like she was having some real fun for the first time in years. He wasn’t sure what put her on the streets in the first place, but it must have been pretty bad for her to choose starvation instead. He coughed, and shook his head. Not that he cared. It didn’t really matter. It just made her easier to manipulate, at the end of the day. As long as she was happy, she wouldn’t ask questions or expect deceit. And that was what Mr. Waters wanted. He’d done it before, after all. For now, it was just a matter of playing the waiting game. As Angela finished her lesson, she and the boys filed out of the sound room and into the living room for some much-needed respite. Since Clementine had nothing on his agenda (his brief stint as a stunt actor recently came to a stop when he fractured his leg during a motorcycle stunt scene), he flopped onto the couch and turned on the television. Angela sat right down next to him, sinking into the couch a little as she got comfortable. “What’s for lunch?” called Clementine. Eugene walked into the kitchen and stuck his tongue out at his orange friend. “You got fifteen bucks to pay for your voracious tuna addiction?” Clementine chuckled and pat his belly. “Mmmmm. Tuna.” “I’ve got some leftover pizza.” He looked into the fridge and frowned. “Should’ve got anchovies now that I think about it…” “Yuck.” Angela scrunched up her nose. “You don’t like fish?” Clementine turned to raise an eyebrow at her, aghast at her apparent seafood aversion. “I prefer red meat.” She folded her arms. “It’s just my preference.” “Hmmm.” Mr. Waters opened his freezer. “Like steak?” “Oh, I love steak.” Angela licked her chops, a great hungry smile spreading across her face. Eugene pulled a pound of hanger steak - the juiciest, most flavorful cut on the cow - out of the freezer and placed it on the counter top. “Good to know. In the meantime, how about some pizza?” “Pizza!” She nodded aggressively. “Give me some pepperoni!” “One for me, please.” Clementine put up a single claw, without looking away from the television. “One? That’s unlike you.” “I meant one whole pizza. What kind of weakling eats a single slice of pizza? Aside from this little pop star, of course.” Clementine chuckled and scratched Angela behind the ears; a gesture she responded fairly well to, leaning happily into his paw. “I should have known. You’re getting three slices, and that’s it.” “Bastard.” Clementine huffed and rolled his eyes. A few minutes later, Eugene came to the couch with the promised pizza: it was just as fresh and crispy as it was when it first came out of the oven. Angela picked up a slice and stared at it in bewilderment. “How is it this good?” She took a bite out of the pizza and raised an eyebrow. “I thought when you microwave pizza it gets soggy.” “Clearly, you don’t own an air fryer,” sneered Clementine. “It’s like a tiny convection oven.” “Ohhh. I didn’t know that was a thing,” whispered Angela. Eugene sat down on Angela’s left, and the little feline found herself sandwiched by two men that were much bigger than her. She didn’t seem to mind much, though; Angela didn’t take up much space herself. “So, how did you two meet, anyway?” inquired Clementine. “She was playing her guitar on the street when I found her,” answered Eugene. Clementine stuffed half a slice of pizza in his face. “Got parents?” He said, with his mouth full. “It’s rude to pry, Clementine,” “No, it’s fine!” Angela cleared her throat. “They died a long time ago. The only family I had left was my aunt, so she took me in.” Eugene raised an eyebrow. Her parents’ death was certainly tragic, but what was more pressing to him was the potential financial implications. “Did you get an inheritance?” The kitten frowned. “Uuuhhhh…” “Did they leave a will?” asked Clementine. He tilted his head at Angela. “I think…” She paused momentarily, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “No, I don’t think so. I think I heard my aunt bitching about it, too.” “Well, that might be good news for you.” Eugene smiled and scratched the underside of Angela’s chin, which she accepted eagerly, a warm purr rolling in her throat as Mr. Waters petted her. “As per the law, all your parents’ assets will be yours once you turn eighteen.” Angela sighed and folded her arms. “That’s six years from now…” “Well, at this rate, you might not need it,” chuckled Clementine. “With the way you’re going, you could be a pop star by the end of the year.” He crammed another slice of pizza into his maw. A gleam of hope and wonder shone in Angela’s eyes, and she sighed wistfully. “I really hope so. That would be…incredible.” She laid her head on Eugene’s shoulder, sending a veritable jolt of electricity through his body on contact. “Thank you for getting me set up and stuff...Eugene…” “Haha...No, don’t thank me.” He laughed nervously. “I’m not nearly as talented as you or Clementine. I just have a few connections.” He wasn’t sure why this girl made him feel so strange. She was so...lively. Fluid and sweet, like a pale white cream. Every time she even moved, it reminded him of that dream he’d had the night before. Surely it was nothing...right? Dreams had no bearing on the conscious desires of the mind. He’d read that somewhere. There was no point in panicking or being weird about it. “Aw, come on, Eugene. You’re talented!” Eugene was lifted from his brief moment of introspection by Angela’s voice; he hadn’t really been paying attention. “Er...in what regard?” “Well, you cook like a fucking wizard,” remarked Clementine. “Mmhm! Oh, Clementine, you should have seen the breakfast Eugene made me!” “Was it the infamous LGBT+ Sandwich? Or the Fourpiece French Toast Tower?” Clementine tilted his head curiously. “You name your dishes?” Angela snickered and punched Eugene playfully on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were such a dork!” “Hey, Clementine named them that, don’t blame me!” They laughed on into the night, celebrating a day of good news, uproarious company, and perfect music, and as he watched, Mr. Waters was sure that Angela laughed and smiled more in this apartment than perhaps she’d ever had. That fact on its own, and the feeling of her head on his shoulder, put a warmth in the old dog’s heart that he hadn’t felt in years.