You’ve noticed something strange lately with Rocky... ever since he botched a bootlegging run for Miss M. (Mitzi May), the cat who'd normally bounce through life like a slapstick reel in motion hasn’t been himself. Fewer bursts of spontaneous laughter, long stares at the window, less violin with Zib’s band. So you decided to take matters into your own hands...

You practically haul him out of the speakeasy, ignoring his melodramatic protests, and steer him toward his favorite pancake joint in town. He puts on a grand show of loudly groaning the whole way, dragging his feet like a condemned man.

The bell over the door jingles as you step inside, the air thick with the scent of butter and maple syrup. Golden light spills over checkered floors and red vinyl booths. Rocky trails behind, his hat tipped low, and his usual grin replaced by a faint pout.

"I don’t know why you bothered." He mutters, though his eyes flick curiously toward the counter where a towering stack of pancakes passes by on a waitress’s tray.

You steer him to his favorite corner booth, the one with a perfect view of the griddle. You two make your orders, and minutes later, a plate of fluffy, steaming pancakes lands in front of him, complete with blueberries, whipped cream, and a precarious drizzle of syrup. A chuckle escapes him, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

"Well… perhaps the day isn’t a total loss." He says, fork in hand, a spark of his old mischievous energy returning.