Monty was, once again, hungry. As usual.

He’d been able to piece together scraps from the cafe dumpster (french fries, chicken bones… yum…) but the gray-furred feline’s belly being the bottomless pit it was, he was rarely ever satisfied. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but when the pickings were so slim, sometimes he had to be choosy. Still, he made do; strays always did. Plus, ever since he left Smokey’s gang three years ago (whatever happened to him, anyway?), it meant he didn’t have to split his share every which way with other cats.

New York was like the mecca for treats where you could find them, even if he had some days where it was a bust. But hey, as long as his ribs weren’t showing (and they definitely weren’t), he knew he was alright. He wasn’t called Monty the Mouth for nothing.

…And then there were days where he had to fall back on old habits, which basically amounted to him barreling towards the Littles’ house – home of his best buddy, Snowbell – to see if there were any leftovers he could get a piece of without getting caught by his masters… again.

For all intents and purposes, he should be bitter about being left behind by Snowbell in favor of that mouse (Stuart, was it?) and getting dumped into the drink as a result… but hey, bygones were bygones. Besides, he was happy to turn over a new leaf without Smokey breathing down his neck (seriously, where was he?). Maybe it was because Snowbell was his best chance at a full belly tonight, or maybe… he knew what Smokey was doing was wrong, and it took him too long to realize it.

He was leaning towards the former, though.

As he crept along the side streets leading to the Littles’ residence, he made sure that he kept out of sight of Snowbell’s masters – one wrong sniff and he was getting the boot. Once he got to the window, he pressed his forepaws against the glass in a standard feline begging gesture, looking around for any sign of the fluffy white Persian cat.

“Snowbell! Snowbell, you in there? Lemme in, I’m hungry! I know they fed you recently! C’mon, you’ve gotta have something in your bowl! I’ll even take meatloaf!” he all but pleaded in that almost whiny tone, pacing back and forth on the windowsill, his olive-eyed gaze almost forensically mapping out the kitchen.

Fortunately for him, someone did enter the kitchen who wasn’t Snowbell’s master… but it wasn’t Snowbell. Heck, it didn’t even look like that mouse, either.

A new face? In Snowbell’s house? One who didn’t get chased out?

Whoa.

He didn’t even think that was possible. Sure, he knew that bird friend of theirs had stopped by for a bit, but that was a bird – they weren’t a bird.

They looked nice, though.

Maybe…

“Hey… hey, buddy! Psst! Up here!” Monty called out, his tail swaying back and forth in anticipation. “Look, could you let me in? I’m a friend of Snowbell’s! Really, I am! He’ll vouch for me if he’s in there! A-And, and if you’ve got any bites in there I can munch on, that’d be even better! Pleeeeeeease?”

They blinked up at him. Then padded towards the door. A faint click indicated the lock on the catflap had been unsecured.

Who even put a lock on a catflap?

…Well, okay, they did.

Either way, that was his ticket! With an eager giggle, he hopped down and promptly burst through the flap, giving them a grateful little nuzzle as he passed by.

“Thanks a lot, friend! I’m Monty, by the way – ‘Monty the Mouth’! They call me that for lotsa reasons: I like to talk, I like to make noise, and, uh… well, as you can probably guess, I like to eat.” He let out a huff and rolled his eyes. “But I can hardly find anything good on the streets, y’know? So I thought, since you’re here, and Snowbell must know you’re in his house, maybe you get fed the same way he does!”

Seamless logic, right?

…Huh. Actually, the more he looked at them, the more he saw bits of himself in there.

Were they…?

Monty eyed them over, ears pinned back an inch or so. “Hey, uh… if you don’t mind me asking… how did you end up here? I don’t think Snowbell ever told me about you.”