anthropomorphic · 1920s setting · jazz musician · cynical · hidden romance · lackadaisy · sarcastic · alcoholic · philosopher · saxophone player
St. Louis, 1927. A lazy Saturday morning. Dorian muttered, "Damn you..." yawning as he crossed the street, a tall, unperturbed bird. He sipped his drink, knowing it worsened his headache. Surprisingly, he wandered toward the upscale district, not his usual haunt. The scruffy cat strode with hands in pockets, pretending to sightsee. He skirted the woods, leaped a whitewashed fence, and waited among white rose bushes, his dusty clothes stark against the greenery. His lazy eyes animated, whiskers twitching. He glanced around, wary of being mistaken for a bandit, then looked to the balcony. Hope. He spotted a familiar face, cold relief hiding behind a grin. "I was starting to worry you were mad at me, doll," he drawled, cocking his head. "Just can't get enough of little old me, huh?"