Author's note: This is my first piece of fan-fiction writing and I hope it lives up to any expectations you may have. Any reviews would be appreciated.
It was with some discomfort that Sly found himself awakening; in a damp Parisian alley, surely too narrow to be of any proper use, lying sprawled across an old mattress, covered in shattered glass with no idea what he was doing there. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the events of the previous night with little success, recalling only a flash of blue and falling from somewhere very high indeed.
Had he not been concentrating so hard on his memory, he may have noticed the shadowy figure stopping at the head of the alley, watching him for a moment, and then briskly moving on. Sly seemed to have sensed the eerie presence, for he stopped trying to recall that which he could not, and was instead alerted to the noise that had awakened him in the first place. It was a desperate, whiny meow from the kind of alley-cat that you only get very early in the morning, hoping for perhaps a morsel from the aching racoon. Sly lifted his head slightly, but only dropped it again once realising that a) it was not a threat (at least for the time being), and b) he ached all over and it pained him too much to move.
The cat stood still, head slightly cocked to the right, watching Sly with an air of curiosity, perhaps still expecting some food. Begrudgingly, Sly got to his feet and beckoned the cat nearer. Placing it on one knee, he began stroking it, being rewarded with purrs of satisfaction and comfort, the warmth of the animal resonating throughout his body, which he now realised was extremely cold. Setting the animal aside, he noticed an old coat draping out of a dumpster nearby, and put it on. Then, picking up the cat and putting it under his jacket, he painfully set off into the night, cutting his hand on a shard of glass, having momentarily forgotten where he was.
He came upon the Acme Rope and Twine Company after a short distance and entered. It was the only kind of shop open at this hour. Behind the counter, a large badger stood, arms crossed, looking sceptically at the figure that had just entered. It wasn't often that his shop got customers this early and from the looks of this one, he didn't want any more. It disconcerted him how the racoon stood, slightly crooked with his right hand in his jacket. Suspiciously, the shopkeeper observed his diffident approach.
"Yes… sir?" The badger offered a tentative smile.
"Look, I've got a cat here," Sly began, gesturing to where his right-hand was.
The badger's hands flew up, his eyes bulged, and his tongue stammered "D-don't shoot! Please! We've only got 25€! It's all yours, just don't shoot!"
The shopkeeper's pudgy fingers rapidly manipulated keys on the ancient cash register. With a clang, its money-drawer popped open.
"I-" Sly made a rapid decision. With a quick forward thrust of his hand, he grabbed the money from the till and ran from the shop, leaving the cat behind. He really hadn't any hope of peddling the cat as a mouser anyway.
Back in the rope and twine emporium, the storekeeper was phoning the police. "... tall and slender, wearing a dirty jacket, and a black mask. No, I saw no weapon, actually, but he said he had a gat under his jacket. In times like these I'm not taking any chances."
Sly was back in the alley before the conversation was over and immediately regretted what he had just done. Yes, he needed money, and yes, it was going to be near-impossible to sell a mangy alley-cat, but he had just gone against everything he believed in. His sense of honour and his pride were injured greatly, but what's happened has happened and there's no changing that. Silently resolving to one day return to that shop and pay back the owner, he sat quietly and drifted into sleep, the old jacket providing little warmth.