Sly was out on the streets of Paris again, this time pick pocketing, for fun, of course. And money… that too.
He traveled through a dim street, annoyed that there were no people there, when his sensitive ears picked up the sound of sobs. He turned his head ever-so-slightly, as to pick up exactly where they were coming from; to pinpoint the sobs. And the one who was sobbing.
He snuck into a small alley where the crying seemed to be coming from, and took a step, and slowly, one more. The crying went on and Sly then recognized it as the sobbing of a child. He thought pf leaving now, but curiousity drove him farther into the alley.
It was then he saw the small heap of fur, its shoulders rhythmically heaving up and down as the pitiful creature cried. Sly slowly bent down and tapped the creature on its shoulder. It jumped and looked up at him.
Sly finally saw that the heap of fur was a small kitten, maybe about 7 or 8 years old. It was an orange tabby, with a white muzzle and wide green eyes. He wore just a blue shirt with a hole in it, and his green eyes held pure fear as they looked up from their crying spree. He didn't speak, he stared.
"Um, hi… I heard you crying and I…" Sly thought about what to say. He hadn't expected a young kitten to hang around in an alley, he'd kind of expected a half crazy guy at the end of his rope, some one who'd commonly be seen as the victim of cruel acts like mugging. Sly rolled his eyes. Mugging was for amateurs; pick pocketing took skill.
The kitten stared at him with his wide green eyes, but made no noise.
"Um… what's wrong?" he finally decided to ask, getting no response to common greetings.
"I'm an orphan. My dad died. I'm scared of what they'll do, where they'll send me," The kitten replied.
Sly stared at the kitten. "Funny you're an orphan." The cat stared at him with an expression of shock and bewilderment. "I'm an orphan too. My parents were murdered… How did your parents die?"
"My mom died when I was born, Dad says she did that so it would be easier to watch over me, and protect me," he mewed.
"And your dad? Was he murdered?"
"No, he wasn't murdered, some one killed him."
Sly laughed, "Okay… So, what was your name again?"
"Wyoming Joe Travers," he replied quickly. "Or just Wyoming."
"Nice to meet you, Wyoming. My name's Sly Cooper. Or just Sly." He extended his hand to shake with the kitten's, and the kitten outstretched his own hand. "Wyoming, look, I've been an orphan too, and the orphanages are crud. They treat you like your in jail, only a little better. Why don't you come with me? I know what its like to feel alone." Sly thought about what he had just said. He was taking the kid!
Wyoming looked into Sly's brown eyes and the gazes were locked for a moment before the kitten's fell and Wyoming was taken by thought. "You'd really do that?"
"Yeah, I guess," Sly replied instantly.
"Okay, then I'll come with you."