Author's note:

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Chapter 4 And his shame deepens …

Vermouth loved bringing him to the film set. Lounging and napping on a spare actor chair became an everyday routine for him, and this morning was no different. He didn't mind doing nothing as much as he thought. As a cat, he earned the right to sleep sixteen hours a day.

That was until he found himself in a predicament. Back then, whenever he felt like relieving himself, he could sneak out to a corner somewhere, and no one would be the wiser. Now, he had the unfortunate condition of being a … celebrity cat.

He yawned. There! He could hear ten phones snapping countless pictures of him. What was wrong with people? At first, there was even a crowd asking for his signatures, aka his pawprints. Fortunately, Vermouth, aka Sharon, had an unparalleled grip over Hollywood and the entertainment industry. She was practically royalty here. After a few excuses, people generally left him alone. That woman was quite protective of him.

Despite taking obscene pictures of him on the toilet and showing the crew, Vermouth kept them for her sole entertainment, which he didn't mind as much. Not that she hadn't seen worse. But social media was a different beast. Oversharing was a badge of honor. Anyone could post anything. Once it was out there, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle.

As soon as Vermouth finished her scene, he stood in his chair and howled at her. "Take me to the toilet, woman! Now! You'd better understand me, or I'd take a dump somewhere in your massive closets. And you wouldn't find out for years!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing what had just come out of his mouth. He felt his humanity slipping away by the seconds. By the time he opened his eyes, Vermouth had already picked him up and sauntered away. All seemed well except for a little detail never crossing his mind.

With horror, he looked up at the ladies' sign. Of course, why would Vermouth bring him to the men's room anyway?

Of all the evil things he had done in his life, he had never once violated a woman's privacy, and he didn't plan to start now. There was an unspoken hierarchy in the criminal world. Certain crimes translated to power and dominance, while others only befitted the like of cockroaches scurrying in the sewer, not human beings.

He sighed as Vermouth pushed the door open.

The horde of women congregated around the two of them. "Sharon! What's Oscar doing here?"

"He needs to go tinkle."

It was one thing for a proud man like him to use the ladies' room, it was another to be treated like a little boy. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, wallowing in his boundless shame. Eyes followed him to the stall, cameras crowding his view. Standing on the porcelain bowl, he roared, "KNOCK IT OFF!"

Vermouth flashed a smile at the curious crowd and closed the door behind her, allowing him some privacy. "Sorry. He's a bit shy."

He sighed in relief when Vermouth successfully distracted the have-nothing-better-to-do people with some juicy gossip. He flicked his tail up and mumbled to himself. "Not bad, woman. I'll forgive your transgression."

Then, that woman proceeded to shatter his trust by picking him up and wiping his paws like a helpless baby in front of awestruck strangers. He would bite her fingers off if she wasn't his sole meal ticket.

-o0o-

Comfortably lounging in Vermouth's arms, Gin yawned and stretched his limbs as she sauntered to the parking lot. He had barely fulfilled half of his sleep quota after the earlier incident. Had he been more alert, he would have noticed the strange, early dismissal of her assistant—Lisa.

Then, a burly man appeared in his fuzzy view, opening the car door for them. He squinted, trying to make sense of the familiar figure. Finally, his eyes widened as Vermouth settled in the back seat and placed him in her lap. She stroked the back of his head, her sharp gaze gliding past the apprehensive man in the driver seat. Her easygoing demeanor shifted. "Disagree with your assignments, Vodka?"

"N-no." Vodka cowered in his seat, holding on to the steering wheel.

"I hope so." She smiled dangerously, sending shivers down the poor man's spine.

Wide awake, Gin examined his long-time partner's reflection in the rearview mirror. His cheeks developed an unnatural depression. The shadows beneath his eyes could compete with panda bears. Idiot!

Vodka glanced nervously behind him and summoned every ounce of courage in his body. "D-did you … hear about—"

"Then what? You can help him?" Vermouth scoffed and chuckled derisively. "Something that your big bro couldn't handle?"

Vodka's shoulders visibly slumped.

Vermouth admired her beautifully manicured nails. "Mind your own business, Vodka. You are enough trouble as is."

"Yes, ma'am." Vodka took a deep breath and turned on the engine.

As the wheels rolled on the busy streets of New York, Gin mulled over the situation. Vodka's position in the organization was peculiar. He wasn't smart or valuable enough to earn a codename. The idiot's value solely came from him. Vodka was quite handy and loyal. Hence, he didn't have to watch his back every three seconds. Having a useful lackey was ideal for the paranoia in him. All of the perks, including his protection, fell apart the moment he disappeared. He turned around and looked up at the actress just in time for a brief, orange flash of the street light to illuminate her face. He meowed, adopting a serious tone. "Are you protecting him?"

Vermouth was the one person in the organization who could do whatever she wanted without giving any explanation. Unlike him, she liked associating herself with well-connected and skillful agents like Calvados or Bourbon. She wouldn't touch Vodka with a ten-foot pole under normal circumstances. But she went out of her way to have Vodka assigned to her. Why?

Vermouth tilted her head, brightly beamed at him, and scratched his chin. "I know I'm especially gorgeous today."

He would roll his eyes so hard if not for her fingers stimulating his sensitive spots. You and your damn terminal narcissism!

Little did he know what was in place for him at home.

-o0o-

"What's this magnificent tower!" Sitting in Vermouth's arms, Gin beheld a massive cat tree spanning an entire living room's wall from floor to ceiling, his pupils dilating. Black and velvet faux fur covered seven-layer platforms, including ladders, removable hammocks, condos, scratching posts, and cozy perches.

"You like it, sweetie?" Vermouth grinned, having zero trouble taking credit for Vodka's hard work. The man might not be bright, but he sure was handy.

Instead of wasting his breath, he jumped off her arms and sprinted up the tallest post. His little cat heart was thumping from the adrenaline coursing in his veins when her voice brought him back to reality.

She was standing right behind him, filming. "Having fun?"

He froze on top of the scratching post, knowing how silly he looked. He quickly gathered himself and sat up dignifiedly on a nearby perch. "You did well, woman. Go make me dinner. I have work to do."

She chuckled and playfully pinched his cheek. By now, she had noticed his aversion toward cameras. "Alright, you go play, sweetie."

-o0o-

Truth be told, while his human life went down the drain, his cat's life was near perfect. After exhausting himself by zooming around on the cat tower in the name of patrolling his new territory, he curled up in one of many condos and napped until Vermouth's quip woke him up.

"My lord, your chariot awaits." She was standing in front of his cozy pocket as delicious aromas filled the air. He casually stretched, spread his peachy paw pads, and landed comfortably on her chest. She brought him to the dining table, where he wolfed down on a freshly caught, lightly seasoned yellowtail. He spent hours sprawling on her lap and enjoying her aimless scratching as she studied her script.

Yes, it was near perfect. Near.

In the middle of the night, he was blissfully lost in dreamland, lying on Vermouth's ridiculously comfy pillow, his limbs messing up her tresses when her obnoxious phone vibrated, the blinding white light piercing his eyes. There wasn't any caller ID, but he recognized the number.

Calvados! It's two fucking a.m., asshole! Before he knew it, his paw landed on the big red symbol and plunged the place room into silence and darkness. Then, little noises echoed behind him and signaled Vermouth stirring awake, filling him with dread. In a flash, he curled back into an innocent little furball that he never was.

She muttered something under her breath. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel her gaze burning his skin. Suddenly, her hands drew him close, her face nuzzling against his soft fur as she drifted back to sleep.

He sighed softly. That was close.

-o0o-

Sunlight poured in the living room while Gin lounged on the couch, appreciating the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The frustration in Vermouth's voice was music to his ears.

She was on a confusing phone call in the kitchen. "No, I did not decline your call. What are you talking about?"

Calvados wasn't stupid. In the worst case, he would think she declined his call and lied. In the best case, she was with someone else, and that person …

Gin grinned wickedly.

"Alright, Calvados. Hold on, let me check."

Gin could even imagine her frowning right now. Ah, sweet, sweet revenge.

"Sorry, it was probably a bug. Let me make it up to you. How about dinner?"

Hold on.

"My place. Sure, tomorrow works. See you then." Vermouth came back to the living room with a bright smile. "Be on your best behavior tomorrow, sweetie. We'll have a guest."

Why did he have a feeling he had just kicked his own butt?

-o0o-