Author's Note - in previous chapters, I've used fictional stand-ins for Hollywood film studios. You will notice that in this chapter, there is a real studio name listed. Since said studio went bankrupt back in the 1940s-1950s, I consider it fair game for use in the story. Alright, now that we got that out of the way, back to the cats.

"I still don't feel comfortable with this, Darla."

Dagmouse was once again in his office, but it was clear who was now in charge. He paced back and forth around the room, while Darla sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair and putting her feet up.

"Your entire cartoon empire, Dagmouse," she reminded him. "It's going to fall big if you don't take just a teensy weensy bit of my advice."

"But I don't even know this cat! Or anyone who would do what... you're suggesting I arrange."

Darla smiled. "I know a young, ambitious producer just here from New York. He's got stars in his eyes and probably doesn't know a thing about the business. We can take advantage of his good nature and use him as bait for Danny and his friends."

"Who?"

Darla pulled a manilla envelope from below Dagmouse's desk, placing it down flat. Dagmouse cautiously picked it up, and looked inside. A photograph headshot of a rising radio and voice acting talent. Dagmouse's brow furrowed in confusion.

"He's not a producer." Darla made a motion with her fingers for him to turn the photograph around. Reluctantly, he did, and found an article cut from an entertainment newspaper pasted to the back.

"He just signed a big ol' two picture deal with RKO Pictures. He's the perfect trap."

Running his fingers across his thin moustache, Dagmouse sighed. Darla giggled menacingly.

"You win. I'll make the calls."

"Morning, Sawyer!"

Sawyer blinked slowly, her face scrunching up into a yawn. As her vision shifted into focus, she saw Danny in her kitchen, flipping flapjacks. The rustic, chintzy furniture hadn't been her first choices for the interior design of her home, but she had to make due with what she could afford. It obviously didn't phase Danny, though. He was already right at home, having found everything he needed to make breakfast without even waking her. Though she'd never admit it, Sawyer was impressed. Without a word, she slinked behind him to her coffee pot, and began to set her brew.

"How'd you sleep?" Danny asked, unphased by Sawyer's lack of response. She shrugged. "Well, I slept great! Your couch is really comfortable, you know. Hah, I guess you would know."

He flipped the flapjacks again, their milky white color slowly turning brown. Sawyer looked at them curiously. "I didn't know you could cook," she finally said, her voice significantly quieter and lower. Danny turned around.

"Are you okay? Getting sick?" his expression fell from joy to concern quickly. Sawyer shook her head.

"Danny, it's morning. And I'm not a morning cat." She placed her coffee pot on the stove and turned on the burners. "I don't understand how you can always have so much energy."

"Well, I always woke up early in Indiana. There was always work that had to be done, you know. And if my brothers and sisters had chores, they weren't going to let me sleep while they were working." Danny placed the flapjacks onto a plate and brought them over to Sawyer's dining room table. Two places were set with plates, silverware, and glasses of milk. Sawyer walked over and sat down, smirking and taking a drink from her glass of milk.

"What was living on a farm like?" Sawyer had never thought to ask Danny about his past, although to be fair, she had only first met him a little over a week ago. In a way, this frightened her to death, someone who she had just met a week ago had slept on her couch. Part of her was screaming out in terror, but her long-dormant romanticism was now making the decisions for her.

Danny swallowed a bite of flapjack after pouring syrup onto them. "It was fun at times. Lots of wide open spaces to run around and play in, I had a lot of really great friends..." He sighed, his face shifting emotion a bit. He let his face fall into his orange paw and stared at the table in front of him.

"My brothers thought I was crazy. They were country cats through and through. My sisters were actually the ones who I was closest too, they'd always play pretend or want to dance and sing, and I was always their partner. No other boys my age wanted to dress up and hang around girls."

Sawyer laughed softly, watching Danny closely as he continued. "Every week, I'd go with my sisters to the movie house in town. My dad would have to drive us, we lived pretty far out of town, so it was always an event. That's when I decided that I wanted to move away to Hollywood."

Sawyer put her paw on Danny's and gently squeezed it. He looked up at her, smiling.

The moment was broken by the telephone obnoxiously ringing behind Sawyer. Startled, her claws dug into Danny's paw as she leapt up to answer it. She realized what she had done when she turned around to see Danny clutching his paw, blowing on it.

"Oh no, Danny, I'm so- Hello? Wink, what's this... I'm going to be there in... Can't this wait? Oh. Wait, what?"

Danny, preoccupied by his paw, didn't notice the thunderstruck look on Sawyer's face.

"Oh, of course I'll tell him... T-thank you! I'll make sure he gets there right on time. Thank you, Farley. Goodbye." Sawyer slammed the phone down, and rushed over to look at Danny's paw.

"Don't worry about it, Sawyer!" Danny laughed, "I'll be fine. What was that all about?"

Sawyer looked up at Danny, attempting to speak but not quite able to get the words out. Danny brushed his uninjured paw against Sawyer's cheek, who nuzzled it affectionately. "Danny..." she began slowly, her voice quavering. "Farley Wink just got a phone call from RKO Studios. I'm supposed to take you there to meet Orson Welles."

Danny's jaw dropped.

Inside a RKO soundstage, Danny passed grip after grip, busy working on a major film a few buildings over. Danny had seen busy soundstages before over at Mammoth Pictures, but this place had a completely different feel. The air tasted sweeter, the lights were brighter, and the people even seemed to be more respectful of him.

Or maybe he was just viewing the studio through the lens of his own excitement. Either way, Danny found himself almost skipping to the small rehearsal room that he had been told to go to. The door, painted with the adornment 'Welles, A-113,' stood before him. He took a deep breath and knocked twice. He winced in pain slightly, only after knocking did he remember the bandages on his paw from that morning.

"Come in," came the familiar, sultry voice that had permanently glued Danny and his sisters to their radio set back home. He opened the door and entered the office. It wasn't very fancy, L.B. Mammoth's office was far more impressive at Mammoth Studios. Instead, there were a few pictures of Welles and his team at Mercury Radio, and a few radio and theater awards scattered about.

"You must be Danny," Orson Welles addressed his guest. Danny, growing dizzy at the mention of his name, could only nod. Orson laughed and stood up, walking over to Danny. "Come now, Danny, I'm hardly someone you should be afraid of. I'm as inexperienced as you are at this point."

"But I've listened to you on the radio for years!" Danny squeaked out, in disbelief that someone with a presence as commanding as Welles would dismiss his achievements. Welles laughed and walked back over to his desk, pulling a script out of a drawer.

"Radio and theater aren't the same as the pictures, Danny. I've never directed a picture, and you've never starred in a picture. So I think we're a perfect match, aren't we?" Again, Danny could only nod. "Have you ever read Heart of Darkness, Danny?"

"Um, no sir, I haven't," Danny replied. Welles handed the script to Danny, who began to page through it slowly.

"It takes place in the African Congo, dealing with the darkness and evil that took place during the era of colonialism. And I would want you to play the lead, a steamboat captain named Charlie Marlow, who is the audience's vantage point to view this evil."

"Wow," breathed Danny. He was a fairly speedy reader, and even by just paging through the script, he could tell that it was brilliant.

"We produced the story for our radio program, and it was received tremendously. However, I always thought it would translate very well to the silver screen. I know that dark drama isn't exactly your cup of tea. As I recall, you're more of a song and dance cat."

Danny laughed, "Yeah, I suppose that's more what I'm known for." Danny's head began to rush with excitement when he realized that Orson Welles had only referred to him as a cat once, and it hadn't been in place of his actual name.

"And I think that you could do wonders in musicals, no doubt. But it's clear from what I'm reading in the trades that while your friends made a huge splash, the industry isn't ready for animal leads just yet. Someone has to make the first move. And I want it to be you and me, Danny."

After that, everything was just a blur to Danny. He was pretty sure he signed a contract, and that he and Orson Welles had exchanged a few more pleasantries before he was shuffled off to the costume department in order to get his measurements. Then he was taken to the promotional department, and his photograph was taken from every conceivable angle. Many hands were shaken, many bulbs flashed.

And as quick as everything had happened, Danny found himself boarding a streetcar and joining Sawyer in a bench seat.

"Orson Welles..." was all Danny could say to her when she asked him about his day. She shook her head, smiling. She slowly stroked the bandages on his paw, her own little non-verbal apology for the morning.

"You did it, Danny," Sawyer purred, wrapping her arms around him. Without warning, Danny turned his head and pulled Sawyer into a deep kiss. Her eyes widened in shock. When the two of them broke, her face couldn't hide the growing terror within her.

"Wh-why did you do that?" she asked him nervously. His stunned face slowly grew into a wry smile.

"I wanted to."

Sawyer allowed her head to rest on Danny's shoulder, smiling. All the while, thinking 'Now I've done it...'