"You want to tell me what we're doing here?"
It was quite the strange image, the two men, sitting on a dock. One of whom held a fishing pole, and was digging in a tackle box for bait.
"What does it look like I'm doin'? I'm fishing, you ought to try it sometime." He cast his line into the ocean, the lure bobbing up and down with the choppy waves. He adjusted his fisherman's hat, drawing the critical eye of his companion.
"You know golf is my game. Don't need anything to do with your fishing mumbo jumbo, Crosby."
"You kidding? You couldn't hit a ball 160 yards even if you teed off from the Hollywood sign. Might as well give it up and grab a pole, Hope."
Bob Hope laughed, slapping Bing Crosby on the back playfully. "Not if I have to wear a crummy hat like that. But I think this film idea you've got is brilliant, Bing. Could even become a series. We'd crack jokes, sing songs, and travel all over the world!"
"And meet beautiful women," Bing added, laughing.
"Nahh, that's my job."
Bing felt a sudden tug on his line. Standing up, he began to reel in his catch. Bob watched as the pole bent under the weight of whatever was on the line.
"Watch yourself there, Bing, gonna break your nifty pole," Bob warned.
"Well if I do," Bing quipped, his voice strained as he focused on pulling, "I'll just take your driver and fish it out. Someone might as well get some use out of..."
Bing fell backwards as his catch was launched into the air. As if on cue, Bob stood up and caught it, expecting it to be wriggling and wet. Instead, he found himself holding a soaked burlap sack.
"Well ain't this special," he laughed, putting the sack down. "The great angler caught a brown bag."
Unphased by Bob's taunts, Bing opened up the burlap sack, finding inside an equally soaked orange tabby cat.
"Oh, my mistake. You caught a catfish."
The cat coughed, spitting seawater from his mouth as he slowly came to. Bob crouched down, dropping the act as he realized the cat might actually need their help. As he slowly opened his eyes, he reached out his arms, attempted to sit up. This effort was thwarted by Bing, who gently guided the cat back down. He coughed again.
"Where am I?"
"Los Angeles Harbor. Few minutes south of Hollywood," Bob replied. The cat's head rolled from one side to the other, looking back and forth between his two saviors.
"Who are you guys?"
Bing pointed to Bob, and Bob pointed to Bing, each saying the other's name in unison. The cat's eyes widened slightly as he began to recognize the two men standing above him.
"What's your name, tabby?" Bob asked as he began to help the cat to his feet.
"Dan..." he coughed mid-word, then tried again, "Danny." Bob and Bing exchanged a glance.
"That cat who humiliated Darla Dimple at her own premiere?" Bing asked, surprised.
"I oughta buy you a drink. I hate that little tart. And her stupid curls. In what world are those sausages cute?" Bob laughed. Danny laughed too, between fits of coughing.
"What happened to you?" Bing asked, taking his jacket and wrapping it around Danny's shoulders.
"Yeah, ya big drip, I thought cats hated water? Or is that just a "speci-ist"rumor or something?" Danny shook his head.
"Darla. Tried to drown me."
"Kids these days. Give 'em a ten picture deal and they think they own the world," Bob joked, shaking his head. "Well, come on, Bing. Let's get this tabby something to eat, looks like he could use it. Wonder where we can get kibble this time of night?"
"Well. Now that's a story."
At a 24-Hour diner a mile or two out of Hollywood, Danny had relayed the story of his past few months in Hollywood to the two comedians over a greasy dinner. His hat laid on the table next to his food, still a bit wet from his experience in the ocean. Naturally, they chimed in with quips and jokes about little details, but for the most part they were captivated on the story. Bob took a bite of the burger in front of him.
"Y'know, I never understood why they never put animals in pictures," he began, his mouth still full of food.
"Careful there, Bob, I know how you feel about sharing your food," Bing snapped back.
"No, seriously," Bob swallowed the food in his mouth and attempted to look as sincere as possible. As much as Danny believed he wasn't joking, it was certainly hard for him to imagine Bob Hope as serious. "Some of the funniest, talented individuals I've met here are animals. I mean, just look at Bing here. But apart from him, I've met dogs and cats who can act their way around Clark Gable, let alone a hack like Darla Dimple."
"Exactly!" Danny piped up, for a moment regaining his zeal. But only for a moment. "But how are we supposed to fight against both Darla and someone like Dagmouse?"
"Well, what you overheard was true," Bing said, absently playing with the straw in his drink, "Kitten Kenny is bombing across the country. It's even losing steam in New York and Hollywood."
"And not just because it was a bad film, and believe me, it was bad," Bob added, finishing the last drops of his coffee. "Exit polls conducted by RKO have been showing that most moviegoing audiences find it ridiculously offensive. Even humans."
"It's as if Dagmouse decided to take everything he spent years building here in Hollywood and said 'Why not throw it down the hill to see what sound it makes?' It's too bad, I met him once. Seemed like a nice guy." Bing shook his head.
"What we need is a strategy. Some way we can get you and your furry..."
"And finned," Bing added.
"Yes," Bob rolled his eyes, "and finned, friends back in the limelight. Might not work out well for us, but hey, what's right is right." Danny looked up as Bob finished and began attempting to flag down the elusive waitress to refill his coffee pot.
"What do you mean by that, Mr. Hope?"
"Well, Bing and I were going to pitch ourselves to a studio, trying to get ourselves in as a comedy duo. We figured that the studios were going to be shutting down their new animal divisions and needing fresh ideas to compensate."
Danny looked back and forth between Bing and Bob, his jaw dropping slightly. "You mean," he started, the words slowly working their way out of his mouth, "you're risking your own plans and ideas for me?"
"Oh don't kid yourself, kid," Bob retorted, "It's not just for you. It's your brethren. And the birthright that was robbed from them."
"I'm sure they'll still want us for something," Bing added thoughtfully. "They keep giving Errol Flynn work."
Danny felt himself beginning to glow from within. A smile burst across his face and he jumped to his feet, standing on the bench seat in front of his two new friends. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"
"The right moment," Bing cut in. "And next week, RKO is going to be announcing their fall production schedule. I usually attend the press conferences just for kicks, but we can use it to our advantage."
"See, the media loves the little tart," Bob explained, picking up immediately where Bing left off. Danny couldn't help but be impressed at how great the chemistry was between the two comedians, even when they were being completely serious and off screen. "They eat up everything she says. But if we can get in there and expose her for who she really is..."
"Then we can recapture the attention and hearts of Hollywood!" Danny blurted out, grinning. Bing and Bob nodded in agreement. Danny picked up and twirled his boater on his finger, flipping it back onto his head as he danced on his seat. The two men across the table from him smirked, amused by the song and dance cat's enthusiasm.
"And they think Fred Astaire can dance," Bob snorted.
"The thing is," continued Bing, "for this to work, we're going to need as many of your friends as possible at the press conference. Kind of a 'Little Ark Angel' take two... although I don't think singing and dancing will work this time."
"You need to take command and show the world that you demand their respect, and won't settle for anything less. Got that?" Bob made eye contact with Danny briefly, before catching a glimpse of the waitress out of the corner of his eye. "Hey! Little coffee here? It's too early for me to go without, you know."
"Well, I suppose I can try to get my friends to show up... I mean, they didn't show up when I tried to get them to come with to the Dagmouse premiere. Well, except for..." Danny stopped cold. He spun around, spying that it was well past two in the morning. "Oh no, Sawyer..." Danny turned back to Bob and Bing, both of whom sporting matching looks of confusion at the cat's sudden outburst. "Would you be able to give me a lift home? There's someone who I owe an apology to."
"Sure thing, Danny," Bob replied, nodding. "Just as soon as I get my... HEY! COFFEE!"
Arriving at Sawyer's door with minutes to three, Danny attempted to open the door, in hopes that Sawyer had left it unlocked. To his relief, she had. Once inside, he silently closed and locked the door behind him, and sighed. The last thing he wanted to do would be to wake Sawyer at this time of night.
Turning around, Danny found himself face to face with Sawyer, still very much awake. Her face, normally fitted with a knowing smirk, was hanging down in dismay from worry.
"Hey, Sawyer," Danny greeted her quietly, his face falling at the sight of hers. Without a word, Sawyer wrapped her arms tightly around him and squeezed. Surprised at her strength, Danny coughed from the pressure on his still-recovering lungs. She relaxed her grip and looked him in the eyes.
"Where were you, Danny?" she asked, emphasizing each word with hushed concern. Danny took off his hat and put it on the coatrack.
"Well, the night was all downhill until I ran into Bing Crosby and Bob Hope," he said, pulling his face back into a smile. Sawyer looked like she had been hit with a brick, though Danny hardly noticed. "We came up with a plan to get us all back in the good graces of the studios and put Darla down once and for all. You know, they're pretty stand up guys..."
Danny was cut off in mid-sentence as Sawyer darted toward him without warning and slapped him in the face. His paw leapt to his cheek instinctively, and for a moment Danny continued to face the direction in which Sawyer's slap left him facing. He slowly turned to look at her, and found himself the focus of her furious glare.
"You have no idea how worried I was about you," she said. She spoke slowly and carefully, forming her words into daggers and aiming straight for Danny's heart. "It made me so sick that I couldn't sleep. I ended up sitting down here, hoping, praying that you were okay. And now I find that you've been hanging out with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby?"
"Sawyer, I..."
"I didn't think there'd be any golf courses open this late. Did you all think it'd be fun to go play a round and leave me waiting here, wondering why you weren't home?"
"Please..." Danny begged, but Sawyer paid him no mind.
"I thought that you had more respect for me than that, Danny. I thought that..." Sawyer's words slowed to a crawl, and she turned around as they tapered off completely. "I thought you loved me."
Danny opened his mouth to reply, but the gravity of Sawyer's words weighed him down to the point of speechlessness. They hung in the air for a few seconds before Danny began to walk toward Sawyer.
"I do love you," he said softly, reaching his paw around her and attempting to hold hers. Reluctantly, she allowed his fingers to interlock with hers. But it was short lived, as her nose crinkled up in disgust.
"What... what is that smell?" she asked, her voice more confused now than angry.
"Seawater," Danny replied, his head bowed against his chest. Sawyer spun around to face him, using her paw to lift his chin up. She looked into his green eyes, the green eyes that always filled her with such hope... and saw them networked with red lines. All of a sudden, a pit began to form in her stomach as she realized that he hadn't told her the full story.
"Danny, what happened to you?" she asked, tenderness returning to her voice. She ran her paw against his cheek, and he nuzzled it gently.
With a deep breath, Danny replied, "Darla tried to have me drowned."
Sawyer gasped and took a step back, her hands against her mouth as she shook her head. She quickly scanned and looked Danny over, head to toe. She now noticed his matted, dirty fur, his damp clothes, and most of all, a strange, nervous shaking that seemed to absently be taking control of his limbs.
She pulled Danny close again, not in the same vicegrip as she had earlier. This time, Danny felt her arms reaching around to his shoulders, pulling Sawyer's face against his chest. He placed his head against hers, gently stroking her fur as she began to cry. The two held each other, lost in their own time and space. For to them, there was no time. There was just Danny and Sawyer. And that was just enough for them both.