Danny awoke to find himself in Sawyer's room, alone. Slowly sitting up, his back aching from the previous night, he blinked his eyes in search of a clock. A chrome alarm clock on the bedside table read 10:30pm, the latest he had overslept in years.

Maybe I'm losing the farm cat in me quicker than I thought.

The smell of smoke caught his attention. Despite his soreness, he quickly pulled on dry clothes from his bag and dashed downstairs.

At the stove, Sawyer panicked over several smoking pots and pans, her hands jittering nervously across the heat dials. Danny strode over to the kitchen and began to help Sawyer, who, at the first sign of his presence, began to protest.

"Danny, no. I don't need help," she insisted, trying to butt him out of the way with her elbows. The bacon on the stove ignited into flames, causing Sawyer to jump back in terror, her tail puffed out and rigid. Danny took the opportunity to take control of the situation, turning off all the burners and extinguishing the burning bacon. Sawer slumped against the refrigerator, dismayed.

"I was making you breakfast..." she explained sadly, motioning to the crisp remains of bacon and eggs. "You know, since you always make it for me..."

Danny hugged her, kissing her forehead with a smile. "Aw, Sawyer, you didn't have to do that."

"You had such a bad night, and all I did was yell at you..."

Danny held a finger to her lips. While normally she'd claw anyone who tried to shush her, especially like that, she knew Danny didn't understand. She made a quick mental note to explain her boundaries to Danny at a more appropriate time.

"Besides, we don't have time for that today," he continued, grabbing his hat. Sawyer watched him move about her house, searching for a clue as to what he was talking about.

"We don't?" she retorted back, in lieu of any explanation. Danny walked back over to her, wrapping a festive scarf around her neck.

"We need to get everyone back together, Sawyer. The press conference at RKO is only a week away, and for this to work the way Bing, Bob, and I planned, we're going to need every animal in Hollywood there to make our case."

"And humiliate Darla, right?" Sawyer added hopefully. Danny shook his head.

"We're not looking to humiliate anyone, we want to show we're professional, courteous animals who should be treated with respect. And that we belong in the movies!"

Sawyer nodded, although admittedly, she didn't want Darla leaving the studio lot without crying. Or bleeding. Even thinking about what Darla had almost done to Danny made her muscles tense and her tail twitch. As much as she wanted to follow Danny's plan to the letter, she knew deep down that it would be unwise of Darla to cross her path.

"Sawyer, where have you been?" Farley Wink barked as the two cats entered the agency. Looking around the small office, Danny noticed that the wooden benches, normally packed tight with eager animal actors, were beginning to collect dust.

"Sorry, got a little caught up at home. What do you need from me?" she asked, oblivious to Farley's red, fuming face.

"Did you not hear about the Kitten Kenny premiere?" Farley exploded. "Every major studio followed RKO's lead. Even Mammoth Pictures! There are no roles for animals left in Hollywood!" Sawyer gasped. She looked behind Wink, peering into his office. The walls were no longer decorated with photos of the agency's leading talents, but instead were lined with packing crates.

"Farley..." she said softly, her voice faltering as she realized she had nothing to say. Wink sat down in the nearest chair, putting his hands on his knees and sighing.

"All I wanted to do was to help my friends get into the pictures," he sighed. He pulled out a photograph of himself, much younger and fitter, and with a full head of hair. Next to him stood a smiling dog and horse, waving for the camera. "Ed went back east to try theater," he explained, pointing to the horse. "Haven't heard from him since. And Freddy just gave up after years of no work for dogs. Runs a bookstore, barely gets by."

Wink's face had fallen in a way that Sawyer had never seen before. She had seen him disappointed plenty of times. While he didn't always show it, he did want the best for his clients, and truly felt for them if arrangements didn't go as planned. But this was a new sadness. Sitting before the two cats was a defeated, broken man.

"Where are the usuals, Wink?" Sawyer asked softly, inquiring about their friends. Wink looked at his watch and shrugged.

"Well, I suspect they'd be at their day jobs right about now. Everyone has them nowadays..."

Danny put his hand on Wink's massive shoulder. He tensed up on contact, but only for a quick moment. "Mr. Wink, when I came here, you believed in me. And now, sir, I need you to do believe in me again. We have a chance to fix this, but we're going to need everyone."

Slowly, Sawyer found a strengthening warmness growing within her. As she watched the orange tabby console her old friend, the first man who had believed in both of them, she couldn't help finding herself thinking 'I'm going to marry that cat someday', even to her own shock.

"I need you to call up every animal in Hollywood. Every has-been, every no-luck and every starstruck that has ever walked into your office. And I need you to get them to RKO Pictures this Friday. If this is our last chance to fight for our dreams, well then we're going to have to stand together. All of us."

Staring at the cat standing before him, Wink found himself staring. In the face of everything, he just kept smiling. Maybe it was his Midwestern naïveté, or maybe he felt invincible with the saucy secretary by his side. But one thing was definitely for certain, by looking Danny cat in the eyes, he believed every word that came from his mouth.

"You got yourself a deal, Danny," Wink smiled, standing back up. His expression flipped in a flash, regaining his old vocal volume and fervor. "Now get out of here, I have a lot of calls to make!"

Danny grabbed Sawyer's hand, and the two of them left the office in a heartbeat. Turning around to enter his office, Wink pulled out a small, weathered address book from his back pocket. Flipping through pages, he stopped halfway through the volume, reaching for one of his desk's phones. Dialing. Ringing.

"Hello? Freddy, old pal? I need to ask you for a favor."

"Absolutely not!"

Cranston slammed his front gate in front of Danny and Sawyer, turning away from them both in a huff. As he started back toward his front porch to continue judging the neighborhood youth, Danny and Sawyer leapt the small fence in pursuit. He growled under his breath, quite aware that they weren't through.

"Cranston..." Sawyer pleaded, but he would have none of it.

"We're not asking for anything more than you being there," Danny explained. Cranston stopped and spun around, forcing Danny to take a step back. He pointed straight at Danny, as if pointing would make his argument stronger.

"I was there at the Darla movie. We stood up and made our case. And they threw us out on our ears. I'm sick of trying. I've accepted what the world thinks of me. Why haven't you?"

"Because I'm never going to let a bunch of rich Hollywood types tell me who I am!" Danny retorted, crossing his arms. As if to spite him, Cranston crossed his arms as well.

"Well good luck trying to work for them then, Danny. And you too, Sawyer. I thought you were smarter than this."

"I thought you had more heart than this," Sawyer shot back, nearly hissing. Cranston made a quick 'feh' before turning back to his house.

"It'll never get any better unless we keep fighting," Danny said, turning his back to the old goat. Sawyer touched his shoulder tenderly, but he shook his head. "It's hopeless, Sawyer," he muttered, motioning for her to follow him. With one last sharp look at Cranston, Sawyer let Danny lead her back off of his property.

Cranston entered the house and slammed the door behind him. Taking a seat in a well worn chair, he pulled out a book to read. But he found himself looking out the window, watching the two cats walk away, until they disappeared over a hill. Only then could he concentrate on the book.

Uncharacteristically nervous, Wilbur Dagmouse found himself hiding within his own studio. His brother, Ronald, had called from the financial department, demanding a contingency plan for the failure of Kitten Kenny. In all honesty, Dagmouse didn't know what to do anymore. His major film plans, his future city, all quickly going up in smoke with every theater that boycotted Kitten Kenny. Every move he made, he now answered to...

The phone rang. His limbs moving almost robotically, he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he answered, attempting to hide the fear in his voice.

"Hello Wilby," the voice of Darla Dimple replied, once again sweetened despite the nature of their previous call.

"I don't know what more you can take from me," he spat out, nearly begging. At this point, all he wanted to do was return to Kansas City and draw cartoons in the newspaper again. Darla chuckled wickedly, only adding to his pain and frustration.

"Aww, are you getting tired? Are all the big, bad, animals making Wilby Dagmouse sad?"

"I don't hate animals!" he cried back, to a refreshing long take of silence after his voice finished reverberating. Darla made noises like she was trying to formulate words, but it kept coming out like coughing.

"You what?" she finally managed, stretching her words to maintain her sweet disposition for as long as she possibly could bear.

"I grew up on a farm, Darla. Animals were my best friends! And now all this... I'll be branded forever as someone who hates animals!"

"Wilby, I thought we understood each other," Darla growled, her voice fading slightly. Dagmouse noticed that behind her voice, he could hear strange noises. Noises he almost recognized.

"I'm not doing this anymore. I'm issuing a public apology and I'm going to try and get my life back," he commanded. As he did, he felt a sudden rush of pride surge through him. I'm doing it! I'm standing up to her! He could feel his heart thudding against his chest...

Or the floor...

But it was far too slow to be his heartbeat...

From outside his office, Dagmouse could hear screaming. A noise in his ear signaled that Darla had disconnected from the call... and something told him that she was coming to pay him a visit.

The doors to Dagmouse's office burst open suddenly, causing him to flail his arms in front of his face to avoid the sudden onslaught of debris. From the wreck stepped an enormous butler, carrying in his hand none other than Darla Dimple.

"Care to reconsider?" Darla called to him, laughing maniacally at the ruin her servant had caused. Dagmouse looked back and forth, scanning for an escape. But he knew there was only one way into his office, and that he was hopelessly trapped once again by Darla Dimple.

"No," he whispered, almost as if to test whether or not he could even make a sound in the face of such hopelessness.

"What?" Darla screamed back. Dagmouse looked up, straight at Darla, and stepped forward.

"No!" he called back.

"Hmph. Seems like there's a bit of spine in you after all, Wilby." Darla turned from the frightened cartoonist to her monstrously large servant. "Max!" she commanded, pointing to Dagmouse. "Break it."

In his unencumbered hand, Max grabbed the comparitively puny Dagmouse, bringing him up to eye level. Before he had a chance to say anything, the man had gone limp in his hand, fainted out of fear.

Max had seen fear in his victims many times before, but for some reason, Dagmouse was different. His body was completely useless in his hand, his face still twisted in a look of absolute terror... And all Max could think of was sitting in the picture house on his days off, watching Kitten Kenny shorts. This man had made them all, a character assigned to the purpose of laughter. And Darla had destroyed him, his work, and everything he loved...

"Come on, Max," Darla growled again, breaking Max's concentration. "We have work to do."

Without saying a word, the servant followed. And while she found it out of the ordinary that her brutish manservant didn't follow her command with a sluggish "Yes, Miss Dimple," she paid it no mind. She had bigger things to worry about.