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The Jovial Tenor’s voice soars over the din of evening rush hour at Chicken Kitchen. He sways back and forth as he sings along in a tempo of his own choosing, taking pinches of spices and tossing them into various pots and pans on the stove top. Even still, the Jovial Tenor is doubtlessly practiced in his craft — his limbs move in perfect timing with the sweeping melody he sings, and every dish is taken off of the heat in just the nick of time. All this, and Sissel hasn’t seen the Jovial Tenor open his eyes even once.
It’s probably not hygienic for a cat to be so close to the food while it’s being prepared, but what the employees and customers don’t know won’t hurt them, right? This is how Sissel rationalizes his being in the kitchen; as long as he’s quiet and snatches scraps without being detected by humans, it’s no harm, no foul.
Thinking back, Sissel can’t quite remember how he stumbled into this place, but that’s beside the point now – he’s in too deep to get away. He’ll find his way home eventually. For now, he just needs to get his paws on the Jovial Tenor’s chicken dinner – Sissel’s mouth has been watering for what feels like hours just thinking about it.
The minutes tick by, however, and The Jovial Tenor goes for a long time without a single opening for Sissel to swoop in and snag some leftovers for himself. Not even a nibble. Sissel’s stomach rumbles, defeated.
He’s about to give up on the Jovial Tenor entirely when the kitchen doors swing open, revealing a familiar grumpy-looking young lady with a chicken on top of her head and little balls of yarn on the bottom of her shoes.
That’s Memry, Sissel realizes, recalling the night that he saved Lynne from the giant chicken on the ceiling. Not that that actually happened in this version of events, but whatever. And that’s not an actual chicken on her head, it’s just their wacky uniforms. The balls of yarn on the bottom of her feet aren’t actually yarn, either — I guess that’s just my wistful thinking.
Before Memry can notice Sissel, he leaps behind some spice jars in an open cupboard. With his black coat, he blends into the shadows quite nicely. From a distance, at least.
When Sissel looks at Memry again, she looks like she wants to say something to the Jovial Tenor. She opens her mouth, presumably to speak, but the man just keeps singing and singing along to his own tune, completely shutting her out. She leaves the kitchen, plates in tow, glancing back behind her at the Jovial Tenor.
A few more trips to and from the kitchen and, Memry has, apparently, heard enough of the Jovial Tenor. She skates into the kitchen with a huff, grabbing the next set of plates that were set out for her customers and glowering when the Jovial Tenor does not acknowledge her. This pattern continues for a handful of more times, until finally, Memry unties her apron and leaves it at the kitchen door.
"I'm taking my break!” she shouts into the kitchen, to no response.
The Jovial Tenor — ever jovial, apparently even when the situation does not call for it — does not look up from his cooking, even when Memry leaves out the loud, rickety back door. It strikes Sissel as odd, that the sole chef of such a successful restaurant could manage to cook so many chicken dishes without communicating properly with his employees. It is almost fascinating enough of a business model for Sissel to forget just how hungry he is.
But Sissel knows when he’s fighting a losing battle – it’s not as though the Jovial Tenor will drop something on the floor for Sissel to pick up anytime soon. And Memry might be the type to swipe a few leftovers for Sissel, so…
Sissel jumps down from the cupboards and onto the floor. He weaves between the Jovial Tenor’s legs and makes toward the back door, following Memry’s footsteps down the trail they lead outside.
When Sissel finds Memry, she’s sitting on a bench by herself, clutching her knees in her arms and concealing her face from view. The little balls of not-yarn on the bottom of her shoes look tantalizing, and for a moment, Sissel forgets where he is, that they’re not actual cat toys that Jowd bought for him to play with. He reaches a paw forward, the surface of the wheel grazing against the bottom of his foot, and—
At the exact second his paw makes contact with the not-ball of yarn, his tail brushes against Memry’s arm, and she shrieks — a loud, high-pitched noise that puts Sissel’s nastiest, loudest hisses to shame.
Sissel’s back arches; the fur along his body stands on end. It’s maybe even loud enough for the Jovial Tenor to take notice, all the way inside the kitchen from several yards away. So much for comforting you, Sissel thinks to himself, though he must admit to himself sheepishly that that wasn’t really his intention in approaching her to begin with.
When Memry sees that it’s Sissel who brushed up against her, she sighs.
“Holy crap, I thought you were a raccoon or something. Oh my god.” She breathes out, curling back into a ball again. “Just a cat, huh…”
Sissel leans against her side, sniffing her for any traces of chicken.
When Sissel’s nose brushes against Memry’s arm, she lets out an involuntary giggle. “I guess you can sit out here with me,” she adds, though the sound of her words is muffled by her knees.
Sissel stretches, luxuriating in the feeling of Memry’s hand making contact with the back of his head and scratching ever-so gently. At home, Alma is always gentle with Sissel, but Jowd and Miss Kamila can be a bit heavy-handed at times. Not to mention Lynne, who’s always just a little rougher than Sissel anticipates.
The way that Memry scratches Sissel, though — calm and gentle, loving and insistent — something about it reminds him faintly of Yomiel.
Yomiel, who took care of him so earnestly, all of those years. They spent a life together, and now that’s… gone. It was for the greater good, and Sissel is glad it played out the way it did, but… It’s not like Sissel can easily visit him. Sissel loves his new family, but he misses his old one, too.
“I’m having a rough day,” Memry says suddenly, breaking Sissel away from his memories. It’s very easy to be distracted by Memry, Sissel finds, because she always seems so opinionated.
She leans in toward Sissel’s ear and whispers. “The worst part about working undercover is that you still have to do the best you can at your cover job. Waiting tables sucks. I hate dealing with all the snootiest customers in the world.” She leans back and lets out a groan. “And my boss is totally crazy! I don’t think he’s ever listened to a word I’ve said to him.
“And that’s not all either, I…” she pauses a little, eyes welling up with tears. “I just feel so alone, right now. My whole life is just work, and it’s been ages since I’ve made friends. I can’t even remember the last time I shared a meal with somebody. Being an adult is… really, really hard.”
Sissel purrs gently. That sounds about right to him — he can’t imagine the Jovial Tenor doing anything but cooking or singing, let alone help Memry solve her problems at the workplace. It must be hard for her, feeling so alone.
It’s with this realization that Sissel feels a pang in his heart. Jowd, Alma, Miss Kamila, Lynne, Missile… and even Cabanela… he got separated from them earlier, and he really misses them.
When she sees Sissel’s wide, glassy eyes looking back at her, something in her gaze resolves. “You’re having a bad day, too, huh? Did you get separated from your owner?”
Sissel meows. Hopefully she can tell that he’s agreeing with her. There’s nothing Sissel can’t stand more than a human who doesn’t understand that Sissel does understand.
“I see,” she says, stroking Sissel underneath his chin. He leans into the touch again. “Well, I’ve got a few minutes left on my break, so…”
Sissel blinks at her. Is he supposed to know what she means by that? He might understand human speech, but it’s not like he can read her mind.
“Are you hungry?” she finishes her sentence, thankfully, gesturing toward the restaurant.
Sissel’s pawing at Memry before she’s even finished talking, and she laughs again.
“We’ll steal some dinner for you, then. My treat.”
. . .
Jowd bursts through the front door to Chicken Kitchen a few minutes later, huffing and puffing as he scans the restaurant. His brow furrows until he spots a familiar young woman with green hair sitting at a booth sitting by herself.
Well, “by herself” isn’t quite accurate, Jowd realizes — Sissel, the little escape artist, is sitting across from her, chewing on what looks like a small piece of boiled chicken on a little plate. His red scarf is fastened around his chin area like a bib, and the girl is gazing at him with stars in her eyes.
Memry waves at Jowd when she spots him, beckoning him over to the table.
“Thank you so much, Memry,” Jowd says, taking Sissel in his arms. “Kamila insisted we bring him out to dinner with us, but of course, this happens… We’ve been looking all over for him. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
Memry brightens, scratching Sissel on the head. “So Sissel’s your name, hm?” When Sissel bats a paw back at her, she smiles at Jowd. “It’s no problem, really. I’m just glad I found him — and your information on his collar — before a raccoon or something else outside did.”
Jowd chuckles when Sissel tries to weasel his way out of his arms to get back to his plate of chicken. Memry notices and gets a little bag for him, placing the leftover pieces gingerly inside.
With a few more pleasantries, Jowd and Sissel are on their way out of the restaurant. It’s when Jowd opens the door that Sissel says something that gives Jowd pause.
We should invite Memry over for dinner sometime.
Jowd hums. And why is that?
I think she’s stressed at work, Sissel explains. You know what it’s like working undercover — I think it’s a lot on her, all on her own. The Jovial Tenor in the back has a few screws loose, too, so he won’t listen to her.
The Jovial Tenor…?
Her boss. The chef, who’s constantly singing and never paying attention to anything else.
I see… Very considerate of you to be looking out for her, Sissel.
“Memry?” Jowd calls back to her.
Somehow, she can hear him over everything else — the chattering customers, the clanging pots and pans, the Jovial Tenor’s nonsensical melodies drifting through from the kitchen. She spins around on her roller skates, turning to face them one more time.
“Would you want to join our family for dinner sometime?”
Memry’s eyes widen.
“Lynne and Cabanela join us too, from time to time. I think Sissel — and my wife and daughter, too — would love to have you over.”
It’s slight, almost imperceptible, but Sissel thinks he catches it — the tiniest glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye. But the tear is overshadowed by an overwhelming expression of disbelief. How could she believe it? Had Sissel really understood what she’d said to him, and told Jowd to invite her over? Or was this some sort of coincidence?
Sissel meows, just loud enough for Memry to hear.
And then Memry cracks a smile, earnest and genuine.
“Count me in. I’d love to.”