"Alright, the vaccine problem's taken care of." Vos checked his watch. "It's three in the afternoon. Let's see if we can find another gig."
The three of them strolled down the street while Vos studied every shop window like he was scanning for treasure.
"What about that place?" He pointed at an Italian restaurant. "The police said private venue performances don't require a license."
They stepped inside. The decor was tasteful, the atmosphere relaxed, and the afternoon crowd was thin.
"Welcome. How can I help you?" a server asked.
"I wanted to ask if your restaurant hires performers," Vos said straight away. "We do magic and acrobatics."
The server glanced at Tom and Jerry and paused. "Performers? You mean… these two animals?"
"Yes! They're very talented," Vos said, full of confidence.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't need that kind of service."
That answer repeated itself five or six times across different restaurants and cafés. Either they didn't need performers, or they politely insisted that having animals do acts wasn't appropriate.
Vos eventually slumped onto a curb. "Why is this so hard?"
Tom and Jerry sat beside him, a little discouraged. They'd just tasted what it felt like to be adored by a crowd, and now every door bounced them back. Not that they blamed anyone. In a busy New York district, shops didn't exactly lack foot traffic.
"Okay. No quitting now," Vos said, brushing himself off.
They kept walking. Vos scanned posters and job listings like a hawk hunting rabbits. Suddenly, he froze.
"Holy… no way." His eyes locked on a posting outside a high-end restaurant.
The place was called Blue Danube. Elegant, expensive, shimmering with crystal chandeliers. Through the giant windows, they saw well-dressed diners enjoying quiet conversation.
And on the golden-lettered notice:
Urgent Hiring: Pianist
Requirements: Strong classical foundation, must perform live
Salary: $500 per hour
Apply in person
"Five hundred dollars an hour?" Vos blinked hard. "Eight hours equals four thousand a day. That's insane."
Tom and Jerry squeezed in beside him to look. When they saw the number, their eyes practically turned into shiny dollar signs.
"But wait," Vos said, calming himself. "I can't play the piano. And for that pay, the bar must be sky-high."
He turned to walk away—then stopped mid-step.
He stared at Tom.
"Tom… you play the piano."
Tom startled for a second, then nodded. Back in the cat-and-mouse world, he was a natural polymath, and piano was one of his specialties.
"That's perfect!" Vos nearly jumped. "You've played a bunch of times in your world, and you were incredible!"
Jerry hopped excitedly. Yes, Tom's musical talent was the real deal.
"But…" Vos hesitated. "Would a place like this really let a cat play?"
Tom crossed his arms with an offended look. Basically: How dare you doubt me?
"You're right," Vos said quickly. "Sorry. And honestly, we don't have other options. Let's try."
They stood at the entrance for a moment while Vos worked up the courage.
"Okay… going in."
He pushed the glass door open.
Soft classical music drifted through the air. Perfume. Silver cutlery. Fresh flowers. Everything looked like a scene from a luxury magazine.
"Good afternoon. Do you have a reservation?" a tuxedoed waiter asked. His eyes landed on the cat and mouse. A faint wince.
"Ah—no. I'm here to apply for the pianist job," Vos said, voice tight.
"Do you have experience?"
"Yes! Definitely!"
Then he quickly corrected himself. "We—uh—I mean, I promise you the performances won't disappoint."
The waiter led them to a glossy black grand piano in the corner. "Please wait. I'll get the manager."
Vos rubbed his palms together nervously. Tom circled the piano, inspecting it. Jerry was already sitting on the stool like a tiny supervisor.
A few moments later, a middle-aged man in an immaculate suit walked over. Sleek hair, refined posture.
"I'm Franz, the restaurant manager," he said. "I hear you're applying for the pianist position?"
"Yes," Vos replied. "I'm Vos, and these are my… partners."
Franz glanced at Tom and Jerry, looking confused. "Sir, we don't allow pets here."
"They're not pets," Vos said quickly. "They're my performing partners. And this cat is the pianist."
"A cat." Franz blinked. "A pianist. Are you serious?"
"Absolutely," Vos said. "Tom is far better than you think."
Franz wasn't sure whether to laugh or sigh. "Sir, you may love your pets, but letting a cat play the piano—"
"Then let him try," Vos said. "If he plays poorly, we'll leave on our own."
Franz studied Vos's expression, then looked at Tom. There really was something unusual about those eyes.
"…Fine," Franz said. "This is ridiculous, but I'll give you three minutes. If your cat can truly play something decent, I'll consider it."
"Great!" Vos turned to Tom. "Your stage."
Tom hopped onto the stool with surprising grace. He stretched his paws, tapped a few keys, and adjusted his posture like a seasoned professional.
Franz and several waiters stared. The cat genuinely looked like he knew what he was doing.
Tom inhaled softly and pressed the first key.
A clear, delicate note rang out.
He began playing Chopin's Nocturne, flowing into the melody with natural precision. Conversations stopped. Silverware froze mid-air. Every diner turned toward the piano.
Tom's paws glided over the keys. His timing was flawless, his expression rich, almost human. The piano seemed like an old friend he was greeting after years apart.
"This… this can't be real," Franz whispered.
Jerry listened proudly beside the piano. Sure, the two fought often. But moments like this? He couldn't help but admire Tom.
Tom finished on a gentle final chord.
For a heartbeat, the restaurant was silent.
Then applause erupted. Loud. Genuine. Shocked.
Guests pulled out their phones. Some even stood to clap.
"Incredible!" a woman exclaimed.
"This cat plays better than the pianist I heard in Vienna," another said.
Franz approached slowly, still stunned, staring at Tom like he'd just witnessed supernatural magic.
"Sir," he said to Vos, "I admit it. I'm impressed. Your cat—Mr. Tom—plays at a master level."
"Of course he does!" Vos puffed his chest. "I told you he's amazing."
"But…" Franz hesitated. "Having a cat perform here is highly unusual. I must consider the guests' reactions."
Vos gestured around them. "Look at them. They love it."
Franz turned and saw it clearly. People were still talking excitedly, some replaying their recordings. The room buzzed with energy. He could practically hear the future publicity headlines.
He took a long breath.
"…Alright," he said at last. "I'm willing to give Mr. Tom a chance. But I have a few conditions."