The thing about becoming an urban legend in the Marvel Universe, Cartoon Cat discovered over the following two weeks, was that it happened a lot faster than he'd anticipated.
Apparently, when you save Spider-Man from Venom using a combination of One Piece attacks, Popeye muscles, and sign language communication, people talk. And when people talk in a universe full of superheroes, secret organizations, and individuals with way too much time and technology on their hands, that talk spreads like wildfire through gasoline-soaked Twitter threads.
#CartoonCat had trended for three days straight.
There were blurry cell phone videos—because of course people had filmed parts of his fight with Venom, this was the age of smartphone documentation. The footage was terrible quality, mostly showing a large black figure moving too fast for cameras to properly capture, but it was enough. Enough to prove something weird was happening in New York. Enough to get people asking questions.
The theories ranged from "new hero" to "alien entity" to "viral marketing stunt" to "definitely a Stark Industries experiment gone wrong" to "guys I think that's literally a cryptid."
Cartoon Cat had read them all from his current "base of operations"—an abandoned subway station that had been closed since the 1950s and forgotten by everyone except urban explorers and the occasional homeless person. He'd made it surprisingly comfortable using hammerspace furniture and cartoon logic. The decay and darkness just added to his aesthetic anyway.
He'd pulled out a laptop—because hammerspace apparently came with WiFi and unlimited data, which raised questions he chose not to examine—and scrolled through social media reactions to his existence with a level of glee that was probably unhealthy.
His personal favorite was a Reddit thread titled "Cartoon Cat is definitely an SCP that escaped containment" with about fifteen thousand upvotes and a comment section full of people writing mock SCP entries about him. Some of them were surprisingly accurate, which was concerning.
But the internet speculation was just entertainment. The real development—the thing that had happened yesterday and necessitated his current mission—was that Tony Stark had apparently decided Cartoon Cat was worth investigating.
How did Cartoon Cat know this?
Because he'd intercepted—completely by accident, he'd just happened to be passing through the right shadow at the right time—a communication between Spider-Man and Tony Stark where the billionaire had said, and this was a direct quote: "Kid, I need you to tell me everything about the giant cartoon cat. And I mean everything. Height, abilities, threat assessment, whether it seemed like it was CGI or practical effects, the works."
Spider-Man had tried to explain, bless his heart. "Mr. Stark, I don't think it was CGI or effects, it was like... actually a cartoon character? It used signs to talk and pulled a giant mallet out of nowhere and did this thing where it punched with fire and—"
"Peter, have you been sleeping enough? Are you having a stroke? Do I need to add a medical scanner to your suit?"
"I'M NOT HAVING A STROKE! There were other witnesses! Check Twitter! There's videos!"
And Tony had checked. And the videos, terrible quality as they were, had apparently been enough to pique the interest of a man who built robot suits in a cave with a box of scraps.
Which meant Tony Stark was now looking for Cartoon Cat.
Which was perfect.
Because Cartoon Cat had decided that his next major interaction with the Marvel Universe's superhuman community should be with the Avengers—or what remained of them post-Civil War. And what better way to meet the Avengers than to let Tony Stark find him?
Well, "let Tony Stark find him" in the sense that Cartoon Cat was going to break into Stark Tower and wait for Tony to come home.
It was the polite thing to do, really. Like leaving a calling card. Except the calling card was his entire physical presence in Tony's workshop.
So here he was, at 2 AM on a Thursday morning, standing in the shadow of Stark Tower—now technically the Avengers Tower, though the Avengers weren't really assembled at the moment—preparing to commit some light breaking and entering.
Except it wasn't really breaking and entering when you could walk through walls.
Cartoon Cat looked up at the tower, his oversized eyes tracking the height of the building, counting floors with vision that operated on cartoon logic and could probably see through walls if he really tried.
He pulled out a sign: "TIME FOR A HEIST. EXCEPT NOT REALLY A HEIST BECAUSE I'M NOT STEALING ANYTHING. MORE LIKE A VISIT. AN UNINVITED VISIT. WHICH IS TECHNICALLY TRESPASSING. BUT WHATEVER."
He dismissed the sign—he'd been getting faster at the sign communication, could pull out and swap signs in rapid succession now, almost like subtitles in a movie—and approached the building's wall.
Security cameras tracked the area, but Cartoon Cat wasn't worried. He'd learned that cameras had trouble capturing him properly. Something about his cartoon nature interfered with digital recording—he showed up on footage, but always blurry, always distorted, like reality couldn't quite commit to rendering him properly for electronic media.
He placed one oversized cartoon hand on the wall of the tower, feeling the cool glass and steel beneath his white gloves.
And then he stepped into it.
The sensation of walking through solid matter never got old. It was like moving through a curtain made of television static and philosophical uncertainty, a brief moment where he existed in both spaces simultaneously before emerging fully on the other side.
He materialized inside Stark Tower, in what appeared to be a maintenance corridor on one of the lower floors. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting that distinctive institutional glow. The walls were pristine, modern, everything designed with Stark's aesthetic of minimalist futurism.
Cartoon Cat stood there for a moment, his too-tall form hunched slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling, and considered his options.
He could head straight for the workshop—that's where Tony would eventually end up, and it would make the best impression to be waiting there like some kind of bizarre cartoon stalker.
But where was the fun in that?
No, he should explore first. See what Stark Tower had to offer. Maybe leave signs in random places to confuse security. Turn this into a proper comedy routine.
He reached behind his back and pulled out a sign that read "TONY STARK: CARTOON CAT WAS HERE" with a little doodle of a cat face, then stuck it to the wall of the maintenance corridor using... actually, he wasn't sure what. Cartoon adhesive? Toon force glue? It just stuck because he wanted it to stick.
Perfect.
He continued walking through the tower, occasionally phasing through walls when hallways got boring, leaving signs in increasingly absurd locations.
One on the ceiling of what appeared to be a conference room: "HOPE YOUR MEETING GOES WELL!"
One inside a vending machine: "THE SNACKS HERE ARE DECENT. 7/10."
One on the inside of a bathroom mirror that would only be visible when the glass fogged up: "BOO."
He was having the time of his life—or second life, or whatever this existence counted as—when he phased through a wall and found himself in what was clearly Tony Stark's workshop.
It was exactly what he'd expected and somehow more.
The space was huge, open-plan, with workbenches covered in various stages of Iron Man armor development. Holographic displays floated in the air, showing schematics and code. Tools were scattered with the organized chaos of someone who knew exactly where everything was despite it looking like a mess. Half-assembled robots and AI cores sat on shelves. Arc reactor prototypes glowed with soft blue light.
It was a tech nerd's paradise, a engineer's wet dream, and the exact kind of place that Tony Stark would spend 90% of his time.
And currently, it was occupied.
Tony Stark himself sat at a workbench, still in casual clothes—band t-shirt and jeans, no armor in sight—working on what appeared to be a gauntlet component. He was focused, using precision tools on delicate circuitry, completely unaware that he was no longer alone.
Cartoon Cat stood there, perfectly still, watching from the shadows near the wall he'd just emerged from.
This was it. This was the moment. He could announce himself, pull out a sign, make his presence known.
But something made him pause.
Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, looked... tired.
Not physically tired—though there was that too, the man clearly ran on coffee and spite—but emotionally exhausted. There was a slump to his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes visible even from this distance. This was post-Civil War Tony, dealing with the Avengers splitting, dealing with Steve Rogers's betrayal, dealing with the weight of being responsible for everything.
Cartoon Cat felt a pang of something that might have been sympathy.
Then he remembered that he was a cartoon character and sympathy was less important than comedic timing.
He reached behind his back and pulled out an air horn.
A comically oversized air horn, rendered in perfect cartoon style, with a bulb that was bright red and a horn that gleamed with that distinctive cartoon shine.
He crept forward—and his movement was actually silent now, he'd discovered he could move without sound when he wanted to, could go full cartoon stealth mode where his footsteps made no noise despite his size.
He positioned himself directly behind Tony Stark, the air horn raised, his permanent grin seeming to widen with anticipation.
And then he pressed.
The sound that emerged from the cartoon air horn was not a normal air horn sound. It was that sound amplified, exaggerated, turned up to eleven and then pushed further. It was a noise that felt like it violated the Geneva Convention, a blare that made the air vibrate and the tools on the workbench rattle.
Tony Stark launched out of his chair.
Actually launched. His entire body went rigid, his arms flailed, and he achieved approximately three feet of vertical height before gravity remembered he wasn't wearing the suit and pulled him back down.
He spun around mid-air, landing in a combat stance—impressive reflexes, Cartoon Cat had to admit—his hand already going for the watch that probably contained emergency armor, his eyes wild and searching for the threat.
Those eyes landed on Cartoon Cat.
All ten feet of him (he'd made himself taller for dramatic effect), standing there with a cartoon air horn, permanent nightmare grin, and oversized eyes that reflected the workshop's lighting in a deeply unsettling way.
There was a moment of perfect silence.
Tony Stark's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.
Cartoon Cat dismissed the air horn—pop—and pulled out a sign.
"HI! I'M CARTOON CAT! YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR ME!"
Tony's hand was still on his watch, frozen mid-activation. His brain was clearly trying to process what he was seeing, running through possibilities, attempting to apply logic to a situation that fundamentally rejected logic.
"What," Tony finally managed, his voice strangled, "the fuck."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a new sign: "THAT'S RUDE. WE JUST MET."
"You—I—that's—" Tony was sputtering now, his usual confident demeanor completely shattered. "JARVIS! What the hell is that and why didn't you alert me?!"
"Sir," JARVIS's smooth voice came from the workshop's speakers, "I have no data on the entity. It does not appear on sensors. The security systems did not register its entry. As far as the building's systems are concerned, it does not exist."
"IT'S STANDING RIGHT THERE," Tony shouted, pointing at Cartoon Cat. "I CAN SEE IT. IT JUST AIR HORNED ME."
"I am aware of the apparent contradiction, sir. I am as confused as you are."
Cartoon Cat pulled out another sign: "I'M GOOD AT NOT BEING DETECTED. IT'S PART OF MY CHARM."
Tony took a deep breath. Then another. He was clearly trying to engage the rational part of his brain, the part that had built impossible technology and solved problems that shouldn't be solvable.
"Okay," he said, his voice more controlled now. "Okay. You're the thing that helped Spider-Man fight Venom. The cartoon... cat... thing."
Cartoon Cat nodded enthusiastically, his whole body bobbing.
"And you communicate with signs."
Another nod.
"And you can apparently bypass all of my security, which cost approximately 47 million dollars and was designed to keep out threats up to and including the Hulk."
A third nod, accompanied by a new sign: "YOUR SECURITY IS VERY NICE THOUGH. VERY SHINY. 8/10."
Tony laughed, but it was the laugh of a man whose sanity was actively being tested. "Eight out of ten. My security gets eight out of ten from the reality-defying cat monster. Great. Fine. This is fine."
He walked over to a workbench and grabbed what was either a very large wrench or a very small crowbar—some kind of metal implement that could theoretically be used as a weapon.
"Are you here to kill me?" he asked, the tool held in a way that suggested he knew it wouldn't help but made him feel better anyway. "Because I should warn you, I've survived a lot of things trying to kill me, and I'm very spiteful about it."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "I'M NOT HERE TO KILL YOU. I'M HERE TO INTRODUCE MYSELF."
"You couldn't have called? Sent an email? Maybe not broken into my tower at 2 AM?"
New sign: "WHERE'S THE FUN IN THAT?"
Tony stared at the sign. Then at Cartoon Cat. Then at the sign again.
"I need a drink," he muttered. "JARVIS, what are the odds that I'm hallucinating right now?"
"Given your recent sleep deprivation and caffeine intake, approximately 23 percent, sir. However, I am also detecting the entity, which suggests either it is real or we are experiencing a shared hallucination, which would be concerning for different reasons."
"Not helping, JARVIS."
Cartoon Cat decided to demonstrate his harmlessness—or at least his current lack of hostile intent—by doing something he'd been practicing.
He sat down.
Not in a chair. Just... sat. Cross-legged on the workshop floor, his too-long limbs folding in ways that shouldn't work geometrically, his posture somehow simultaneously relaxed and deeply unsettling.
And then he pulled out a sign: "CAN WE TALK? I PROMISE I'M FRIENDLY. MOSTLY. FRIENDLY-ADJACENT."
Tony looked at the sign. At Cartoon Cat sitting on his workshop floor like a nightmare having a picnic. At the wrench in his hand that he was slowly lowering because it was becoming clear that if this thing wanted him dead, he'd already be dead.
"Talk," he said slowly. "You want to talk. Using signs."
Nod.
"About what?"
Cartoon Cat pulled out a rapid succession of signs, swapping them so fast it was almost like watching subtitles:
"ABOUT ME."
"ABOUT THIS UNIVERSE."
"ABOUT WHETHER YOU HAVE ANY SNACKS BECAUSE I'M CURIOUS IF CARTOON CHARACTERS GET HUNGRY."
"ABOUT WHY YOU LOOK SO TIRED."
That last sign made Tony pause. His expression shifted from defensive confusion to something more guarded.
"I'm fine," he said automatically.
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE SAY WHEN THEY'RE NOT FINE."
"Oh great, the cartoon monster is doing therapy now. That's what I need."
Another sign: "NOT THERAPY. JUST OBSERVATION. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT PROPERLY IN WEEKS. ALSO YOUR COFFEE MUG OVER THERE SAYS 'WORLD'S OKAYEST ENGINEER' AND I THINK YOU NEED BETTER SELF-ESTEEM."
Despite himself, Tony laughed. A real laugh this time, not the defensive sound from before.
"Okay," he said, setting down the wrench and dragging over a chair to sit across from the cartoon entity that had invaded his workshop. "Okay, you want to talk? Let's talk. First question: What are you? And I mean specifically. Species, origin, purpose, the works."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "I'M CARTOON CAT. THAT'S PRETTY MUCH IT."
"That explains nothing."
New sign: "I'M A CARTOON CHARACTER. I EXIST. I HAVE TOON FORCE. I CAN DO CARTOON THINGS."
"Toon force," Tony repeated. "Like in the old physics-defying cartoons. Bugs Bunny logic."
Enthusiastic nodding.
"So you can... what? Pull things from nowhere? Survive impossible damage? Ignore the laws of physics when it's funny?"
More nodding, and a new sign: "YES TO ALL OF THAT. ALSO I CAN DO ANIME MOVES. AND I'M VERY GOOD AT BEING CREEPY."
"I noticed the creepy part," Tony said dryly. "The permanent grin is a nice touch. Very horror movie."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign with a smiley face: "THANK YOU!"
They sat there for a moment, man and cartoon monster, in Tony Stark's workshop at 2 AM, having what was possibly the strangest conversation either of them had ever experienced.
"Second question," Tony said. "Why are you here? In my tower, specifically."
Sign: "I WANTED TO MEET YOU. YOU'RE IRON MAN. YOU'RE SMART. YOU BUILD COOL THINGS. ALSO SPIDER-MAN MENTIONED YOU WERE LOOKING FOR ME SO I THOUGHT I'D SAVE YOU THE TROUBLE."
"How considerate. Breaking and entering as a time-saving measure."
"I PREFER 'UNSCHEDULED VISIT.'"
Tony snorted. "Are you going to be a problem? Should I be worried about you? Give me an honest answer."
Cartoon Cat considered this, his oversized eyes reflecting the blue glow of arc reactors in the workshop. Then he pulled out a sign:
"I'M NOT A HERO. I'M NOT A VILLAIN. I'M JUST CARTOON CAT. I DO WHAT I WANT. SOMETIMES THAT MEANS HELPING PEOPLE. SOMETIMES THAT MEANS CAUSING CHAOS. MOSTLY IT MEANS HAVING FUN."
"So you're chaotic neutral."
"IS THAT A D&D REFERENCE? I LIKE D&D."
Tony blinked. "You know about D&D?"
"I KNOW ABOUT LOTS OF THINGS. I'M A CARTOON CHARACTER BUT I'M NOT STUPID."
"Fair enough," Tony conceded. He leaned back in his chair, studying Cartoon Cat with the analytical gaze of someone trying to solve a particularly complex problem. "You're not going to give me a straight answer about where you came from, are you?"
Sign: "WOULD YOU BELIEVE 'ANOTHER DIMENSION'?"
"In this universe? After fighting aliens and gods? Yeah, actually, I'd believe that."
"THEN LET'S GO WITH THAT."
Tony laughed again, and this time there was less stress in it, more genuine amusement. "You're weird. You know that, right? You're deeply, fundamentally weird."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign with a heart on it: "THAT'S THE NICEST THING ANYONE'S SAID TO ME."
"That's concerning."
They talked for another hour—or rather, Tony talked and Cartoon Cat responded with signs, a bizarre form of conversation that somehow worked. Tony asked about his abilities, his intentions, his understanding of this universe. Cartoon Cat answered honestly when he felt like it and dodged questions with humorous signs when he didn't.
And despite everything—despite the breaking and entering, despite the air horn, despite the fundamental wrongness of a cartoon character existing in physical reality—Tony found himself not hating this interaction.
It was weird. It was confusing. It made his brain hurt trying to understand the physics involved.
But it was also kind of refreshing. Cartoon Cat didn't want anything from him. Wasn't trying to recruit him or fight him or manipulate him. Just wanted to exist and have fun and occasionally help people in the most chaotic way possible.
"One last question," Tony said as the conversation was winding down and the sun was starting to rise outside. "Why the signs? Why not just talk? Spider-Man mentioned you can talk."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "TALKING MAKES ME LESS MYSTERIOUS. ALSO THE SIGNS ARE FUNNIER."
"You prioritize comedy over efficient communication?"
"YES."
Tony shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. "You're going to be a headache for everyone, aren't you?"
Cartoon Cat stood up, his too-tall form unfolding in that disturbing smooth way, and pulled out a final sign:
"PROBABLY. BUT I'LL BE AN ENTERTAINING HEADACHE."
And then, before Tony could respond, Cartoon Cat stepped backward into a shadow and disappeared, leaving behind only a faint smell of old film reels and the memory of the strangest morning Tony Stark had ever experienced.
Tony sat there in his workshop, staring at the space where Cartoon Cat had been.
"JARVIS," he said slowly. "Did that actually just happen?"
"I have... some sensor data, sir. Fragmentary and nonsensical, but present. It appears to have actually happened."
"Great. Wonderful. Add 'befriended by cartoon character' to my list of things I never expected to say."
"Should I alert the other Avengers, sir?"
Tony considered this. "No. Not yet. Let's keep this between us for now. I need to think about this."
He stood up, stretched, and noticed something on his workbench.
A sign. Left behind, propped up against his coffee mug.
It read: "THANKS FOR THE CHAT. YOU SHOULD SLEEP MORE. ALSO YOUR TECH IS REALLY COOL. 10/10. -CARTOON CAT"
Despite everything, Tony smiled.
"Yeah," he muttered. "This is going to be interesting."
Three days later, Cartoon Cat was perched on a rooftop in Hell's Kitchen, contemplating his next move, when he sensed something.
Movement. Fast movement. Accompanied by the sound of swords being drawn and the smell of chimichangas.
Oh no.
He turned just in time to see a red-and-black figure land on the rooftop behind him with theatrical flair.
Deadpool.
"THERE YOU ARE!" Wade Wilson shouted, his mask's eye pieces somehow conveying excitement despite being just white fabric. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Do you know how hard it is to find a giant cartoon cat in New York? There are like, twelve different leads, half of them are just regular cats, and one was a guy in a very convincing fursuit!"
Cartoon Cat slowly pulled out a sign: "OH NO."
"'Oh no' is right!" Deadpool continued, not pausing for breath. "You can't just show up in the Marvel Universe and start being all mysterious and cartoon-y without at least saying hi to your fellow fourth-wall-breaking, reality-defying, genre-savvy character! That's just rude!"
Another sign: "I DON'T BREAK THE FOURTH WALL."
"Buddy, pal, friend-shaped entity," Deadpool said, walking closer and gesturing wildly, "you're a cartoon character in a comic book universe. That's like, fourth-wall breaking by default. You're not supposed to exist here! I'm not supposed to exist like this either! We're kindred spirits! Narrative anomalies! We should team up!"
Sign: "NO."
"Why not?!"
"BECAUSE YOU'RE ANNOYING."
Deadpool gasped, actually staggering backward with one hand on his chest like he'd been shot. "Annoying?! ME?! I am a DELIGHT! I am the most popular character in my own franchise! I have TWO movies! Well, three if you count the one we don't talk about, but we don't talk about that one!"
Cartoon Cat pulled out a new sign: "EXACTLY. YOU'RE ANNOYING. I'M TRYING TO BE MYSTERIOUS AND CREEPY AND YOU'RE RUINING THE VIBE."
"Oh, I'm ruining the vibe?" Deadpool pulled out his swords—katanas, because of course—and started juggling them while talking. "You're a CARTOON CAT. You fought Venom with ANIME MOVES. You communicate with SIGNS. Your whole existence ruins the vibe! That's your THING!"
He had a point, Cartoon Cat had to admit.
But he was still annoying.
Sign: "GO AWAY."
"Make me!"
And then Deadpool attacked.
Not seriously—this was Deadpool, after all, and he seemed more interested in getting a reaction than actually fighting—but he did lunge forward with his katanas in a move that was part combat and part performance art.
Cartoon Cat sighed internally—a sound that came out as a visual effect, an actual cartoon sigh with the word "SIGH" appearing in the air—and reached behind his back.
He pulled out a comically oversized flyswatter.
The kind used in old cartoons. Massive, made of what appeared to be wood and wire mesh, approximately the size of a car door.
Deadpool skidded to a stop. "Is that a—"
SWAT.
Cartoon Cat swung the flyswatter with cartoon physics strength and speed, hitting Deadpool mid-sentence.
The mercenary went flying, launched across the rooftop with a satisfying thwack sound, his body pinwheeling through the air before landing in a dumpster three buildings away.
Cartoon Cat dismissed the flyswatter and pulled out a sign: "I SAID GO AWAY."
From the dumpster, muffled: "OKAY THAT WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY COOL!"
And then Deadpool was back, climbing out of the dumpster covered in garbage but completely unharmed, running back across the rooftops with his weapons sheathed.
"Alright, alright, I deserved that," he said, landing back on the original rooftop. "The flyswatter was a nice touch. Very classic cartoon. But you can't get rid of me that easily! I have a healing factor! I'm unkillable! I'm—"
Cartoon Cat reached behind his back and pulled out a piece of duct tape.
Just... duct tape. Cartoon duct tape, rendered in that simple animated style.
Deadpool stopped talking, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. "What are you going to do with—"
Cartoon Cat moved with anime speed, crossing the distance between them in a blur, and slapped the duct tape directly over Deadpool's mouth.
The mercenary's eyes widened. He reached up to pull it off.
The tape wouldn't budge.
Because it was cartoon tape. Applied by toon force. Which meant it stayed on until it was funny for it to come off.
Deadpool made muffled outraged noises, pulling at the tape with increasing desperation.
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "THERE. MUCH BETTER."
More muffled noises, this time possibly profanity.
"NOW YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS," the sign changed to say. "THIS IS WHAT EVERYONE ELSE EXPERIENCES AROUND YOU. CONSTANT NOISE WITH NO PAUSE BUTTON."
Deadpool stopped struggling and just stared at Cartoon Cat. Then he pulled out his phone—because apparently he could still use his hands even if he couldn't talk—and typed something.
He held up the phone. The text read: "Did you just use cartoon logic to shut me up?"
Cartoon Cat nodded.
More typing: "That's the most annoying thing anyone's ever done to me."
Sign: "GOOD. NOW YOU UNDERSTAND."
"I KIND OF RESPECT IT THOUGH."
"ALSO GOOD."
They stood there on the rooftop, two reality-defying entities having a conversation through signs and phone text, and despite the absurdity, there was a strange understanding forming.
Deadpool typed again: "Can we at least be friends? I promise to be less annoying. Maybe. Probably not, but I can try."
Cartoon Cat considered this. Deadpool was annoying, yes. But he was also unkillable, unpredictable, and operated on narrative logic similar to toon force. They were kind of similar, in a weird way.
He pulled out a sign: "FINE. BUT IF YOU ANNOY ME TOO MUCH, I WILL FIND MORE CREATIVE WAYS TO SILENCE YOU."
"Deal!" Deadpool typed, then reached up and—with significant effort—managed to peel off the cartoon duct tape. It came off with a sound like Velcro being ripped apart. "Ow. OW. Did that take off a layer of skin? I think that took off a layer of skin. It's growing back but still, OW."
Sign: "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET."
"Worth it. Totally worth it. So, friend, buddy, pal—where are we going?"
"WE?"
"Yeah! You and me! Team Cartoon! We can fight crime! Or cause crime! Or just confuse people! The city is our oyster!"
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "I WORK ALONE."
"So did I until I met Spider-Man and the X-Force and the Avengers and—"
Another sign: "EXACTLY. AND LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT FOR YOU."
"...okay, fair point."
Before their conversation could continue, Cartoon Cat's oversized ears twitched. He heard something. Far away but approaching fast.
The sound of a jet engine.
No, not a jet. Something more advanced. Quieter but still powerful.
A Quinjet.
The X-Men.
Cartoon Cat's eyes widened—somehow getting even larger, his pupils dilating to impossible size.
"What?" Deadpool asked, noticing the reaction. "What is it? Is it the cops? The Avengers? The IRS? Please tell me it's not the IRS, I owe them so much money."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "X-MEN. INCOMING."
"Ooh, the X-Men! I love those guys! Well, they hate me, but I love them! Are we fighting them or joining them?"
"NEITHER. HIDING."
But it was too late.
The Quinjet appeared over the skyline, moving fast, and then descended toward their rooftop with precision that suggested very good sensors and a pilot who knew exactly what they were doing.
The jet landed—well, hovered, it didn't actually touch down—and the back ramp lowered.
Out stepped Storm, her white hair flowing dramatically despite the lack of significant wind. Behind her came Cyclops, his visor glowing red. Then Beast, his blue fur and intellectual demeanor somehow working together. And finally, Wolverine, his claws already extended, his expression suggesting he'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"Wade Wilson," Storm said, her voice carrying that distinctive regal quality. "And... what is that?"
Deadpool waved. "Hey, X-buddies! Long time no see! This is my new friend, Cartoon Cat! He's a cartoon character who exists in physical reality and has toon force and he's great!"
Wolverine sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. "That ain't natural. Smells like... I don't even know what that smells like. Old film and somethin' else."
Cartoon Cat slowly stood to his full height—which he increased for dramatic effect, going from ten feet to about twelve, towering over everyone present—and pulled out a sign.
"HELLO. I COME IN PEACE."
Beast adjusted his glasses, studying Cartoon Cat with scientific fascination. "Extraordinary. The proportions are all wrong, the anatomy is impossible, and yet it clearly exists. Some form of reality manipulation? Or perhaps an entity from a dimension with different physical laws?"
"Yes," Cartoon Cat's sign said.
"Which one?"
"YES."
Cyclops stepped forward, his hand near his visor in a way that suggested he was ready to blast something if it made a wrong move. "We've been hearing reports about a large cat-like entity in New York. Helped Spider-Man, broke into Stark Tower, and has been spotted in various locations causing confusion. That's you?"
Nod.
"Are you a threat?"
Sign: "ONLY TO PEOPLE WHO ANNOY ME."
"That's not reassuring," Cyclops said.
Wolverine moved closer, his claws catching the light. "I don't like it. Somethin's wrong about it. Can't put my finger on what, but it ain't right."
Cartoon Cat looked at Wolverine. At his claws specifically. Those beautiful adamantium claws that were basically indestructible and could cut through almost anything.
An idea formed.
A terrible, wonderful, absolutely irresistible idea.
Before anyone could react, Cartoon Cat's arm extended—stretched like taffy, like Luffy's Gum-Gum abilities—and his hand grabbed one of Wolverine's claws.
Not aggressively. Just... grabbed it. Held it like you might hold a interesting stick you found.
And then he plucked it.
Not pulled it out of Wolverine's hand. Plucked it like a guitar string.
The adamantium claw vibrated, creating a sound that was part twang and part hum, a musical note that rang out across the rooftop with perfect pitch.
Everyone froze.
Wolverine stared at his own claw, vibrating in Cartoon Cat's grip, making music.
"Did you just..." Beast started.
Cartoon Cat's other hand extended, grabbing another claw, and plucked it too. Different note. Slightly higher pitch.
Twang.
"Oh my God," Deadpool breathed. "He's playing Wolverine's claws like an instrument."
And then Cartoon Cat began to play a tune.
He grabbed different claws—Wolverine had six total, three per hand—and plucked them in sequence, creating actual music. The adamantium vibrated with perfect resonance, each claw producing a different note, and Cartoon Cat was somehow playing...
Was that "Mary Had a Little Lamb"?
It was absolutely "Mary Had a Little Lamb."
Wolverine's face went through several expressions in rapid succession. Confusion. Disbelief. Growing anger. And then something that might have been resigned acceptance that this was just his life now.
"Kid," he said to Cartoon Cat, his voice strained. "You got about three seconds to let go before I forget we're not supposed to kill weird things on sight."
Cartoon Cat released the claws and pulled out a sign: "SORRY. COULDN'T RESIST. THEY MAKE EXCELLENT SOUNDS."
"I'm going to kill it," Wolverine said flatly.
"Logan, no," Storm said, but there was a quaver in her voice that suggested she was trying not to laugh.
"I'm going to kill it a little bit."
"YOU CAN'T KILL ME. I HAVE TOON FORCE."
Wolverine's claws extended further, his body tensing. "Wanna bet?"
And then he lunged.
Cartoon Cat didn't dodge. Instead, he reached behind his back and pulled out—
A portable hole.
The classic cartoon gag. A black circle on a piece of fabric that somehow functioned as an actual hole in reality.
He threw it on the ground in front of himself, and when Wolverine's lunge carried him forward, the mutant fell directly into it.
Into it. Through the fabric circle into whatever impossible space cartoon portable holes connected to.
There was a distant, fading "FUUUUUU—" as Wolverine disappeared.
The remaining X-Men stared at the portable hole.
"Where did he go?" Cyclops demanded.
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "HAMMER SPACE. HE'LL BE FINE. PROBABLY."
"PROBABLY?!"
"HE'S VERY HARD TO KILL. HE'LL FIND HIS WAY OUT EVENTUALLY."
Beast approached the portable hole carefully, kneeling down to examine it. "Fascinating. It appears to be a two-dimensional representation of a three-dimensional space that somehow creates a genuine dimensional passage. The physics are completely impossible."
"THAT'S KIND OF MY WHOLE THING."
From somewhere distant, muffled by dimensional barriers and cartoon logic, they could hear Wolverine shouting profanities.
Storm's expression had shifted from regal calm to barely suppressed frustration. "You need to bring him back. Now."
Cartoon Cat considered this, then reached down and grabbed the portable hole. He lifted it up—the fabric circle somehow remaining functional despite being moved—and shook it like a bag.
Wolverine fell out.
He landed on the rooftop in a heap, covered in what appeared to be random cartoon objects—mallets, anvils, banana peels, a rubber chicken—all of which disappeared the moment they hit the ground.
"I'm going to murder you," Wolverine growled, getting to his feet. "I'm going to find a way to murder something unkillable, and I'm going to do it slowly."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "YOU'RE WELCOME FOR THE ADVENTURE."
"ADVENTURE?! You threw me into cartoon hell!"
"HAMMER SPACE IS NOT HELL. IT'S JUST WHERE CARTOON OBJECTS LIVE."
Deadpool was on the ground, rolling with laughter. "This is the best day! Wolverine got put in time-out in hammer space! I need to write this down! Where's my phone? I'm tweeting this!"
"Wade, if you tweet about this, I'm cutting your head off," Wolverine threatened.
"You do that anyway!"
Storm stepped between Wolverine and Cartoon Cat before the violence could escalate. "Enough. Both of you." She turned to Cartoon Cat, her expression stern. "We came here because you're an unknown entity with significant power operating in New York without oversight. The X-Men need to know if you're a threat to mutant-human relations or to the general public."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "I'M NOT A THREAT. I'M JUST WEIRD."
"You assaulted Wolverine."
"HE ATTACKED ME FIRST. I WAS DEFENDING MYSELF. WITH COMEDY."
Beast spoke up, still examining Cartoon Cat with fascination. "If I may, Storm, the entity seems to operate on what it calls 'toon force'—essentially cartoon physics applied to reality. It's not inherently malicious, just... chaotic. Like a force of nature, but humorous."
"See?" Cartoon Cat's sign said. "THE SMART ONE GETS IT."
"However," Beast continued, "that doesn't mean it's not dangerous. Toon force, by definition, ignores conventional rules. It's unpredictable."
"I'M VERY PREDICTABLE. I JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN."
"That's what concerns me," Cyclops said. "Your version of 'fun' might cause serious problems."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a new sign: "I HELPED SPIDER-MAN."
"Yes, and we appreciate that. But you also broke into Stark Tower, terrorized civilians, and just threw Wolverine into a pocket dimension."
"OKAY WHEN YOU LIST IT LIKE THAT IT SOUNDS BAD."
Wolverine cracked his knuckles, his claws retracting and extending in a way that suggested he was still very much considering violence. "You gonna keep being a problem, or are we gonna have to put you down?"
Cartoon Cat looked at Wolverine. Then at the other X-Men. Then at Deadpool, who was still on the ground giggling.
He pulled out a sign: "I HAVE A PROPOSAL."
"We're listening," Storm said.
"I'LL STAY OUT OF MAJOR TROUBLE. WON'T CAUSE SERIOUS HARM. MIGHT HELP HEROES OCCASIONALLY. IN EXCHANGE, YOU DON'T TRY TO HUNT ME DOWN OR LOCK ME UP."
"That's not much of a deal," Cyclops pointed out. "You're basically asking us to let you do whatever you want."
"YES. BUT THE ALTERNATIVE IS I DO WHATEVER I WANT ANYWAY AND YOU WASTE RESOURCES TRYING TO STOP ME."
Beast chuckled despite himself. "The entity makes a fair point. Given its demonstrated abilities—reality manipulation, dimensional travel, apparent invulnerability—attempting to contain it would be extremely difficult and resource-intensive."
Storm considered this, her eyes distant as she weighed options. "If we agree to this, and you break the agreement—if you cause serious harm or become a genuine threat—we will treat you as hostile. Understood?"
Cartoon Cat nodded and pulled out a sign: "UNDERSTOOD. I'M ANNOYING, NOT EVIL."
"That's still not reassuring."
"IT'S THE BEST YOU'RE GOING TO GET."
There was a long moment of silence as the X-Men communicated through glances and subtle gestures, having a silent conversation that came from years of working together.
Finally, Storm nodded. "Agreed. But we'll be watching."
"EVERYONE WATCHES ME. I'M VERY WATCHABLE."
Wolverine snorted. "You're something, alright." He pointed one claw at Cartoon Cat. "But if you ever throw me in your weird cartoon dimension again, I'm cutting off something important."
Sign: "NOTED. NO MORE PORTABLE HOLES FOR WOLVERINE."
"Or playing my claws like a damn xylophone."
"...I'M NOT PROMISING THAT."
"WHY NOT?!"
"BECAUSE IT WAS FUNNY."
Despite himself, despite everything, Wolverine laughed. It was short and gruff, but genuine. "You got guts, I'll give you that. Stupid, but guts."
The X-Men began boarding their Quinjet, the meeting apparently concluded. Beast paused at the ramp, turning back to Cartoon Cat.
"One question, if I may," he said. "Where did you come from? What's your origin?"
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "THAT'S A SECRET."
"Will you ever tell anyone?"
"MAYBE. IF IT'S FUNNY."
Beast smiled. "I look forward to potentially learning the answer someday." He boarded the jet, and moments later it was lifting off, heading back toward wherever the X-Men called home these days.
Deadpool stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his suit. "Well, that was fun! The X-Men don't hate you, which is more than I can say for my relationship with them. We should celebrate! Chimichangas? I know a place."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "MAYBE LATER."
"Really? You're actually considering it?"
"YOU'RE ANNOYING BUT ENTERTAINING. LIKE A TV SHOW I CAN'T STOP WATCHING EVEN THOUGH IT'S BAD."
"I'll take that as a compliment!"
"IT WASN'T ONE."
Deadpool pulled out his phone, typing something. "I'm giving you my number. Text me when you want to hang out and cause chaos. Or just confuse people. I'm good at both."
A phone materialized in Cartoon Cat's hand—pulled from hammerspace, already configured and functional. He looked at it, looked at Deadpool, and then typed a single message:
"Fine. But if you annoy me, I have a whole bag of cartoon gags I haven't used yet."
Deadpool's phone buzzed. He read the message and grinned behind his mask. "Ominous! I love it! We're going to be best friends!"
"We're really not."
"Partners in crime!"
"Also no."
"Friendly acquaintances who occasionally team up!"
Cartoon Cat paused, then pulled out a sign: "...THAT ONE'S ACCEPTABLE."
"YES!" Deadpool pumped his fist. "I'll take it! This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship! Like in that movie! You know the one! With the thing!"
Sign: "CASABLANCA."
"Yeah, that one! Wait, you've seen Casablanca?"
"I KNOW ABOUT LOTS OF THINGS."
"Okay, now I have questions. So many questions. Do cartoon characters watch movies? Do you sleep? Do you eat? What's your deal with the permanent smile? Can you actually change expression or is that your face forever? Do you have bones? Is your biology consistent or does it change based on what's funny? Do you—"
Cartoon Cat reached behind his back and pulled out the duct tape again.
Deadpool put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I'll stop! No more tape! That stuff hurts!"
Sign: "THEN LEARN WHEN TO STOP TALKING."
"But that's like, my whole thing!"
"I KNOW. IT'S TRAGIC."
Deadpool laughed, sheathing his swords. "Alright, Cartoon Cat. I'll leave you alone. For now. But we're definitely hanging out later. I'm going to introduce you to all my friends! Well, the ones who don't actively want to kill me. Which is like... three people. Maybe two."
And with that, Wade Wilson—Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, the Regenerating Degenerate—grapple-hooked to the next building and disappeared into the New York skyline, leaving Cartoon Cat alone on the rooftop.
Cartoon Cat stood there for a moment, processing everything that had happened.
He'd tormented Tony Stark, annoyed Deadpool, met the X-Men, and played Wolverine's claws like a musical instrument.
It had been a good few days.
He pulled out a sign for his own benefit: "I LOVE THIS UNIVERSE."
Dismissed it, pulled out another: "WHAT SHOULD I DO NEXT?"
And then, in the distance, he heard sirens. Police sirens. And something else. Explosions. Shouting.
Some kind of incident was happening downtown.
Cartoon Cat's permanent grin seemed to widen—which was impossible, but he was starting to realize that "impossible" didn't mean much when you were a cartoon character.
He reached behind his back and pulled out a superhero cape. Bright red, flowing dramatically despite the lack of wind, utterly ridiculous looking on his black cartoon body.
He put it on, struck a dramatic pose that would make comic book cover artists weep, and then ran toward the sounds of chaos.
Not because he was a hero.
Not because it was the right thing to do.
But because it sounded fun.
And in the end, that was what mattered.
Cartoon Cat was here to have fun.
And the Marvel Universe was providing plenty of opportunities.
His adventure was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see what happened next.