Swingers!

[scatcat]

"That's it, boys!" Scat Cat exclaimed. He was ready to play his trumpet with gusto.

"Haaahaaa!" the Russian cat erupted in a breathy laugh. "Groovy, cats!"

The Chinese cat, English cat, Russian cat, and the Italian cat followed with their instruments. The Russian cat on the cello, the Chinese cat on percussion and piano (alternating when necessary), English cat on guitar, and the Italian cat on accordion.

And, of course, the band leader Scat Cat on the trumpet. All of the cats had found a place for the night; an abandoned music store in a small, quaint village in France.

"Now watch me!" Scat Cat exclaimed happily to his band mates. He then took up his trumpet, and performed just as passionately as his friends. All of the cats of different ethnic backgrounds performed a swinging, jazzy tune that was definitely audible from outside of the rundown music store.

[omalley]

As the swingin' symphony carried on in the seemingly empty music shop, the band of feline musicians would soon pick up on a very familiar voice, coming from an open window nearby. "Hey, boys! Blow some o' that sweet stuff my way!"

A large, orange-and-white tomcat made a leap from the open windowsill onto a nearby box of instruments, with a perfect landing. O'Malley, the alley cat known all over these parts, smiled heartily, happy to see his old mates again - and just as happy to hear their sweet, sweet music.

[scatcat]

When the trumpet was not needed, Scat Cat took a break from playing and rolled up from his back to his hind legs. He laughed and walked to his old, close friend. "Big Man O'Malley!" He carried his trumpet under his left arm, but Scat Cat held out his right front paw for O'Malley. "Lay some skin on me, Daddy!" He never once frowned when in the company of O'Malley.

The Russian cat continued to play the cello, but he greeted the band's closest friend all the same. "Здравствуйте!" his deep, basso voice erupted.

The Chinese cat was such a skilled pianist that he could speak to O'Malley and play with ease. "Heyy, O'Malley!!" He spun once in his chair, 360 degrees, before turning his front paws to the keys.

The English cat lifted up his John Lennon-esque glasses and grinned. "Welcome, O'Malley!" He lowered his glasses and continued strumming at his guitar.

Buona sera, O'Malley!" said the Italian cat with a warm smile. He played the accordion, but he was the second closest to O'Malley and Scat Cat.

[Frenchie and K. Sera]

Seated on an old couch cushion, Frenchie glared resentfully down at the slightly battered bugle in his hands. He had been at this for months and still couldn't play the bugle any better then when he first took it up! How was he supposed to rally loyal dogs to battle if he couldn't learn how to play a proper rally tune?

The poodle's awful playing had led K. Sera to shove bits of his own fur in his ears just to keep from having to listen. Frenchie didn't exactly know where the little dog was right now, after he had told Frenchie that he needed to step out of their unofficial headquarters, a one-story butcher's shop that had fallen into disuse, for the moment.

Suddenly, the brassy notes of a trumpet floated through air. Frenchie raised a floppy ash-gray gray ear to better listen as now a very jazzy number played. Getting up, he poked his head out of the nearby window and tried to locate the source of the melodious sounds. It seemed to be originating from that old music store down the street. Intrigued, Frenchie climbed out the window, the bugle now clutched between his jaws, and trotted down on all fours the street to find the musicians responsible. When he finally arrived, he noticed an open window and made a beeline for it.

Slowly raising his head to peer inside, he could see six cats gathered together, and at least five of the six had instruments of some sort, ranging from the trumpet to the guitar. Taking his bulge out of his mouth and holding it in his right hand, an admiring smile creased his muzzle as he continued to listen to them play. They were really quite good! Perhaps he should introduce himself and compliment them on their performance. but then, a thoughtful look crossed his face; he wondered... Casually slinging one arm across the sill, he leaned in the window to look at the assorted felines, a broad grin on his face.

"Excusez-moi, monsieurs. I could not help but overhear your wonderful music..." Raising his other hand, Frenchie flashed them the bugle.

[omalley]

O'Malley laid a hearty slap of his own paw onto Scat Cat's in a feline high-five, grinning from ear to ear. There was nothing quite like reuniting with old friends, and this gang of jazz-playing alley cats happened to be O'Malley's closest companions of all. As the rest of the group greeted the rusty-orange cat, he looked all around to give each of them a friendly smile. It was great to hear their familiar, boisterous voices again.

"I was wondering where you boys have been all this while," Thomas spoke up, with his distinctive voice, deep and rich but loose and lighthearted in tone. "It's never quite the same around these parts without you fellas and your music. Where ya been?"

Soon after that, however, a voice spoke up at the window of the run-down shop, the same one O'Malley had leapt through. The alley cat turned to find the source of the unfamiliar voice, and was surprised to find a dog leaning in through the window. Thomas O'Malley typically wasn't the type to be very friendly towards canines; most, if not all of the ones he'd met certainly weren't very friendly to him. But this poodle seemed to be a nice enough guy - and was definitely from around these parts, as evidenced by his thick French accent.

It was then, though, that O'Malley noticed the bugle flashing in one of the dog's paws, and a smile lit up on his snout. Looking back up to the poodle's blue eyes, he decided to be sociable to the pooch. "Hey, dog, you play that there horn?" Dog or cat, O'Malley had respect for any animal that was a musician.