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  [chapter:Chapter One – Let Ze Experiment Begin]

  Pepe Le Pew was alone in his apartment, pacing with a paw pressed dramatically to his chest. The blinds were drawn, the air thick with stale cologne, and every sigh he gave sounded like it carried the weight of the world.

  “Why, oh why do zee ladies scatter like frightened bunnies whenever I arrive?” he moaned, collapsing onto his velvet loveseat. “Am I not charming? Am I not devoted? If I were a lady, I would be—how you say—positively flattered!”

  He stewed in silence, chin in paw, tail flicking irritably against the cushions. Then, with sudden clarity, he snapped his fingers.

  “Mais oui! If zee women cannot explain themselves, I shall unravel zee mystery! And for zat…” He struck a pose. “I shall become one!”

  Before doubt could intrude, Pepe spun toward his computer. A few furious clicks later, he was lost in the wonders of the ACME Online Catalog: Pageant-Grade Pink Fur Dye! Glamour Makeup! Blouses with Puffy Shoulders! Every click rang with destiny.

  “Oui, oui, zis shall do nicely,” he purred, pressing Checkout.

  Almost immediately—ding dong!—a weary delivery man appeared, box in hand.

  “Already? Mon dieu, zat was fast indeed!” Pepe showered the fellow with thankful handshakes full of dollar bills, before slamming the door shut with glee.

  He tore into the box, packaging peanuts flying like confetti. From within came the treasures. First: a can of pink paint with a roller attachment. Pepe flung the roller aside, popped the lid, and poured the paint straight over his head. In seconds his fur shifted from black-and-white to a radiant swirl of pink and snowy white.

  He twirled before the mirror, clasping his paws. “Magnifique! Already I am ravishing!”

  Then came a skunk neutralizing perfume, which left his fur smelling like sweet jasmines. “Zis time Pepe’s unique gallant essence won’t be a pretext for affection”.

  Next came a body-shaping girdle, a puff-sleeved blouse with a bow on the chest, a flirtatious little skirt, a purse, and heaps of imitation jewelry. Finally, he lifted a curious flat sheet labeled Instant Makeup, One Peel Only.

  “ACME, mon cher, you zink of everything!” he cried, slapping it to his face. With one peel—voilà! Perfect lashes, blush, and lipstick in flawless precision. Pepe gasped at his reflection.

  “My, my… if I were not already me, I would ask me for a date. The only thing left is a name. Something elegant, something mystique, something that sounds like musique. Oui—Colette will be!”

  And thus, Pepe Le Pew became Mademoiselle Colette.

  Before the mirror, Colette adjusted the bow on his blouse for the seventeenth time. From a desk drawer he produced a tiny Go-Pro, nestled it into the bow, and tapped the lens until a red LED winked alive. With practiced clicks at his computer, the stream went live.

  “Bonjour, mes amis!” he cooed into the camera, batting lashes thick as butterfly wings. “Eet is I, your Pepe—ah non, your Colette! And today, I prove zat to be admired is not a curse, but a blessing! Oui, I shall prove in real time, zat zee problem is not with romance… but with zee lack of appreciation!”

  He blew a kiss to the lens. “For every hundred likes, mes amis, I shall give you one more hour of Colette! Yes, yes—let zee people decide how long I stroll!”

  With a final flourish, Colette slipped into his high heels, wobbled dangerously out of his apartment, then clung to the stair banister like a monkey attempting ballet on stilts. But in his mind, every misstep was just another coquettish sway.

  Outside, the city buzzed— cars honking, pigeons scattering, children shouting. Colette drew a deep breath, puffed the shoulders of his blouse, and declared for his unseen audience:

  “Mesdames, messieurs… let zee experiment begin!”

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Two – One Rude Monsieur]

  At first, nobody gave Colette a second glance. He strutted down the street proudly, lifted chin, heels clattering like applause to each of his footsteps. “Ah, magnifique,” he whispered to himself. “Already exuding coquetterie.”

  But then came the murmurs.

  "Is that lady... a skunk with a hangover?" a passerby snickered to his friend.

  Two teenage girls walked by, giggling behind their hands. "Yikes! Nice TEMU skirt."

  Colette’s ears twitched. His stride stiffened—but only for a moment. He lifted his nose higher, huffing to himself. “Pardis! They would not recognize the glamour even if it was to... to be slappé in their face! Non non! Moi? I am la fashion, la diva, le parfum! I have that, how you say…?”

  A man passing with his coffee muttered without even glancing: “Hooker vibes.”

  “Zat it! I have… hoo-kair vibes? You zink Colette 'as ze vibes of a hoo-kair?” He directed that question to the camera in his bow but didn’t wait for an answer. The word had landed like a slap. His throat felt tight. He tried to swallow. “…Perhaps,” he whispered, forcing a smile for the camera, “perhaps we can tone down zee hips.” He straightened into a smaller, more conservative sway.

  On his phone screen, the stream chat flickered with commentary:

  • SkunkFan88: Man! That was harsh bro.

  • RoseQuartz: Pay deaf ears to them, darling. You look fabulous.

  • UrbanCoyote: Careful, Pepe. With that attitude, you’ll attract the wrong eyes.

  He pressed on. But soon, a sharp whistle cut through the city noise.

  Across the street, a construction site loomed half-finished, beams jutting like broken ribs against the sky. A burly dog in a hard hat leaned on his shovel, eyes fixed on Colette. He grinned, baring too many teeth. “Hey, pretty thing.” He blew a kiss that curled like smoke. “C’mere. I have somethin’ I want to show you.”

  The street seemed darker there, the air heavier. Still, Pepe’s pride tried to rally. “Zee ladies are far too timid,” he told himself. “But I… I shall not be! A gentleman only wishes to share, non?”

  He tottered closer, though his heart hammered with an unsettling feeling.

  When Colette got at reach, the worker slid an arm around his waist, tugging him in until their fur touched. His voice dropped low, almost a growl. “You like this, lady? Don’t you feel it? Wanna see what I’ve got?”

  Panic surged like ice through Colette’s perfumed chest. His lashes fluttered with surprise. “Euh—non, monsieur! Perhaps not!” He shoved away with both paws and bolted, heels leaving holes in the wet cement as he ran.

  The chat exploded in chaos:

  • SkunkFan88: RUN!

  • UrbanCoyote: Told you, Pepe!

  • HeelEnthusiast: That escalated FAST

  • RoseQuartz: Oh my god oh my god oh my god

  • ChatMod42: Pepe.exe has crashed

  Finally, Colette ducked behind a lamppost, chest heaving, fur damp with sweat beneath his pink dye. His lipstick was smudged, eyeliner streaked. For a moment he stared at his trembling reflection in his compact mirror.

  “…Non. Non, zis was but one brute,” he hissed to himself. “It could have happened to Pepe, too! Zis is not about zee skirt, or zee bow, or zee pretty pink fur. We cannot let romance down, just for one monsieur with no manners.”

  He dabbed his lipstick back into place, puffed his shoulders, and forced his stride steady again. Ahead lay the park, its trees rising like a promise in the distance.

  “I tell you all, zee won’t let me down. For zee experiment,” he whispered, voice low but firm. “For zee love.”

  And with that, he marched toward the park, his heels clicking like a dare against the pavement.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Three – Strawberry is Overrated]

  The city streets were once again a catwalk, and Colette decided to treat them as such. His heels still clicked with grace, his tail swished with a bit too much drama, and every now and then he twirled his purse as if to say: I am fine, world. I came here to conquest.

  But inside, he was rattled. The encounter at the construction site gnawed at him. So, when the pastel-striped awning of a lonely ice-cream cart appeared at the edge of the park, Colette nearly cried with relief.

  “Zis,” he breathed, pressing a paw to his heart, “is exactly what a delicate lady requires—a cold treat for a hot day, and a kind word for zee weary soul.”

  The vendor, a stout tabby in suspenders, looked up with a practiced smile. “Well, hello there, miss. What can I scoop for you today?”

  Colette leaned against the cart as if posing for a perfume ad, lashes fluttering. “One scoop of strawberry, s’il vous plaît. Strawberry has always been… Pepe’s favorite. I mean—Colette’s favorite!”

  The cat chuckled, spoon busy. “Chips and drizzle?”

  “Mais oui. Drown it in sweetness, to match zee personality of your humble customer.”

  The cone arrived towering with not one but three scoops, glistening in the sun. Colette gasped. “Mon dieu, eet is magnifique!”

  “No charge,” the vendor said with a wink. “For you, lady, it’s on the house.”

  Colette smiled and nodded. “Zat is so kind! I knew zis city had gentlemen hiding among zee shadows. Merci, monsieur, merci!” He turned to leave, ready to savor his treat, when the vendor cleared his throat.

  “Hold on a sec, miss.”

  Colette froze. “…Oui?”

  “You didn’t thank me,” the cat said slowly.

  “But I did,” Colette replied. “Yes, you did, but it was so… cold. So distant. Don’t you think I deserve a warmer kind of thanks?”

  Colette tilted his head. “What do you mean, monsieur?”

  The cat leaned forward over his cart. “Maybe… a kiss? A little one, barely a touch. Just for the fun of it. Nobody’s watching, nobody will know. What do you say?”

  The heat of the sun made the ice cream give a defeated nod in Colette’s paw. His ears twitched. His lashes fluttered. Inside, his pride wrestled with itself: He was kind, non? He gave you strawberry for free! And have you not always complained zat ladies never give something in return?

  He applied more perfume in his fur and said to the cat “I assume… un petit bisou cannot hurt, non?”

  He leaned forward, brushing the faintest kiss across the vendor’s mouth—

  —and felt the cat seize his arm with one hand and his back with the other. The kiss did not end. It deepened, dragged, pressed.

  Colette squeaked, struggling against the grip. Panic rose. With a desperate twist, he yanked free and slapped the vendor hard across the nose with his purse.

  The ice cream cone fell, splattering like a broken heart across the cobblestones.

  “Enough!” Colette cried, voice cracking. His eyes burned with sudden tears. He walked away with his hands clenched in fists.

  The vendor rubbed his nose and smiled with malice. “Lady! You dropped your ice cream”, he shouted, “Got some more here for you.”, he laughed.

  Pepe spun on his heel, head high though his cheeks quivered. “You may keep your strawberry, monsieur,” he declared, “for I find it… overrated!”

  Gasps and laughter flooded the chat on his phone:

  • SkunkFan88: Stay strong diva Colette.

  • RoseQuartz: Strawberry Queen has just been born.

  • UrbanCoyote: Pepe! Colette! Never accept ice cream from a creep.

  • HeelEnthusiast: Purse-Fu Master unlocked.

  • ChatMod42: Colette, don’t away your kisses like that.

  He staggered away, heels clacking against stone, until the awning vanished behind him. The air was heavy, the sweetness of strawberry lingering like a sour perfume.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Four – A Croissant Left in the Rain]

  For the first time since his grand plan began, Colette did not feel like a gallant experimenter or a radiant lady. He simply felt… small. He walked deeper into the park, until he found a bench to sit down.

  The GoPro was still blinking red. His audience was watching. He beheld the palm of his hands not knowing where to start. He wasn’t ready to accept defeat, but he didn’t feel ready to go on.

  He slumped deeper into the bench, ice-creamless hands trembling ever so slightly. With a dainty lace-riveted kerchief, he dabbed at his eyes before leaning toward the little hidden camera nestled in his bow.

  “Mes amis…” His voice quivered like a violin string slightly out of tune. “What went wrong? Eh? I was polite! I smiled! I said merci beaucoup! I even gave a little… how you say… display of my appeal.”

  He batted his lashes for the camera, though the mascara had run in streaks that might have the delight of a goth poet.

  Colette reviewed the chat on his phone, which he balanced carefully on his knee:

  • StrawberryQueen88: bro you auditioning for The Crow?

  • PoodlePrincess77: not ur fault! that ice-cream guy was creepy af

  • SkunketteX: ngl the skirt is kinda too short, ppl prob judging :(

  • RomanceGuru21: rule #1 never kiss for dessert bro

  Pepe squinted at the scrolling words. “So… you are saying… some of zee might be my fault? But—mon dieu! —I gave him zee little kiss! Am I… am I the fool?”

  The chat answered like a digital thunderstorm:

  • SympatheticSalamander: dude don’t blame urself, that’s manipulation

  • HahaLOL69: yes ur the fool 😂

  • PinkDuchessFan: aw, don’t cry, you’re still pretty 💜

  Pepe pressed a paw dramatically to his chest. “Still pretty… even with mascara rivers, eh? You flatter me.” He attempted a watery laugh.

  Leaning closer to the lens, he whispered with exaggerated seriousness: “Tell me honestly, my little viewers… if you were courted in the park by a gentleman with a free ice-cream… would you give him the kiss? Or would you, like zee fox in ze fables, say: ‘Non merci, strawberry is overhyped’?”

  The chat split into chaos, some confessing they would have kissed for the freebie, others insisting “never trust ice-cream guys.” Colette’s ears drooped and rose with every new comment, like a ship rocked on digital waves.

  Finally, he raised his paws in surrender. “Alors! It seems love is more complicated than even Pepe imagined. Perhaps I must not only dress as zee lady… I must also learn to think as one. To know when a ‘thank you’ is enough… and when a kiss is too much. Mes amis, will you teach me?”

  He sniffled, then offered the camera a half-smile, half-wobble. Colette dabbed again at the corners of his eyes with his kerchief, opening his compact mirror. His reflection stared back, mascara smudged like ink stains, lipstick crooked from trembling lips.

  “Non, non, non!” he scolded himself. “A true lady does not crumble on a park bench like a sad croissant left in ze rain. Voilà!”

  He reapplied a shaky smear of color, dusted off his skirt, and struck a fresh smile at the camera hidden in his blouse. “Zee experiment continues!”

  The chat swirled with half-pity, half-memes:

  • HoloBrother: Now you are acting like a lady

  • SnarkyDude: You can do it, Colette! Just buy some wipes

  • TooManyCats: 10K likes incoming…

  “Eh bien,” Colette murmured, clutching his purse like a shield, “perhaps zis look is… how you say… too flashy. A touch too coquette, too Mimi from ze cabaret. If ze world finds me scandalous… then Colette shall become demure.”

  And so, with dignity—and the occasional wobble of his heels—he set off toward the boutique district, each step a quiet promise that the day’s lessons were only beginning.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Five – From Diva to Potato Sack]

  The bell above the door of Fleur de Mode chimed like a crystal teacup. Lavender sachets mingled with the crisp scent of fresh silk, and mannequins stood in serene poses, their pastel dresses whispering of refinement. At once, Colette felt his oversized bow turn clownish, his puffed sleeves suddenly loud in this cathedral of taste.

  “Mon dieu…” he breathed, whiskers twitching as he clasped his paws together. “A sanctuary of pleats and propriety! Ze very garden of Eden… but of fabric and color!”

  He drifted from rack to rack, stroking collars of lace, pressing blouses to his chest, twirling until two hat-stands toppled like drunks. Cardigans soft as sunrise brushed his paws. Each piece promised a kind of serenity his wardrobe had never known.

  Then he saw it: a shimmering pleated skirt, just knee-length. He lifted it reverently, hips tilting before the mirror, tail swaying with instinctive pride. “Balanced! Flirtation and finesse, in harmony! Zees will draw tears of admiration, oui.”

  But from behind a row of blouses came the hiss of voices.

  “Oh my gosh,” one woman whispered, “she’s way too chubby for that cut.”

  “I know, right? And what a scandalous taste, that’s so burlesque.”

  “Honestly, some people should just stick to burkas.”

  Then whispering giggles. The words hit him in sequence — three darts, bullseye after bullseye. His ears sagged, his tail wilted, and the shimmering fabric in his paws became, all at once, something cruel.

  “Chubby…?” he murmured to the mirror. “But… but zis frame has chased countless beauties across Parisian rooftops! Chubby?! Moi? Le great skunk?”

  He placed the skirt back onto its hanger as though it was contraband, too pretty, yet too dangerous to touch again. From then on, he dared not reach for the radiant pieces. Instead, his paws settled on the plain: a shapeless brown skirt, a sweater swollen with knit, its color as sullen as his heart.

  “Zis shall do,” he sighed with the gravity of a condemned skunk. “Better to be plain than… ridiculed.”

  The shopgirl offered a polite smile at the counter. Colette did not return it. He slipped into his new disguise, set up the bow with the camera into his new sweater, stuffed his old garments into the bag, and excited with the solemnity of a prisoner walking the green mile.

  Outside, the sweater itched. The skirt dragged damp across the cobblestones. Even the jewelry he’d chosen jingled like rusted jingle bells, unworthy of melody. He caught his reflection in a café window: a figure once flamboyant, now hunched and swallowed in brown.

  “Sacre bleu…” he whispered. “From diva… to potato sack.”

  The chat swarmed his phone like gnats:

  • WildHorse32: bro just unlocked “hobo chic”

  • LeFrenchRevolutione: sad croissant returns, now with sweater DLC

  • LaFashionDiva: even the burlesque fit was better, and that’s saying a lot

  Colette pulled the sweater tighter, clutching it like armor. “Non… zis is virtue. Modesty! Discretion! Safety.”

  Yet the café window was merciless: pink fur still peeked beneath dull wool, jewelry clashed like broken cymbals, and his once-proud tail dragged like a broom behind him. He shuddered.

  “Perhaps,” he muttered, “invisibility is harder zan it looks.”

  And with that, Colette pushed through the café door, stepping into his next act.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Six – No More Kisses from Pepe]

  No one seemed to care about Pepe’s appearance in this place, as it was full of artsy people. In no time, Pepe was already sitting at a table and enjoying a cup of cappuccino.

  “Exquisite!” Colette declared to the stream, holding his porcelain cup aloft like a holy relic. “Civilization itself, captured in a cloud of foam!”

  The chat responded in a fizz of emojis and snark:

  • BigJoker: Bro’s cappuccino review channel when? 😂

  • MisKittyPaws: Foam beard is a LOOK

  • DearOrion2: Nothing says ‘new era’ like overpriced milk

  Colette dabbed his whiskers delicately with a napkin and struck a pose, oversized sweater draped about his shoulders like a fashion magazine model. For the first time since stepping out that morning, he felt… almost serene.

  Until—

  The barista appeared, setting down a second cup of cappuccino with a practiced smile.

  Colette blinked. “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur… I did not order zis duel of caffeine.”

  “It’s on the house,” the barista replied, his voice gentle but tired—the tone of a man who had said these same thing a thousand times.

  Immediately Colette stiffened, rummaging furiously through his purse until he produced a crumpled bill, which he slid across the table with the solemnity of a treaty signing. “Non, monsieur! You shall not be getting more kisses from Pepe—eh, I mean, from Colette! No, never again!”

  The barista paused, blinking at him, then let out a warm chuckle and slid the bill back to him. “Relax, friend. It’s happy hour. Every drink is doubled.”

  Colette froze, then wilted into his chair, paw to chest. “Mon dieu… I was preparing for a new defiance, and it was… a discount?” His ears drooped, then perked again. “Forgive poor Colette, she has been under, how you say… duress.”

  “No harm done,” the barista said kindly. “You’re a nice girl. Enjoy your drinks.”

  Colette narrowed his eyes, suspicious still. “Just like that? You leave, without asking for… phone numbers? Rendezvous? Or perhaps… something more sinister?”

  The barista laughed again, shaking his head. “No, really. I meant it as a compliment. You’re cute, that’s all. End of story.”

  A slow smile crept across Colette’s painted lips. “Cute…” he whispered, rolling the word like candy on his tongue. “Why, merci, monsieur.”

  “Have a good one,” the barista said, giving him a small nod before heading back to the counter.

  Left alone, Colette gazed down at the twin cups of frothy warmth. His sweater still hung loose, his paws trembling from the day’s gauntlet of insults and dangers. Yet for the first time, he felt something else beneath it all—a quiet warmth, faint but steady.

  Maybe… there are good people in zis city, he thought, staring into the steam rising from his cup. Maybe not everyone is cruel, or mocking, or dangerous. Perhaps—just perhaps—there is hope.

  He adjusted both bows at his chest and head, sat a little straighter, and raised his cappuccino to the camera with a triumphant grin.

  “Mes amis… let it be known! No more kisses from Pepe! Only cappuccinos for Colette.”

  The chat erupted in glee:

  • ChatMod42: Colette, this is how it feels a normal interaction 🎉

  • HeelEnthusiast: It feels nice to be treated normally, right?

  • UrbanCoyote: Thumbs up for the barista

  With that, Colette drained his cup and sat taller, his spirit steadied. The day had been harsh, humiliating, bewildering… but maybe not hopeless after all.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Chapter Seven – Ten Thousand Likes]

  The café door jingled again.

  Pepe, halfway through his cappuccino, barely looked up—until a soft voice brushed his ears.

  “Excusez-moi… is zis seat taken?”

  He blinked. Standing before him was a female cat with silken blue-gray fur, honey-colored eyes, and a bow perched at her neckline. Her smile was gentle, shy—but sure.

  Colette’s paw fluttered. “Oh! Non, non, mademoiselle. It is free. Please, do sit!”

  As she settled gracefully into the chair, Pepe’s phone lit up with an explosion of chat:

  • LonelyWolf222: NO WAY, Pepe sitting with a girl?

  • BubbleFairy: LOL Colette gets more ladies than Pepe ever did 😂

  • BlingBling: Pepe, just LOOK what walked in 😍

  “Merci,” she said, folding her paws neatly on the table. “My name is Béatrice. I am new here, from France, and… I do not know anyone yet.”

  Pepe’s painted lashes fluttered. “Zat is incroyable, I am from France as we—” He cut himself off, struck dumb by her lovely gaze. Then, with regained composure, he continued, “It will be a pleasure to share a table with you, but tell me, mademoiselle—are you aware of who I am?”

  Her tail flicked once, almost teasing. “Oui. You are Mademoiselle Colette.” She paused, then let her smile tilt wider. “Or… should I say, Monsieur Pepe?”

  Pepe choked spectacularly on his drink, sputtering foam across the saucer. “W-what?! You know?! But… how?!”

  Béatrice tapped her phone with a sly little grin. “I have been watching your stream. From ze very beginning. You are…” she tilted her head, considering, “cute. Très dramatique, oui—but still cute.”

  Pepe’s ears drooped, painted lashes trembling. “Mon dieu… but you do not understand. I am—a menace! A wolf in cologne! Pepe the Devil, the Monster, scourge of every lady’s peace! Surely you know zis!”

  Her honey eyes softened. “Non. I do not see a monster. I see… Colette.”

  He pressed his paws to his chest. “Yes, but I also have been reckless! Blind! Chasing, frightening, making everyone run at every turn!”

  Béatrice reached across the table, laying a paw lightly on his. “If zat is true, you seem to have learned. And zat… is enough. Tell me about it, if you wish, while we share coffee.”

  The barista approached and she ordered her drink. Once it arrived, they started to chat and for the first time, Pepe found himself speaking without theatrics. They traded stories—awkward memories, small triumphs, embarrassments told with laughter instead of shame.

  When silence finally settled, Colette’s eyes shimmered with cartoon sparkles. He whispered, “Never… never in my life have I spoken with a lady so… peacefully. Without chasing, without crying, without chaos. Mon dieu… I could get used to being Colette.”

  “And I,” said Béatrice, looking him to the eyes, “could get used to having a new amie. A pretty friend named… Colette” She giggled.

  The café seemed brighter, the cappuccino sweeter, the atmosphere warmer. For once, Pepe didn’t feel like he was performing romance— he simply felt at ease, being himself.

  The GoPro blinked red. The chat detonated:

  • ByteMeNot: Beatrice + Colette = besties!

  • GlitchQueen: Cute overload 💜

  Pepe leaned toward the camera, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Mes amis… perhaps zis is ze greatest twist of all. For I sought to be adored… but instead, I have found… a friend.”

  Then—buzz. His phone rattled the table. Pepe glanced down, and his eyes bulged cartoonishly from their sockets

  “Mon dieu… ten. Thousand. Likes!”

  The chat howled:

  • SirSwoon: That’s 100 HOURS, Pepe!

  • EchoOfElegance: You swore, no backing out!

  • VelvetWhisper: Colette marathon incoming 🌸

  • GhostInTheChat: RIP Pepe, it was nice knowing ya

  Pepe slapped his forehead, collapsing against his chair. “One hundred hours?! Mes monstres! You wish to see me crumble like a tragic soprano in Act Trois! My mascara will melt, my paws will shrivel, I shall perish beneath a mountain of makeup wipes!”

  The screen filled with roses, laughing faces, beating hearts.

  Then, with a long theatrical sigh, he straightened, smoothed his head bow, and rose to his feet.

  “Très bien! Pepe—non, Colette—never breaks a vow. You shall have your hours. But!” He wagged his finger sternly at the lens. “Not in one dreadful sitting. Non! Instead, I shall return in glorious sessions! As long as ze applause continues, so too will Colette’s reign!”

  Béatrice giggled softly into her paw, delighted with Pepe’s antics.

  Pepe looked around at the cozy café, at his empty cup, at the gentle smile across from him. For the first time in years, his heart did not ache with loneliness.

  [newpage]

  [chapter:Epilogue: Fifi’s Experiment]

  The camera’s red-light blinks to life.

  Inside the lavender-painted shell of an abandoned car—her makeshift apartment— Fifi La Fume sits upright, framed neatly by the lens. Beside her lies a small pile of makeup and costume props. She claps her paws once, theatrically.

  “Bonjour, mes amis!” she announces, voice crisp and confident. “Today’s stream begins with… a rant! For I am tired—tired of monsieur after monsieur walking through life as if the world owes them charm, respect, attention… simply because it was built for them!”

  She holds up a fake, bushy mustache, pressing it over her upper lip with a dramatic snap. “Zat is why—oui—I will become… monsieur Fifi for ze day! And by nightfall, I shall be respected. I shall have a generous job proposal. And—ha! —I will return accompanied by at least two ladies. Oui. At least two!”

  The camera zooms as she finishes her transformation: a pinstripe jacket slightly too big, a tilted hat, a necktie and a pair of well-polished shoes. She practices her deep, faux-gravel voice. “Parfait. A new identity. A world to conquer, bien sûr.”

  Confident, Fifi steps out of her car and strides into the city. Her tail flicks behind her like a metronome. The street outside buzzes with the usual city chaos.

  She barely makes it half a block before spotting a stocky, rough-looking male skunk leaning against a wall, arms folded like stone pillars. His gaze sharpens as she approaches.

  “What’s your problem?” he growls, squinting at her. “You starin’ at me, mustache? You got somethin’ to say—or you just lookin’ for trouble?”

  Fifi stops cold. Her whiskers twitch, her tail stiffens, and her fake mustache quivers dangerously at the edge of peeling off. Her breath catches. “…Sacrebleu,” she whispers, eyes wide