OSW // ISSUE #002
Lying on his back in the middle of the floor, Mildred gnaws at the last remnants of Walter Bloom, a wilted stem clutched between his front paws. “Said I ruined his garden,” he meows. “Now I’m eatin’ it. Character development.”
Mildred rolls to his feet and hops onto the arm of the widow’s posh red couch. Claws dug in deep, he kneads the upholstery, shredding twelve thousand dollars one biscuit at a time.
“For real just glad the catwalk’s leadin’ me down something a little more normal now. Not to throw shade on whatever retro arcade we got tossed into, cuz I ate, no crumbs. But pixels don’t hit like canvas. Cuz a ring’s just a big box, and you KNOW I gotta sit in it. And now Marvo’s out here hard-launching the Natty Catty in the OSW Temple. We’re so back,” Mildred purrs.
“Guess the Temple ain’t just a clever flex though,” he mews, shifting on the cushion to sit upright, front paws tucked neatly together, tail curled around his feet. “Cuz I’mma meet God there. Least, that’s what Siniestro’s gonna tell me.”
“Vaquerito, Egypt built pyramids for my ancestors. I’ve got deity running through my blood. So taking me to meet God? That’s just a family reunion,” Mildred chirps. “Lowkey, I’m doing you a favor. Trust me, you don’t want an invite. Ever been in a room with like a thousand cats? I know you’ve seen some things. Nothing compares to that smell. A cat-astrophe.”
His ears flatten at the memory.
“Not gonna lie, I respect your hustle for real. Armed and Dangerous got paired together on a whim and you and Deadeye walked out your first match with the gold. And y’all been standing on business solo too. You said it yourself: you never waited for a door to open. You kicked it off its hinges.”
“Me? I’m a cat. I never had to open a door on my own. I just strut through the flap like I own the place. Cuz I do. Probate said so,” Mildred meows. “But I know in OSW, there ain’t no cat flap. And as much as I meow for someone to let me in, nobody’s coming. So I’mma claw this door down myself. Sure, I coulda just coasted on this inheritance, napping in the lap of luxury. Literally. But there’s a fire in my fur, and it’s telling me Mildred’s more than some rich, hot nepo kitty. He's got somethin' the world needs to see, right there in that big ol' box with ropes and turnbuckles.”
A beam of afternoon sun cuts through the window. Mildred stretches into it, eyes half-closed, glowing like a statue in a temple.
“Time to meet God? Fam, I got nine lives. And even if you burn through all of ’em? Me and God? We’re mutuals.”
Satisfied, Mildred pops in his AirPods, curls into a loaf in the sunbeam, and settles in for his sixteenth hour of sleep.
Mildred rolls to his feet and hops onto the arm of the widow’s posh red couch. Claws dug in deep, he kneads the upholstery, shredding twelve thousand dollars one biscuit at a time.
“For real just glad the catwalk’s leadin’ me down something a little more normal now. Not to throw shade on whatever retro arcade we got tossed into, cuz I ate, no crumbs. But pixels don’t hit like canvas. Cuz a ring’s just a big box, and you KNOW I gotta sit in it. And now Marvo’s out here hard-launching the Natty Catty in the OSW Temple. We’re so back,” Mildred purrs.
“Guess the Temple ain’t just a clever flex though,” he mews, shifting on the cushion to sit upright, front paws tucked neatly together, tail curled around his feet. “Cuz I’mma meet God there. Least, that’s what Siniestro’s gonna tell me.”
“Vaquerito, Egypt built pyramids for my ancestors. I’ve got deity running through my blood. So taking me to meet God? That’s just a family reunion,” Mildred chirps. “Lowkey, I’m doing you a favor. Trust me, you don’t want an invite. Ever been in a room with like a thousand cats? I know you’ve seen some things. Nothing compares to that smell. A cat-astrophe.”
His ears flatten at the memory.
“Not gonna lie, I respect your hustle for real. Armed and Dangerous got paired together on a whim and you and Deadeye walked out your first match with the gold. And y’all been standing on business solo too. You said it yourself: you never waited for a door to open. You kicked it off its hinges.”
“Me? I’m a cat. I never had to open a door on my own. I just strut through the flap like I own the place. Cuz I do. Probate said so,” Mildred meows. “But I know in OSW, there ain’t no cat flap. And as much as I meow for someone to let me in, nobody’s coming. So I’mma claw this door down myself. Sure, I coulda just coasted on this inheritance, napping in the lap of luxury. Literally. But there’s a fire in my fur, and it’s telling me Mildred’s more than some rich, hot nepo kitty. He's got somethin' the world needs to see, right there in that big ol' box with ropes and turnbuckles.”
A beam of afternoon sun cuts through the window. Mildred stretches into it, eyes half-closed, glowing like a statue in a temple.
“Time to meet God? Fam, I got nine lives. And even if you burn through all of ’em? Me and God? We’re mutuals.”
Satisfied, Mildred pops in his AirPods, curls into a loaf in the sunbeam, and settles in for his sixteenth hour of sleep.