It started with a hiss.
Not just any hiss — this one was theatrical. It echoed across the sidewalk, bounced off the mailboxes, and shattered the peaceful aura of a sunny afternoon. Travis turned just in time to see her: a 30-pound Maine Coon in a velvet cape, riding atop a gold-trimmed pillow… carried by two interns in matching tuxedo vests.
Carlton's eyes widened. "That's her. That's her."
Madame Floofington III.
Catfluencer. Royalty. Diva. Menace.
Buttermilk stopped mid-sniff of a fire hydrant. Her head turned slowly. Her tail flicked once. Warily.
It was like watching two ancient rivals lock eyes across a battlefield.
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Backstory (as explained dramatically by Carlton over boxed wine):
Buttermilk and Madame Floofington once shared a brand deal for a gourmet dog-cat combo treat.
Floofington demanded top billing and got it.
Buttermilk responded with a cryptic tweet: "Some of us chew with grace."
The internet exploded. Hashtags like #FurFeud and #CatFight trended for weeks.
Since then, their fanbases had split into two aggressive factions:
Team Buttermilk — "The Real Queen of Pawsitivity"
Floof Troopers — "Long live the whiskered empress"
The beef was real. And now, the enemy was back.
---
Two days later, an email arrived:
> Subject: Purr & Bark Peace Panel
"You're cordially invited to a petfluencer networking event designed to foster unity, growth, and brand deals among our top-tier four-legged stars. Attendance mandatory if you want to stay on the algorithm's good side."
Carlton read it twice. "This is a trap. A velvet-wrapped, salmon-scented trap."
Travis was already RSVPing yes. "Networking means sponsors. Sponsors mean rent."
Buttermilk, lounging on her orthopedic memory foam bean bag, sighed and rolled over.
---
The Peace Panel Event
Held in a downtown art gallery that smelled like incense and expensive pet shampoo, the Peace Panel was absurd.
There were:
Paparazzi dogs wearing GoPros
A vegan pawffle bar
An NFT gallery of barking GIFs (Travis cried when he saw the prices)
Cat yoga on the second floor
A puppy mosh pit near the loading dock
Madame Floofington's setup resembled a royal throne room. She reclined under a lavender heat lamp, flanked by backup kittens fanning her with monogrammed feathers. Her manager, a Sphynx cat in a bowtie named "Crème," handed out signed 8x10s.
Buttermilk's booth had:
A plastic folding table
Some slightly stale liver treats
And a crooked sign reading "Sniff me, I'm famous!"
Carlton whispered, "We are peasants at Versailles."
---
Things went downhill fast.
First, Buttermilk's booth banner was altered — the word "Barkfluencer" was replaced with "Barf-luencer" in what smelled suspiciously like tuna ink.
Then, her clicker toy was replaced with a squeaky mouse that let out a very aggressive meow.
Her snack samples mysteriously disappeared — only to reappear at Floofington's table, now repackaged as "Floof Bites: Artisan Chews."
Even worse, Buttermilk's TikTok suddenly had a mysterious filter applied that made her look like a taxidermy possum with anxiety.
Travis was pacing. "This is psychological warfare."
Carlton agreed. "We need countermeasures."
---
Operation Whisker Whackback (Now with Budget)
Step 1: Carlton "accidentally" spilled a cup of decaf tuna latte on Floofington's PR manager's clipboard. Chaos ensued. Half the interviews were rescheduled.
Step 2: Travis uploaded Buttermilk's classic "Trash Can Ballet" video onto the gallery's central slideshow. It replaced Floofington's sassy eyelash tutorial.
Step 3: Buttermilk, in full drama queen mode, staged a "meditative protest sit" in front of Floofington's booth. She closed her eyes. Crossed her paws. Breathed loudly. Crowds gathered. So did cameras.
The hashtag #ZenQueen trended within the hour.
---
Later that day, a live Q&A was held. Buttermilk and Floofington were both asked one question:
"What does being an influencer mean to you?"
Floofington purred softly and said, through her translator, "Power. Elegance. World domination."
Buttermilk — still mid-lotus pose — let out a gentle sigh and tooted audibly.
The crowd screamed. Twitter exploded. The audio was auto-tuned within five minutes. Spotify pre-saves spiked.
---
Back home that night, Travis opened his inbox.
A new offer. National commercial. Sponsored by FleaAway+. Title: "Scratch That!"
Star: Buttermilk.
Co-stars: A DJ. And a miniature horse named Stephen.
Carlton held his head. "We've crossed into madness."
Buttermilk snuggled into her bean bag, tail thumping once. Her follower count had jumped by 180K.
She had won the war.
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