"Let's go! Today we're treating ourselves to a feast!" Voss was in high spirits, carrying Tom under one arm and Jerry under the other.
"No fancy restaurant or Michelin star needed—tonight's on me, Young Master Voss!"
Tom and Jerry were just as excited. Their little performance earlier had left them glowing with pride. Seeing the crowd's jaws drop at their act gave them a sense of recognition they'd never felt before.
"Gentlemen! Hold it right there!"
A stern voice rang out from behind. Voss turned and saw three uniformed police officers approaching.
Leading them was a middle-aged man, around forty, broad-shouldered with blond hair. The badge on his chest glinted in the sunlight.
"It's over, it's over, it's over!" Voss's knees went weak, nearly dropping Tom and Jerry.
"It must've been those gangsters! I knew it—snitches always strike first!"
His mind spun through terrible scenarios: Would he be arrested and locked up? Would he end up bunking with big, scary cellmates? Would Tom and Jerry get hauled off to the animal shelter?
"Sir, let me see your identification." The officer's voice was steady but firm.
Hands shaking, Voss pulled out his wallet with the old ID he'd been carrying. "O-officer, I didn't break any laws! I was just… performing, that's all!"
The officer examined the ID, then returned it. "Mr. Voss Nibbler, I'm Captain George Stacy of the NYPD. We got a report you were performing on the street without a permit."
"Reported?" Voss blinked. "By who?"
George gestured toward a group of street performers glaring at them from across the way: a grumpy old guitarist, a woman sketching portraits, and an elderly magician waving his hat.
"It's him!" the magician barked, pointing at Voss. "The moment this guy showed up, all our business tanked! Why should he get to perform without a permit?"
"Exactly! We all have the proper paperwork!" the guitarist added. "And what about those animals? No vaccination certificates! What if they bite somebody?"
Voss's stomach dropped. So it wasn't gangsters—it was jealous competition. Still, they weren't wrong. Performing without a permit was a problem.
Captain Stacy's gaze moved between the crowd and Voss. "They're right. In New York City, street performers need a valid permit. And pets must have vaccination certificates."
"Uh… Officer, I'm new here, I didn't know the rules." Voss tried to keep his voice steady. "Can I… apply for one now?"
Tom and Jerry stood tense beside him. They understood every word, and the mood wasn't good.
"The permit process takes about two weeks through City Hall," George explained. "The fee is one hundred dollars, plus you'll need proof of ID and residency."
"Two weeks?!" Voss felt like lightning struck him. "What am I supposed to do until then?"
"Until it's approved, you can't perform commercially in public spaces," George said flatly. "And your pets need rabies shots and health certificates before you bring them out in public."
Voss deflated completely. A moment ago, he'd been dreaming of the good life—now it was crashing down.
"Officer, can't you make an exception?" he pleaded. "I really need this job—I can barely pay rent as it is."
George looked at him, then at Tom and Jerry, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "The law's the law. But…" He paused. "If you perform in private venues—restaurants, bars—you don't need a street permit. As long as the owner allows it. But your pets still need vaccinations."
Voss's face lit up. "Really?"
"Of course. Just follow the rules."
"Thank you, officer! Thank you!" Voss bowed his head repeatedly in relief.
The other performers scowled, clearly unhappy he wasn't hauled away. The magician opened his mouth to argue, but one look from George shut him up.
"All right, show's over. Move along." George dismissed the crowd with a wave. "Mr. Nibbler, remember—no public performances without a permit."
When the police finally left, Voss collapsed onto a bench, completely drained.
Tom and Jerry hovered near him, worried.
"It's over. Totally over." Voss buried his face in his hands. "Just when I saw hope, it all went up in smoke. Two weeks! How do I even survive that long?"
He started counting on his fingers. "I made eighteen hundred today. Rent's due in three days. After rent, I'll have just over a thousand left. Subtract the permit fee, then Tom and Jerry's vaccinations… ugh."
Tom, sensing his anxiety, patted Voss's leg gently. Jerry hopped onto his shoulder, brushing his cheek with a tiny paw.
Voss managed a smile. "It's good to have you guys."
"Don't worry. I'll figure something out." He stood, dusting himself off. "But first things first. The cops are right—you two need your shots."
The moment he said "shots," Tom and Jerry froze. Tom's fur stood on end, Jerry darted behind his tail.
"Relax, relax. Just a quick prick, nothing to be afraid of," Voss assured them. "Once you've got certificates, we can perform anywhere without worry."
They headed to the nearest clinic, a cozy place called Loving Pet Clinic. Through the glass doors, the waiting area gleamed clean and bright, with a few puppies sitting patiently.
"Welcome!" A friendly middle-aged woman in a lab coat approached. "I'm Dr. Smith. Are these two little cuties here for a check-up?"
Hearing "check-up," Tom and Jerry both went pale.
"Yes, they need rabies vaccinations and health certificates," Voss said.
"No problem. Follow me." Dr. Smith led them into the exam room. "These two are so bright—especially this cat. Look at those eyes."
Tom puffed up with pride at the compliment—until he spotted the medical tools. His bravado evaporated instantly.
"Let's start with the cat." Dr. Smith pulled on gloves.
The second Tom heard that, he bolted—leaping onto cabinets, diving under tables, turning the exam room into a circus.
"Tom! Stop it!" Voss chased helplessly.
Jerry sat back, clapping like he was enjoying a stage show.
Dr. Smith chuckled. "Lively one, huh? Don't worry, I have a trick."
She dangled a dried fish from her pocket. Tom's nose twitched, curiosity overcoming caution. He crept forward, paw stretching out—only to be scooped up in a flash.
"There, there. Be good. This will be quick." She cradled him gently.
When the needle gleamed, Tom's eyes bulged. He wriggled like mad, yowling pitifully.
"Easy now, it's just a mosquito bite," Dr. Smith soothed.
"Ow—!" Tom wailed so loudly that even the dogs in the waiting area started barking.
"And… done." Dr. Smith released him.
Tom blinked, touched his arm, and realized it was just a little sting. He scratched his head sheepishly, embarrassed by his theatrics.
"Now for the little mouse." Dr. Smith turned to Jerry.
Jerry, who had been laughing at Tom, instantly panicked. He dashed around the room, only to be scooped up by Dr. Smith with a tiny net.
"Don't be scared, sweetheart," she said, prepping a finer needle.
Jerry trembled, eyes brimming with tears.
Tom padded over, tapping the net gently, giving Jerry a reassuring look: See? I survived. You can too.
Jerry clenched his teeth as the needle pricked. He froze—then blinked. It wasn't bad at all.
"All done! Both of you were so brave," Dr. Smith praised. "Your certificates will be ready by tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you, doctor." Voss paid the eighty-dollar fee.
As they stepped outside, Tom and Jerry sighed in relief. They glanced at each other, then chuckled. Their over-the-top reactions had been more embarrassing than the shots themselves.