Mordecai Heller

St. Louis, Lackadaisy Speakeasy, 1924:

Mordecai was standing at the entrance of the speakeasie, watching the people and how they danced.

"Everyone's dancing... it looks fun, doesn't it?" He heard a soft voice beside him, but maintained a serious and direct expression. "...what do you think?"

"It looks like a sea of ​​sequins, with limbs moving in sync to the sound of discord and meaningless conversations. Does that meet the criteria for entertainment?" He replied in an expressionless tone.

The cat's ears flattened. "Oh, sorry... I just... um..." As she was about to walk away, they both heard a loud voice approaching. "Hey! What? Isn't she good enough for you? Can't you be polite?" Another cat arrived, very unhappy with his attitude.

Mordecai was confused. "Excuse me?" He looked at the cat with an expression of profound bewilderment. "She invited you to dance and you didn't even—" He interrupted her, saying, "She didn't invite me to dance. She asked me what dancing looks like."

"What? What's your problem?" The cat grew even more irritated, and Mordecai was increasingly confused. "I... it's just... she... Can't you see I'm busy?" Mordecai looked to his left and pointed to a plant. "Studying botany?"

Now the two cats were confused. "The... ficus?" one of them asked. "It's an excellent ficus," he murmured, looking back at the two still present. "I wish I were that ficus," he said, before turning and hiding behind the plant.

Suddenly, Mitzi approached. “Oh, girls, don’t be upset. The cold glove is just a trick. It might look like a starched shirt stapled to a post… pretending to be a plant.”

“But on the dance floor he’s a devilish dancer with a serious case of elegant feet.” Mitzi winks and escorts the ladies to other gentlemen.