Opening Night

Backstage at the New Amsterdam, the air buzzed wiff a mix of excitement and nerves. The boys moved in their own rhythms—Baxter adjusted his crown, which, being opening night, he had decided to wear no matter what day it was. Waffles smoothed out his bowtie for the hundredth time, muttering about ambiance not just in cafes, but in the very essence of the theater itself. Reuben, who had already been in costume for an hour, was straightening Baxter’s ear tuft absentmindedly, while Fish sat on an upturned crate, sketching last-minute updates to his cheese map on the back of an old script. The scent of sawdust, fresh paint, and something faintly buttery—perhaps from the concession stand—drifted in from the wings.

Barry, silent and fidgeting wiff his costume, hesitated near the curtain. The weight of the night pressed on his chest—every light, every sound, every breath beyond the stage meant something now. Carefully, he stepped up onto the wooden box Reuben and Fish had abandoned, his paws trembling slightly as he peeled back just a sliver of the thick velvet curtain.

Rows upon rows of eager faces stretched out before him, the house nearly full. A hum of voices layered over the occasional burst of laughter, and he spotted the sharp eyes of critics near the front, already poised wiff notebooks in hand. Somewhere in the middle, a group of patrons leaned in close to each other, their whispers barely visible in the shifting candlelit glow of the chandeliers. It was all real now. Not just an idea, not just a dream, but a theater packed wiff people, waiting—waiting for them.

Barry exhaled sharply and felt a paw on his shoulder. Baxter had joined him, his grin steady and sure.

“They’re here for us,” Baxter whispered, his voice brimming wiff excitement, wiffout a trace of fear.

Barry swallowed and nodded, stepping down from the box. Reuben and Fish glanced at him, their paws gripping each other in nervous anticipation. Waffles adjusted his bowtie one last time.

The lights in the house dimmed. The murmurs softened. The curtain was about to rise.