Strictly speaking, Tomcat Alley isn’t an alley, or even a street, or an official name at all. It’s a kind of nickname some people use for the six city blocks along Ninth street, between Garfield Place at the north end, and Heathcliff Avenue to the south. The reason is obvious: once a working-class neighborhood for sailors and longshoremen, it’s gradually evolved into a kind of ethnic enclave for your city’s Felinid population. It isn’t a ghetto, exactly. There’s nothing stopping a catfolk from living or working anywhere in town. Many do. But as a species, Panthera Erectus Sapiens tend to be clannish, insular, and somewhat territorial, so a lot of them naturally end up living in the same place.

As a neighborhood, Tomcat Alley is a vibrant, colorful place. At street level, the sidewalks are lined with small shops and restaurants, catering to the inhabitants’ peculiar tastes. The city’s fish market is two blocks away, so the Alley can boast the freshest sushi in the city. Above the shops are the dwellings, some accessible only by a series of high platforms suited only to an acrobat, or a parkour adept. Neon is everywhere, advertising goods and services of every description: FRESH MEAT. MASSAGE. CATNIP. Foot traffic is a mix of human and Felinid: locals, visitors from everywhere in the city, and tourists. It can be a dangerous place, since most of the residents sport retractable claws that put any switchblade to shame.

You’ve come to the Alley to sample the nightlife. There are two main venues. Sylvester’s is a dark, claustrophobic dance hall with an emphasis on throbbing electronic music. The Puddy Tat is more upscale, with dining tables and a stage for live bands. The entry lines for both stretch well down their respective blocks. You’re trying to decide between them, when a tiger-striped Felinid in a leather jacket beckons you over.