Anthropomorphic

Black Cat 

Character Portrait

Dinero Cashmoney

Staying true to his word, the anthropomorphic black cat, Dinero Cashmoney, hasn't brushed a whisker in Anthroxville for what feels like an age – and has no intentions of doing so in the near future. Yet, his shadow – dark, elongated, inescapable - stretches over the city's consciousness. The gone-but-never-forgotten titan of commerce had taken his leave, quite literally, on the eve of Piper Yuwot's audacious tax reform, and has ever since been floating around in avoidance, up high in his hot air balloon which has become a defining feature of Anthroxville’s skyline.

As a symbol of both his mind-warping wealth and his conscientious objection to the contentious Yuwot Tax, his balloon bears four giant fluorescent dollar signs so that his protestations can be seen from every direction from miles afar. There is also a stroboscopic dollar sign on the underside of his triple-decker wicker basket for the benefit of those who find themselves located directly underneath and fancy a rave or an epileptic fit. It’s a sight so mesmerizing that the townsfolk, whether in agreement with his cause or simply in awe of his inconceivable wealth, gather in almost religious reverence, arms outstretched, grasping for those distant green symbols, murmuring "Cashmoney" like a prayer.

However, Dinero's skyward escape is only a half-told tale of his tax rebellion. Down on terra firma, his more terrestrial, and arguably psychotic response played out with the abrupt suspension of his ubiquitous Cashmoney Bank, holding the town’s fortunes hostage. Biweekly once-in-a-lifetime economic implosions throughout the financial system became the norm. However, Dinero saw it not as cruelty, but a necessity. In his words, "Fuck 'em all." Despite the economic maelstrom, the stubborn, if not slightly unhinged, administration of President Clint Bigot remained unmoved. And as the situation spiraled, Vanessa Trifle, Chief Vibe-Checker, found herself battling the rising tide of communal neurosis.

While Anthroxville thrashes in financial quicksand, the anthro black cat reclines amidst the opulence of the stratosphere. Above, his multi-tiered wicker realm provides not just a vantage point but a refuge of exquisite luxury. His pleasures aren't limited to the lavishness of his surroundings, though; there’s a perverse cackle-inducing joy when observing, from a safe altitude, the tempests he's stirred below. 

In the observatory chamber of this sky-high palazzo, a gold-plated telescope stands sentinel. With it, Dinero indulges in his preferred pastime, playing celestial voyeur to the ever-developing tragicomedy unfolding beneath him. Should his ears itch for the whispered secrets of the world below, a mammoth ear trumpet is at his disposal. This ornate auditory device spirals past the verdant expanse of his second-floor orangery, and when angled just so, captures even the faintest murmurs from the streets, each word crystalline, each secret deliciously laid bare. Dinero's airborne existence? Less of an exile, more an all-access pass to the world's grandest theater.

Dinero, ever the savvy cardsharp, sees this all as a sublime test of patience. In his view, this bureaucratic farce — the government with their risable tax — will inevitably implode. After all, no one in their right, or even, wrong-mind, would willingly court an insurrection by the foam-at-the-mouth brigade, particularly when marshalled by the notorious Cornelius Fudge. Incidentally, Dinero enjoys inviting the Fudge up to his wickered chateau to discuss the latest, offering a hilariously treacherous ladder climb as the only method of entry.

But let's not forget, the anthro black cat is no stranger to the fickleness of power. There was a brief moment in time when he wasn't merely a humble tycoon, but rather, held court among the so-called government. That was, of course, prior to their laughable descent from grace, which led to their retroactive rechristening as The Embaristocracy. Amongst them were a cavalcade of eccentrics: the theatrically morose Ottoline Puffplinth, the perennially discombobulated Herbert Whiffpop, and Bertie Plimsoll, the poster child for misplaced confidence.

Yet, amidst their collective fall from grace and as they've receded into ignominy, there's Dinero, his fortunes not just intact but thriving. It's a curious thing, and Anthroxville's grapevine is rife with whispers. They say that perhaps Dinero didn't just watch The Embaristocracy's downfall; maybe, just maybe, he nudged it along a bit...