The thing about having successfully intimidated Doctor Doom with a galaxy-sized mech, Cartoon Cat reflected while doing his morning coffee run (he didn't need coffee, being a cartoon, but the ritual was comforting), was that the universe apparently took it as a challenge to throw increasingly absurd situations at him.
Case in point: the giant flaming chicken currently perched on top of the Chrysler Building.
It was 6 AM on a Monday. The city was just waking up. Cartoon Cat had been walking back to The Glitch with a bag of coffee beans (pulled from a local roaster, not hammerspace—he tried to support local businesses) when the sky had turned orange.
Not sunrise orange. Fire orange.
He'd looked up to see it: a massive bird, wreathed in flames, easily the size of a commercial airplane, perched on one of New York's most iconic buildings. Its plumage was gold and crimson, each feather burning with cosmic fire that didn't consume but illuminated. Its eyes were ancient and intelligent.
The Phoenix Force.
Or at least, a manifestation of it.
One of the most powerful entities in the Marvel Universe, the embodiment of life, death, and rebirth, currently looking like the world's most majestic—and terrifying—rotisserie chicken.
Cartoon Cat stood on the street, coffee bag in hand, staring up at the cosmic firebird.
He pulled out a sign: "PLEASE DON'T DESTROY NEW YORK. IT'S BARELY 6 AM AND PEOPLE HAVEN'T HAD COFFEE YET."
The Phoenix tilted its massive head, regarding him with eyes that had witnessed the birth of galaxies.
When it spoke, its voice was like a thousand voices in harmony, layered with cosmic reverb: "CARTOON CAT. ENTITY OF TOON FORCE. ANOMALY IN REALITY. WE HAVE COME TO ASSESS YOU."
"ASSESS ME? I'M JUST A CHEF."
"YOU ARE MORE THAN THAT. YOU BEND REALITY. PULL IMPOSSIBILITIES FROM HAMMERSPACE. FIGHT GODS AND SUMMON MECHS. YOUR EXISTENCE DISRUPTS THE COSMIC ORDER."
"I GET THAT A LOT. IS THIS GOING TO BE ANOTHER FIGHT? BECAUSE I REALLY JUST WANT TO MAKE COFFEE AND PREP FOR BREAKFAST SERVICE."
The Phoenix's flames intensified, and Cartoon Cat felt heat wash over him—not burning, but present, a reminder of the entity's power.
"WE CHALLENGE YOU, CARTOON CAT. PROVE YOUR WORTH. DEMONSTRATE THAT YOUR EXISTENCE SERVES A PURPOSE BEYOND CHAOS."
Cartoon Cat sighed—the visual effect appearing in the air.
He set down his coffee bag carefully (it was expensive coffee, he wasn't wasting it) and pulled out a new sign: "WHAT KIND OF CHALLENGE?"
"COMBAT. THE TRADITIONAL METHOD OF DETERMINING WORTHINESS."
"OF COURSE IT IS. CAN'T WE JUST TALK ABOUT THIS OVER BREAKFAST?"
The Phoenix launched from the Chrysler Building, its wings spreading wide enough to cast shadows over entire city blocks. Flames trailed behind it as it circled overhead.
"WE ARE THE PHOENIX. WE DO NOT NEGOTIATE. WE TEST."
And then it attacked, diving toward him with talons extended, each claw burning with cosmic fire.
Cartoon Cat moved.
He dodged with anime speed, his body blurring, leaving after-images as he ran up the side of a building to gain altitude.
The Phoenix's attack hit the street where he'd been standing, creating a crater of molten asphalt.
"OKAY," Cartoon Cat's sign flashed as he ran vertically, "IF WE'RE DOING THIS, WE'RE DOING IT PROPERLY."
He reached behind his back into hammerspace and pulled.
What emerged was a giant mechanical rooster.
Not just any mechanical rooster. This was a mech rooster, rendered in cartoon style with impossible engineering, standing roughly the same size as the Phoenix Force manifestation. It was red and gold, its mechanical feathers gleaming, its cockpit (heh) positioned in the head.
Because if he was going to fight a giant flaming chicken, he was going to do it in a giant robot chicken.
Toon force logic demanded nothing less.
The mechanical rooster's eyes lit up—actual functional headlights that served as eyes—and a cockpit opened in its head.
Cartoon Cat jumped inside, the distance covered in a single cartoon leap, and grabbed the controls.
The mech responded instantly to his intent, toon force interfacing with mechanical systems that operated on cartoon physics and the rule of cool.
The Phoenix paused mid-flight, its cosmic consciousness processing what it was seeing.
"IS THAT... A MECHANICAL CHICKEN?"
Cartoon Cat's sign appeared on digital displays across the mech's exterior: "IF YOU'RE A FLAMING CHICKEN, I'M A ROBOT CHICKEN. SEEMED FAIR."
"WE ARE NOT A CHICKEN. WE ARE THE PHOENIX FORCE."
"YOU LOOK LIKE A CHICKEN."
"WE ARE A COSMIC ENTITY EMBODYING THE TOTALITY OF LIFE AND DEATH ACROSS ALL REALITIES."
"A SPACE CHICKEN."
The Phoenix's flames burned hotter, cosmic annoyance apparently a thing.
"YOU MOCK US."
"I'M A CARTOON CHARACTER. I MOCK EVERYTHING. IT'S KIND OF MY DEAL."
And then they clashed.
Phoenix versus Robot Rooster, cosmic entity versus toon force creation, in the skies above New York City at 6:15 AM on a Monday.
The Phoenix struck first, cosmic fire washing over the mechanical bird.
Cartoon Cat countered by having his mech do something no reasonable mech should do: it crowed.
An actual rooster crow, amplified to deafening levels, emerged from speakers that appeared for exactly that purpose.
The sound wave disrupted the Phoenix's attack, cosmic fire scattering.
Then the Robot Rooster pecked.
Its mechanical beak extended on a telescoping neck (cartoon physics didn't care about structural integrity), striking the Phoenix with surprising force.
The cosmic entity reeled backward, more surprised than hurt.
"DID YOU JUST PECK US?"
"YOU STARTED IT."
The Phoenix's flames erupted into a full inferno, its true power beginning to show. The entity grew larger, brighter, its form becoming less bird-like and more pure energy.
"ENOUGH GAMES. WE ARE THE PHOENIX. WE HAVE DESTROYED GALAXIES. WE HAVE ENDED CIVILIZATIONS. WE WILL NOT BE MOCKED BY A CARTOON."
The temperature in the immediate area rose by hundreds of degrees. Windows melted. Metal softened.
But Cartoon Cat's Robot Rooster was protected by toon force—cartoon characters didn't burn unless it was funny, and this wasn't funny, it was awesome.
He activated the mech's ultimate weapon.
From the Robot Rooster's tail feathers emerged missiles.
Egg-shaped missiles.
Because of course they were.
"MISSILE EGGS AWAY!" his sign announced.
The eggs launched, each one flying with impossible accuracy, tracking the Phoenix's movements through cartoon guidance systems.
They exploded on impact—not with destructive force, but with concentrated cartoon physics, creating pockets of reality where things operated on Looney Tunes logic instead of cosmic entity logic.
The Phoenix found itself suddenly affected by gravity in ways that didn't make sense, momentum that violated conservation of energy, impacts that made BONK sounds instead of actual damage.
"WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!" the entity roared.
"TOON FORCE! THE GREATEST POWER IN FICTION!"
They fought across the New York skyline, leaving a trail of confused early-morning commuters and definitely-going-viral cell phone videos.
The Phoenix would unleash cosmic flames—Cartoon Cat would counter with cartoon physics.
The entity would try to disintegrate the Robot Rooster—the mech would just pull out a comically oversized fire extinguisher from hammerspace and spray it.
At one point, the Phoenix tried to possess the mechanical bird—a classic Phoenix Force tactic.
The mech's systems immediately rejected it, displaying an error message: "INCOMPATIBLE FILE TYPE: COSMIC_ENTITY.PHX CANNOT BE INSTALLED ON CARTOON_LOGIC.OS"
"ARE YOU RUNNING ON AN OPERATING SYSTEM?!"
"EVERYTHING RUNS ON AN OPERATING SYSTEM IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT."
The fight was spectacular, ridiculous, and causing significant traffic delays.
And then, at the height of their aerial battle, something else arrived.
A fleet of ships descended from the sky—sleek, gold, unmistakably Nova Corps vessels.
At least twenty of them, forming a perimeter around the fight.
A voice boomed from the lead ship, amplified and authoritative: "ATTENTION CARTOON CAT AND COSMIC FIREBIRD. STAND DOWN IMMEDIATELY. THE NOVA CORPS HAS JURISDICTION IN THIS MATTER."
Cartoon Cat paused mid-peck.
The Phoenix paused mid-cosmic-fireball.
They both looked at the fleet.
"THE NOVA CORPS?" the Phoenix said, its cosmic voice carrying confusion. "WHY ARE THEY HERE?"
A smaller ship detached from the fleet, and from it emerged a single Nova Centurion—the helmet marking them as mid-ranking officer—flying on Nova Force energy.
"Cartoon Cat," the Centurion said, their voice stern. "You are in possession of stolen Nova Corps property. Specifically, one standard-issue Nova Corps helmet, serial number NC-7743-B. We have tracked it to your location."
Oh.
Oh.
The helmet he'd stolen from that pilot weeks ago. During his space adventure with the Guardians.
He'd completely forgotten to return it.
It was still on a shelf in his restaurant, proudly displayed as a trophy.
Cartoon Cat, still piloting the Robot Rooster, pulled out a sign: "ABOUT THAT..."
"You are under arrest for theft of military equipment, interference with Nova Corps operations, and—" the Centurion checked a datapad, "—'being really weird about it, seriously, who steals a helmet and then displays it like a souvenir?'"
"THAT LAST ONE ISN'T A REAL CHARGE."
"It is now. We added it specifically for you."
The Phoenix was watching this exchange with what might have been cosmic amusement.
"THE CARTOON CAT IS A THIEF?" the entity asked.
"IT WAS ONE HELMET. AND I TOOK IT POLITELY."
"THEFT IS NOT POLITE," the Centurion said.
"I LEFT A THANK YOU NOTE."
"YOU DID NOT."
"I MEANT TO."
Before the situation could escalate further—Cartoon Cat could feel reality tensing, the Phoenix's flames flickering with anticipation, the Nova Corps powering weapons—another presence made itself known.
The sky darkened.
Not from clouds. From power.
Thunder rolled across the clear morning sky, and lightning struck the top of the Empire State Building with perfect dramatic timing.
Standing there, suddenly present as if he'd always been there, was Zeus.
King of Olympus. God of Thunder and Sky. Ruler of the Greek Pantheon.
He was massive—fifteen feet tall, built like a bodybuilder who'd discovered divine protein powder, wearing white robes that billowed despite the lack of wind. His beard was perfectly styled. His eyes crackled with electricity.
And he looked annoyed.
"ENOUGH!" Zeus's voice boomed across Manhattan, rattling windows and setting off car alarms. "I AM TRYING TO ENJOY MY MORNING COFFEE AND YOU CREATURES ARE MAKING A RACKET!"
The Phoenix bowed slightly—even cosmic entities respected the King of Olympus. "LORD ZEUS. WE MEANT NO DISRESPECT."
"YOU ARE FIGHTING AT 6 AM. THAT IS INHERENTLY DISRESPECTFUL."
Zeus's gaze landed on Cartoon Cat, still in the Robot Rooster.
"YOU. CARTOON CREATURE. ARES SPOKE OF YOU. SAID YOU FOUGHT WITH HONOR AND MADE EXCELLENT RISOTTO."
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "HELLO, LORD ZEUS. SORRY ABOUT THE NOISE."
"AS YOU SHOULD BE." Zeus stepped off the Empire State Building, floating down on a cloud that appeared beneath his feet. "I CAME TO INVESTIGATE THE ENTITY THAT BESTED MY SON. I FIND YOU FIGHTING THE PHOENIX FORCE IN A MECHANICAL CHICKEN."
"IT'S A ROBOT ROOSTER."
"THE DISTINCTION DOES NOT IMPROVE THE SITUATION."
The Nova Corps Centurion, showing either great bravery or great foolishness, spoke up: "Lord Zeus, we have prior claim on the Cartoon Cat. Theft of Nova Corps property."
Zeus turned his gaze to the Centurion. "YOU DARE INTERRUPT THE KING OF OLYMPUS?"
"It's... it's our job, sir. Lord. Your Majesty."
Zeus considered this. "WHAT DID HE STEAL?"
"A helmet."
"ONE HELMET?"
"It's a symbolic crime! About respecting authority!"
"YOU MOBILIZED A FLEET FOR ONE HELMET."
"It's a Nova Corps helmet!"
Zeus looked at the fleet. Then at the single Centurion. Then back at Cartoon Cat.
"THIS SEEMS EXCESSIVE," the god observed.
"THANK YOU!" Cartoon Cat's sign said.
"HOWEVER," Zeus continued, "YOU HAVE STILL COMMITTED A CRIME. AND YOU HAVE DISTURBED MY MORNING. THEREFORE, I CHALLENGE YOU."
"NOT ANOTHER CHALLENGE. I ALREADY HAVE THE PHOENIX THING."
"WE WERE HERE FIRST," the Phoenix interjected.
"I AM KING OF OLYMPUS. I TAKE PRECEDENCE."
The Phoenix's flames flickered with annoyance but didn't argue—cosmic entities could be destroyed, gods were just difficult.
Zeus pointed his lightning bolt scepter at Cartoon Cat. "I CHALLENGE YOU TO... WHAT DID ARES SAY? YOU ARE A CHEF?"
"YES?"
"THEN WE SHALL HAVE A COOKING COMPETITION. YOU VERSUS ME. THE WINNER CLAIMS VICTORY. THE LOSER SUBMITS TO JUDGMENT."
Cartoon Cat's permanent grin somehow conveyed confusion.
"YOU WANT TO HAVE A COOK-OFF? INSTEAD OF FIGHTING?"
"I AM THE KING OF OLYMPUS. I HAVE FOUGHT FOR MILLENNIA. COOKING IS MORE INTERESTING."
"BUT YOU'RE A GOD. CAN YOU EVEN COOK?"
Zeus's expression darkened, literally—storm clouds gathered around him. "I AM ZEUS. I CAN DO ANYTHING. INCLUDING CULINARY ARTS."
"OKAY, BUT—"
"DO YOU ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE OR MUST I SMITE YOU?"
Cartoon Cat looked at the situation: the Phoenix Force waiting to fight him, the Nova Corps wanting to arrest him, and Zeus offering a cooking competition.
The cooking competition was definitely the best option.
"I ACCEPT."
"EXCELLENT!" Zeus's mood immediately brightened, the storm clouds dissipating. "WE SHALL HOLD THE COMPETITION AT YOUR RESTAURANT. I HAVE HEARD MUCH ABOUT THIS GLITCH."
The Phoenix made a sound of protest. "WHAT ABOUT OUR CHALLENGE?"
"YOU MAY ATTEND AS A JUDGE," Zeus declared. "AS MAY THE NOVA CORPS. THIS SHALL BE A PROPER COMPETITION WITH PROPER WITNESSES."
The Centurion looked confused. "We came here to arrest him, not judge a cooking competition."
"PLANS CHANGE. ADAPT."
And just like that, what had started as a battle with the Phoenix Force and escalated with the Nova Corps turned into a cooking competition judged by a cosmic entity, space police, and the King of Olympus.
Cartoon Cat dismissed the Robot Rooster back to hammerspace—it disappeared with a cheerful mechanical cluck—and landed on the street.
"EVERYONE TO THE GLITCH," his sign announced. "I NEED TO PREP MY KITCHEN FOR THE WEIRDEST BREAKFAST SERVICE EVER."
Thirty minutes later, The Glitch was packed.
Zeus sat at the largest table, which had expanded to accommodate his divine size. His lightning bolt scepter leaned against the chair, occasionally sparking.
The Phoenix Force had manifested in a more compact form—only eight feet tall now, flames controlled, sitting like a glowing bird-shaped person in a chair that was somehow not burning.
The Nova Corps Centurion sat stiffly, their helmet on, looking extremely uncomfortable about this entire situation. Behind them, visible through the windows, the Nova fleet maintained position.
Also present, because word had spread impossibly fast:
Tony Stark, who'd detected the energy signatures and come to investigate.
Doctor Strange, who'd sensed cosmic disturbance and teleported over.
Spider-Man, who'd been web-swinging nearby and couldn't resist.
And Deadpool, who'd seen the tweets and brought popcorn.
The restaurant had expanded again to accommodate everyone, the dimensional pocket flexing with practiced ease.
Cartoon Cat stood in his kitchen, looking at the assembled crowd through the window.
He pulled out a sign for his staff: "THIS IS EITHER THE BEST OR WORST IDEA I'VE EVER HAD."
Jessica, who was taking orders with supernatural calm despite the literal gods present, responded: "Just cook. You're good at cooking."
"THERE'S A COSMIC ENTITY JUDGING ME."
"And you've served Galactus. You can handle this."
She was right.
Cartoon Cat took a breath he didn't need and pulled out a new sign: "ALRIGHT. WHAT ARE THE RULES?"
Zeus stood, his presence immediately commanding attention. "THE RULES ARE SIMPLE. YOU AND I EACH PREPARE ONE DISH. THE JUDGES TASTE BOTH. THEY CHOOSE THE WINNER. STANDARD COMPETITION RULES."
"WHAT ABOUT INGREDIENTS?"
"USE WHATEVER YOU WISH. I SHALL SUMMON INGREDIENTS FROM OLYMPUS."
"AND IF I WIN?"
"THEN YOU HAVE BESTED THE KING OF OLYMPUS IN CULINARY COMBAT. THE NOVA CORPS MUST WITHDRAW THEIR CHARGES. THE PHOENIX MUST ACCEPT YOUR WORTHINESS."
"AND IF YOU WIN?"
Zeus smiled, and it was not entirely kind. "THEN YOU WORK FOR ME. AS PERSONAL CHEF TO OLYMPUS."
The restaurant went quiet.
"THAT'S... ACTUALLY A PRETTY HIGH-STAKES COOK-OFF."
"I AM THE KING OF GODS. I DO NOTHING BY HALVES."
Cartoon Cat looked at Zeus, at the Phoenix, at the Nova Corps, at all the spectators.
Then he pulled out a sign: "YOU'RE ON. ONE HOUR. BEST DISH WINS."
"AGREED."
Zeus snapped his fingers, and a second kitchen materialized—full Olympic godly equipment, marble countertops, divine implements.
Both competitors took their positions.
The Phoenix stood to make the announcement: "THE COMPETITION BEGINS... NOW."
And they started cooking.
Zeus worked with the confidence of a god who'd existed for millennia. He summoned ingredients with gestures—ambrosia appeared in a bowl, nectar materialized in a pitcher, fruits from the Garden of Hesperides emerged from golden light.
He was making something elaborate, layered, divine in nature.
Cartoon Cat took a different approach.
He reached into hammerspace and pulled out simple ingredients. Eggs. Flour. Butter. Vanilla. Sugar.
He was making a cake.
Not just any cake. The cake. The platonic ideal of cake, every good memory of childhood birthdays and celebrations and joy condensed into baked form.
His hands moved with practiced precision—measuring, mixing, preparing. Toon force and culinary skill combining into something that transcended normal cooking.
The hour passed in focused silence.
Zeus created a masterpiece of divine cuisine—a multi-layered construction of flavors that mortals weren't meant to taste, presentation that belonged in museums.
Cartoon Cat created a simple vanilla cake with chocolate frosting, perfectly moist, ideally sweet, decorated with care but not ostentation.
They presented their dishes simultaneously.
The judges approached.
The Phoenix went first, tasting Zeus's creation with cosmic senses that could detect every molecular interaction.
"EXCEPTIONAL. THE FLAVORS TRANSCEND MORTAL COMPREHENSION. THE TECHNIQUE IS DIVINE. LITERALLY."
Then it tasted Cartoon Cat's cake.
The Phoenix was silent for a long moment.
"THIS TASTES LIKE... HAPPINESS. PURE, DISTILLED HAPPINESS. HOW?"
Cartoon Cat pulled out a sign: "BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT CAKE SHOULD BE."
The Nova Centurion went next, removing their helmet to taste (against regulations, probably, but cosmic cooking competition took precedence).
Zeus's dish made them make sounds of appreciation—it was objectively perfect, divine, amazing.
Cartoon Cat's cake made them cry.
Actual tears, streaming down their face.
"This tastes like my childhood," the Centurion whispered. "Like my mother's baking. How did you know?"
"I DIDN'T. I JUST MADE CAKE THAT MAKES PEOPLE HAPPY."
The judges conferred.
Zeus stood confidently—his dish was divine, perfect, superior in every technical aspect.
But Cartoon Cat's cake had made a cosmic entity pause and a hardened soldier cry.
The Phoenix spoke for all judges: "THE KING OF OLYMPUS HAS CREATED A MASTERPIECE OF DIVINE CUISINE. THE TECHNICAL SKILL IS UNMATCHED. THE FLAVORS ARE BEYOND MORTAL CAPABILITY."
Zeus nodded, accepting the praise.
"HOWEVER," the Phoenix continued, "THE CARTOON CAT HAS CREATED SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT. HE HAS CREATED JOY. HIS DISH IS SIMPLE, BUT IT TOUCHES THE SOUL. IN A COMPETITION OF COOKING, TECHNIQUE MATTERS. BUT IN A COMPETITION OF FOOD, WHAT MATTERS IS HOW IT MAKES YOU FEEL."
The cosmic entity turned to Zeus. "WE JUDGE IN FAVOR OF CARTOON CAT."
The restaurant erupted in applause—Tony was cheering, Spider-Man was whooping, Deadpool was throwing popcorn like confetti.
Zeus stood very still.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"WELL FOUGHT, CARTOON CAT. YOU HAVE BESTED ME NOT THROUGH DIVINE POWER, BUT THROUGH UNDERSTANDING WHAT FOOD TRULY MEANS."
He approached and offered his hand.
Cartoon Cat shook it, his cartoon glove disappearing in Zeus's massive divine grip.
"YOU ARE WORTHY," Zeus declared. "THE CHALLENGE IS CONCLUDED. YOU OWE ME NOTHING."
He turned to the Phoenix. "YOUR ASSESSMENT?"
The Phoenix's flames dimmed to a gentle glow. "WE CAME TO TEST THE CARTOON CAT'S WORTHINESS. WE HAVE FOUND IT. HE SERVES A PURPOSE—BRINGING JOY THROUGH FOOD. THIS IS SUFFICIENT. WE WITHDRAW OUR CHALLENGE."
And finally, to the Nova Centurion: "YOUR THEFT CHARGE?"
The Centurion wiped their eyes, still emotional from the cake. "I... we came here for a helmet. That seems really petty now."
"IT WAS ONE HELMET," Cartoon Cat's sign reminded them.
"Keep it. Consider it a gift. For the cake." The Centurion stood. "The Nova Corps withdraws all charges. We'll note in our records that you're weird but harmless."
"I'LL TAKE IT."
Zeus raised his lightning bolt scepter, energy crackling around it. "THEN IT IS SETTLED. THE CARTOON CAT HAS PROVEN HIMSELF THROUGH COMBAT, COOKING, AND CHARACTER. LET IT BE KNOWN ACROSS OLYMPUS AND BEYOND—THIS ENTITY IS UNDER THE PROTECTION OF ZEUS."
"WAIT, REALLY?"
"ANYONE WHO MAKES CAKE THAT GOOD DESERVES DIVINE FAVOR."
And with a crack of thunder and flash of light, Zeus disappeared, returning to Olympus.
The Phoenix stood, its form beginning to dissipate into cosmic energy. "WE SHALL REMEMBER THIS DAY, CARTOON CAT. THE DAY A SIMPLE CAKE PROVED MORE POWERFUL THAN COSMIC FIRE. FAREWELL."
It vanished in a pillar of flame that didn't burn, just illuminated.
The Nova Corps fleet began their departure, the Centurion giving a final salute before boarding their ship.
And then it was just Cartoon Cat and his restaurant full of very impressed spectators.
Tony was the first to speak: "You just beat Zeus in a cooking competition."
"YES."
"By making cake."
"REALLY GOOD CAKE."
"Can I have a piece?"
"EVERYONE CAN HAVE A PIECE."
What followed was an impromptu breakfast party, Cartoon Cat serving slices of his victory cake to everyone present, each person experiencing their own version of happy memories through the power of perfectly executed baking.
Doctor Strange savored his piece thoughtfully. "You know, there's real magic in this. Not my kind of magic—something simpler, purer. The magic of making people happy."
"THAT'S WHAT COOKING IS," Cartoon Cat's sign said. "EDIBLE HAPPINESS."
Spider-Man, on his third slice: "This is incredible! Can you teach me to bake like this?"
"IT'S NOT ABOUT TECHNIQUE. IT'S ABOUT INTENTION. MAKE FOOD BECAUSE YOU WANT PEOPLE TO BE HAPPY."
"That's... actually really profound."
Deadpool was crying into his cake. "This tastes like hope! I didn't know hope had a flavor! Wade is having emotions!"
As the party wound down and people began to leave—all of them thanking Cartoon Cat, all of them promising to return—Jessica approached him in the kitchen.
"So," she said, "you fought the Phoenix Force in a robot chicken, got challenged by Zeus, and won with cake."
"PRETTY MUCH."
"Normal Monday?"
"GETTING THERE."
She laughed and went back to cleaning up.
Cartoon Cat stood in his kitchen, looking at the remaining cake, thinking about his morning.
He'd started the day wanting coffee and quiet prep time.
He'd ended it with divine favor, cosmic approval, and cleared Nova Corps charges.
All because he understood that food wasn't about showing off or divine ingredients or perfect technique.
It was about making people happy.
His phone buzzed with a message from an unknown Olympian number: "THIS IS ZEUS. YOUR CAKE RECIPE WOULD BE APPRECIATED. FOR DIVINE PURPOSES. ALSO, YOU ARE INVITED TO OLYMPUS FOR DINNER NEXT MONTH. ATTENDANCE OPTIONAL. -Z"
Cartoon Cat smiled—not that he had a choice—and sent the recipe.
Why not?
Even gods deserved good cake.
The End... of Chapter Eleven.
(In Olympus, the gods were arguing about who got to try Zeus's attempt at recreating the cake. In cosmic space, the Phoenix Force was contemplating the nature of joy and simple pleasures. And in the Nova Corps records, there was now a file marked "CARTOON CAT: WEIRD BUT HARMLESS. MAKES EXCELLENT BAKED GOODS. DO NOT ARREST." But those are stories for another time.)