Hours earlier.

Monroe's whiskers twitched. He was back at his new den, which he didn't like as much as the den that his human-servant had built for them next to the stream.

He could smell prey.

His human-servant was asleep and lacked the keen senses to know that prey was about.

Monroe sniffed carefully, and then flowed off the bed, crouching low to the floor as he followed the scent of his prey to the odd door that led in and out of the den.

Monroe shouldered the door, but it was firmly closed.

The big cat paused, and then rubbed his whiskers along the edge of the door.

It felt familiar. Like the edges of his human-servant, who had finally realized that Monroe deserved a warm, comfortable servant to sleep on, and had made room inside himself somehow in an effort to better serve Monroe.

Monroe had felt quite vindicated when he'd discovered the depths of his human's devotion to Monroe's needs.

Truly his servant appreciated Monroe's magnificence.

Monroe pawed at the edge of the door for a moment.

It did feel familiar.

Monroe pressed against the door and twisted, the same way he did to get in and out of his servant.

Monroe found himself in the hallway outside of the new den.

With a chuff, he sniffed and his eyes narrowed.

There were many prey out here.

His tail hung low and his ears perked forward, Monroe began to creep along the edge of the hallway. Inadequate as it might be, this was his den, and he wouldn't have prey near it.

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Pans clanged to the floor and dishes smashed as cries of surprise rang through the air.

Monroe paid them no heed as he pounced on the mouse just as it was about to escape under a rack of rising bread loaves.

He pinned it with one paw and used his other to slap its head completely off its body.

He sniffed, then dashed to his right, winding his way through a number of human legs as he rushed to prevent another one of the cursed mice from escaping.

This one was scurrying along the wall and had no cover to seek as Monroe dealt with it.

Monroe's whiskers twitched and his nose crinkled as he was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of prey wafting up from the stairs leading below the kitchen.

Ignoring the shouts of praise from the humans who were rapidly approaching him, no doubt to offer their devotion and love, Monroe ducked around the corner, and squeezed through a half-open door, then started to creep down the stairs.

Monroe paused a step above the floor, his ears catching the sound of scurrying mice.

And something larger.

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"I don't know where it came from," Frank said angrily to his gathered cooking staff, "and frankly, I'm less concerned about the cat, which clearly was hunting, which is what cats do, and more about how the stone's cursed mice got into my damn kitchen!"

One of his servers stepped forward hesitantly and said, "I'm not sure where the mice came from, but the cat is named Monroe, he belongs to an Adventurer named Bob, or rather the cat owns him," she smiled at her own joke as a few others chuckled, "I think he's a familiar."

"Thank you, Sally," Frank said, trying to restrain his frustration, "it's nice to know that the cat is unlikely to hurt anyone, but again, I'm much more concerned with where the mice came from, and how long they've been hiding in my kitchen."

He took a deep breath. "Shut down the ovens and pull everything out into the tavern," Frank said harshly, "we are going to clean this place top to bottom, I want everything scrubbed clean and sparkling."

Frank shook his head headed for the doors leading out of the kitchen and into the tavern. He'd need to make an announcement that the kitchen was closed for cleaning.

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Monroe was almost delirious with joy.

So many prey.

He had even found rats.

His human-servant hated rats. It was one of his servant's more endearing traits. His human understood that all rats had to be killed.

A part of Monroe's joy came from finally being able to test his hunting prowess after his growth spurt.

He'd always been a perfect hunter, but now he was able to dispose of his prey with a single swipe of his paw.

He was currently winding his way past a number of large prey animals that had been skinned and hung from the ceiling.

It was cold in this room, so cold that ice rimed the walls, but Monroe was unconcerned. He was stalking.

He'd killed two rats in this cold-meat room and had scented more.

He was following that scent.

Monroe followed the scent along the edge of the wall before it ended at a large stone box.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The box was set so that there was a space between it and the wall.

Not a large space.

Monroe's nose told him the rats had gone behind the box.

He paced around it.

There was no scent trail leading away from the box except for the one he'd followed.

Monroe lowered his head and carefully nosed the space behind the box.

It was too narrow for him, his whiskers told him that.

Still, it was just a box.

Monroe put a leg into the space behind the box, and then pushed his shoulder into it box.

With his prodigious strength, Monroe slid the box away from the wall, exposing a crack that hadn't been visible.

Narrow at the top, but wide at the bottom, the rats trail led into the crack.

Monroe carefully approached the crack in the wall, his tail swishing slightly.

His whiskers twitched as he sampled the airflow from the rack, which informed him that it lead to a larger open space beyond and that he would find his prey within.

Crouching low, Monroe wiggled through the opening.

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Frank had finished directing all of the kitchen's equipment into the tavern. Luckily, it was three am, and only a few Adventurers were still out there.

He returned to the kitchen and heard the sound of voices arguing by the larder.

With a frown, he walked over and rounded the corner to find two of his cooks standing in front of the door that lead down to the larder. A door that wasn't completely closed.

"Why is my larder door open," Frank asked loudly as he stepped fully around the corner, "and why are you two not scrubbing?"

"Well?" Frank said as Kieth and Benji looked at each other.

"Uh, well," Keith stammered before Benji cut in, "It's like this sir, we reckon the mice got in through the larder, as this door sticks something fierce," Benji demonstrated by giving the door a solid kick, which only narrowed the crack by half an inch.

"I swear I've seen something down there," Keith said, "might have been a tail, or a pair of eyes," he allowed with a swallow, "didn't know at the time, and didn't want to be thought fearful."

Frank took a deep breath, determined not to yell at them.

The truth was, the Adventurers Guild brought that sort of behavior out in a man. It was hard to do all the cooking and cleaning for the people who risked death every day, and not feel a bit like less of a man for it.

Frank reached out and yanked the door open, noting as he did that it could use a bit of an adjustment, and maybe a touch of oil on the hinges.

"Come on then," Frank said as he gestured down the stairs, "let's go see what sort of mess we'll have to clean up down here."

Frank stomped down the stairs, visions of half-eaten sides of beef and wheels of cheese brimming with mice creeping into his thoughts.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he looked around and was pleased to see that things appeared mostly undisturbed.

And then he spotted a rat's tail protruding from behind a sack of grain.

He strode over and reached down quickly, yanking the beast out, only to find that it was missing its head.

Warm blood dripped from the headless body onto the floor.

"Well, I guess we know where the cat went," Frank sighed.

As he walked through the larder, he reflected that it was like following a trail of grain leading to a ripped bag. If your version of grain was freshly killed and mutilated rats that is.

He found himself in the cold room staring at a crack in the wall, which had been concealed by a freeze chest, recently moved judging by the disturbance of the frost on the floor.

He knelt down, ignoring the muttering of the men behind him who had been tasked with carrying the dead rodents and eyed the crack.

A noxious breeze wafted out and he grimaced.

Of course, the back wall of the larder would back up into the cities extensive, and supposedly sealed and contained sewer system.

Frank sighed as he stood up.

The entire larder would need to be emptied, no one would want to eat food that rats had been at.

He turned to find Keith and Benji looking at the crack in astonishment.

"Not a word gentlemen," Frank warned, "this is well above your level."

"What about the cat?" Keith asked.

Frank turned and looked at the crack, then sighed.

"We've got to empty the larder and scrub it down," Frank said as both of his men groaned, "and I'll not have the details of why spread," he eyed both of them seriously, "this isn't just kitchen business lads, this is Guild business, and I expect the Guild leader to have words, likely unpleasant ones, with anyone who spreads this about eh?"

He gestured for them to precede him out of the cold room and finished, "In the meantime, I suppose the cat will be about his business in there, and the cities rat population will suffer a dramatic decrease."

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Monroe padded down the tunnel his nose twitching.

The smell in this place was almost overwhelming, and oddly familiar, reminding him of the first den he'd shared with his human-servant.

His servant had kept their den clean, but the smells of the filth that surrounded it had always seeped in.

Now he was right in the middle of it.

Still, there was prey everywhere.

He'd caught and killed many, but still, there were more.

And they were becoming larger.

Monroe crept forward his instincts telling him that his quarry was once again near.

He sniffed at the edge of a slightly smaller tunnel that sloped down.

He stilled.

There was a rat ahead and it was big.

Monroe flowed slowly and quietly around the corner, inching his way along the wall.

He paused as the slowly moving air confirmed his target.

It was just ahead of him, on top of a fallen block of stone.

It no doubt thought it could surprise him.

Monroe flexed his paws in anticipation.

He crept forward slowly, judging the distance in the near darkness, the only light coming from the slight glow of some sort of luminescent moss.

He could see it now.

The rat was larger than Monroe was, but that didn't matter.

It was prey.

He crouched low, wiggling his hind quarters to ensure he had a firm purchase on the slick stone.

He stilled.

Monroe leaped, clearing six feet of open-air in a second, landing on top of the surprised rat, sinking his teeth into its neck, and raking it with his hind claws before leaping off as he felt his prey shift to try and retaliate.

The rat squealed loudly and rushed off the stone towards Monroe, bleeding freely from the rents on its back.

Monroe swatted at it with his front paws, dealing a mighty blow that took the rat by surprise and knocked it into the wall.

Monroe rushed in and tore a gash in the rat's belly with his front claws before darting out of reach of the snap of the rat's jaws as it sought to close with him.

Monroe hissed and feinted forward towards the rat's hindquarters before delivering a swat to the back of its head as it lunged towards where it had expected him to strike.

Monroe backed up and feinted again, and again, drawing the fight out as the rat slowly weakened from blood loss, until finally, his prey lay panting, unable to retaliate as Monroe feinted a few more times.

Monroe feinted one final time before leaping atop the rat, and sinking his fangs through its neck, digging in all of his claws into the weakened prey's back and ripping into it.

The rat tried to twist and snap at Monroe, but it was too weak.

Monroe kept his teeth clamped on the rat until he was certain it was dead, shook it a few times for good measure, then leaped off its back, and turned to consider his dead prey.

It was Monroe's habit to bring back his prey to his servant, in order to show him how to be a better hunter.

But this would be the mightiest prey he'd ever retrieved.

Monroe stalked forward and gripped his defeated foe by the neck and started dragging it back up the tunnels.

He'd effectively cleared all the prey from this area, and with the thrill of the hunt fading, he felt uncomfortable being so far away from his servant.

He ignored the praise of the humans as he dragged his prey back up through the cold-room and then through the hot-meat room, and then through the eating room.

They were exclaiming loudly and excitedly, no doubt amazed at his hunting prowess, and eager to offer their devotions, but Monroe wouldn't be distracted from his course, and finally he reached his new den, where with a twist he entered it and dropped the dead rat in front of the door.

He then padded into the sleep-room, giving a desultory sniff of the dead prey he'd originally left for his servant. His new gift was far more impressive.

Monroe gracefully climbed onto the pillow where his human-servant rested his head and explained to him that he needed to wake up and praise him, possibly with fresh fish, with a plaintive mereow.