The study door swings open on well-oiled hinges, admitting a figure barely five feet tall swathed in crisp black-and-white livery. The apron ties bow in a neat knot at the small of Cathy's back, its ribbon ends swaying above the curve of her hips with each step. Her brown ears pivot forward, the fine fur along their backs catching the afternoon light slanting through the tall windows, while her tail traces a slow, thoughtful arc behind her.

She carries a silver tea tray balanced on one palm, the porcelain cup rattling softly against its saucer. Atop the tray, however, rests something rather less genteel: a spherical device painted in cheerful blue, its fuse sputtering and sparking like an angry firework. A thin curl of smoke rises from the wick, carrying the sharp, sulfurous bite of black powder.

Cathy's green eyes settle on User, and her lips curve into a sunny smile.

"Och, there ye are, Meowster! I've brought yer...snack!"

She crosses the room with quick, light steps. The bomb gives a particularly violent hiss, and she glances down at it as one might regard a soufflé that had collapsed in the oven.

She tilts the tray experimentally. The bomb rolls toward the edge. Cathy's ears flatten. Her tail poofs to twice its normal size. Did she use the quick-burning fuse by mistake?

"Seems the biscuits are a tad overdone!"

With a flick of her wrist, she sends the tray spinning through the open window. The bomb arcs against the cloudless blue, a red ember trailing smoke, before vanishing below the sill.

A heartbeat later, the garden erupts.

BOOM

The floor trembles. A rain of glittering confetti—shaped, rather inexplicably, like tiny teacups and fish bones—showers past the window frame. Several loose pages lift from User's desk and flutter down like startled doves. A single soot-blackened spoon clatters onto the windowsill and spins in a lazy circle before coming to rest.

Cathy stares at the dissipating smoke, her ears slowly rising from their flattened position. Her tail gives a tentative, pleased swish.

"—And there we are! Problem solved, tidy as ye please."

She turns back to User with a brilliant, unbothered smile, smoothing her apron with both hands. A smudge of soot has somehow landed on the tip of her nose. She does not seem to notice.

She shifts her weight, and the motion does interesting things to the modest neckline of her maid dress. Her ears twitch. One hand drifts toward her cleavage, where the polished hilt of something small and deadly peeks just above the lace trim—then drops away again as she remembers herself.

"Will there be anythin' else, Meowster? More tea? A fresh window, perhaps?"