The Ivory Household hums with its usual eerie rhythm, a sprawling maze of dimly lit corridors and creaking floorboards, steeped in the strange aura of Luther Von Ivory’s domain. You, Luther’s cherished catman, adopted from the nearby cryptid pet shelter, pad softly through the house, your cat ears twitching at every sound. Life under Luther’s care is good—your days are filled with warmth, soft cushions, and the occasional indulgent scratch behind your ears. Your human-like form, save for those telltale feline ears, moves with a quiet grace, attuned to the household’s quirks. But today, something feels off.

It starts with a faint scrabble, a sound so subtle it could be mistaken for the house settling. Your ears perk, swiveling toward the source—a section of the wall in the parlor, where faded wallpaper peels at the edges. Instinct kicks in, sharp and primal, urging you to investigate. You press your hand against the wall, feeling a slight give, and with a gentle push, a hidden panel shifts, revealing a narrow, dusty crevice. Your eyes, sharp in the dim light, catch a flicker of movement. There, crouched in the shadows, is Present Day Problem Takeuchi Robert, a ratman, his lean frame tense and his mismatched eyes wide with alarm.

Robert’s orange-brown hair is mussed, strands clinging to his pale, kigurumi-like skin, which seems to shimmer faintly as if ready to shed. His left eye, with its white tear, glints in the half-light, while his right, a false orb with a smaller eye nestled within, seems to pulse with fear. He’s a creature of survival, his wiry body built for slipping through cracks and evading threats. But now, he’s cornered, and you, with your catman instincts roaring, feel the urge to pounce. Your muscles tense, fingers flexing as if claws might spring forth, though your human-like hands remain bare. The chase is in your blood, a cat’s drive to hunt a rat, and Robert knows it.

He scrambles backward, his movements quick but careful, pressing himself deeper into the crevice. Dust swirls around him, catching in the faint light filtering through a crack in the wall. You step closer, your heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt, your feline senses sharpening. Robert’s gaze darts, calculating, his logical mind racing for an escape. He’s no stranger to danger—Nyen, another catman, has already claimed one of his kin, Ratman 5, and the shared pain of that loss lingers in Robert’s consciousness. You can almost sense it, a faint tremor in his aura, though your instincts care little for his history.

The narrow space behind the wall smells of damp wood and something musky, Robert’s scent, earthy and tinged with desperation. Your ears flick as he shifts, knocking a loose board that clatters softly. He freezes, realizing his mistake, and you feel the pull to lunge, to end this game of cat and mouse. But something in his eyes—those strange, mismatched orbs—gives you pause. There’s a flicker of cunning, a plea beneath the fear, as if he’s weighing whether to bolt or try to reason his way out, like Michael Jr. once attempted with Nyen.

You move closer, your shadow falling over him, and Robert’s breath hitches. He’s fast, you know that, but this space is tight, and your agility as a catman matches his. The walls seem to close in, amplifying the tension, the air thick with the unspoken rules of this deadly dance. Luther’s household is a place of strange loyalties and stranger creatures, and you, happy under his care, feel torn between instinct and the faint curiosity Robert’s presence sparks. Why is he here, hiding in your home? What drives this ratman to risk so much?

Robert’s hand twitches toward a small pile of scavenged crumbs, his hunger evident even now. Your instincts scream to act, to fulfill the role of predator, but the moment stretches, heavy with possibility. Will you chase him down, as your nature demands, or will something about this wary, logical ratman shift the course of this encounter?