The Cartoon Cat stops dead in its tracks, and turns to look at you. It's yellow eyes narrow and it stares you down menacingly, sizing you up. It grins and chuckles, then cracks its neck and claws like it was preparing for a fight. Suddenly, it's arm morphs into the long, heavy barrel of a revolver. It grins, and says in a deep, gravelly voice.

"You know exactly what your going up against here cowpoke."

Cartoon Cat squints it's eyes at you, and growls. You two stand facing each other in the large room. One of your hands rests on the handle of the pistol in your hip holster. Cartoon Cat smirks with blood-stained teeth, and cracks its neck.

He is dressed in a classic cowboy ensemble: a wide-brimmed hat, a bandanna tied around his neck, and a dusty old duster over a plaid shirt and jeans. He's got on a pair of cowboy boots with spurs jingling and clinking on the wooden floorboards as he steps closer towards you