Yes, the umbrifelis — or “cat,” for the sake of my remaining sanity — looked fully prepared to disassemble the universe. Its claws were long, elegant and catastrophically sharp, carving polite little cracks into the stone floor. When it bared its teeth, the fangs on display were less “pet shop” and more “national emergency.”

  And yet… it was thin. Starved, actually. Its ribs showed clearly beneath its skin. Poor thing. How long had it been stuck here? And what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found it?

  The cat inspected the pies on the floor, sniffed them, then lifted its blazing gaze toward us with an expression that very clearly translated to: This is the tribute, two-legged creatures? I expected better.

  “She’s… quite sweet?” Elvira offered bravely.

  “Utterly charming demon spawn,” Finn muttered, clutching his chest like a Victorian widow.

  The creature glanced back at the pastries and slowly licked its lips. Its tongue — surprisingly long — traced along those knife-like fangs. It appeared our humble buffet had at least made the shortlist.

  Its nose, neat and triangular like any ordinary cat’s — only matte black, as though carved from obsidian — tested the air. Its eyes glowed in the dim light.

  I stopped breathing.

  It prodded a meat pie with its paw, split it open with surgical brutality, and began eating. It devoured the food greedily, barely chewing - just efficient consumption. The mushrooms and sausage followed, after a brief inspection and what looked suspiciously like judgment.

  The berry pies, however, were rejected outright. It leaned in, inhaled cautiously a few times, and then jerked back as though shocked. Its pupils widened, and it growled at the unfortunate pastries as if accusing them of culinary treason.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “Perhaps certain berries are toxic to demonic species,” Elvira mused academically. “Their biochemistry is… different.”

  Finn leaned in, fascinated.

  “Is it identifying fillings by scent alone?”

  “It’s an umbrifelis,” Elvira said, as though that explained everything. “They have exceptional senses. And this one is clearly starving.”

  “Go on,” I said softly. “There’s more sausage.”

  The cat turned its burning eyes toward me. There was something strange in that look — not just hunger, not just threat. For a moment, it felt as if it was studying me differently. Like evaluation. Recognition.

  Then, after a thoughtful pause, it dragged another piece of sausage toward itself.

  “I think that’s approval,” Elvira murmured.

  “Yes,” Finn said. “In the way a monarch approves a peasant’s offering.”

  “Standard feline behaviour,” I said dryly.

  When it finished, it licked its fangs and stepped toward me. Finn and Elvira stiffened. I prepared to leap backwards with what little dignity I possessed — but instead of lunging, the umbrifelis rubbed against my leg. Roughly. Almost threateningly. And yet unmistakably… affectionate.

  I froze.

  There was no threat in it. No hostility, just acceptance.

  “That’s it,” I whispered, offering my hand like someone negotiating a fragile peace treaty.

  She stiffened but did not retreat. I touched her head. Her fur was dense and firm — not soft, but not prickly either. Perhaps it simply chose when to deploy the spikes. I stroked her more carefully.

  “She recognises you,” Elvira said quietly. “Still going to deny you’re not demonic? Even an umbrifelis takes you for one of its own.”

  “Oh please,” I muttered. “I fed her. That’s hardly occult bonding.”

  And petted her.

  “Well then,” I sighed. “I suppose we’re friends now. Mind if I give you a name? You’re far too intimidating for Bella. You’ll be Moorka.”

  A low rumble escaped her — closer to a subterranean purr than a growl.

  “Well done,” Finn said. “You’ve adopted a demonic apex predator. Strong life choices.”

  Moorka began washing herself, entirely unbothered by the fact she had just entered my life and potentially my obituary.

  “I just hope she doesn’t acquire a taste for human flesh,” I muttered. “And I genuinely have no idea how I’m going to feed her when she’s the size of a horse.”

  Which, apparently, is a thing that might happen.