"Your wife makes a wonderful sandwich," Gerp complimented the feline politician, munching on his pressed Cuban.

"Agreed," said Rodle, smiling.

"Hopefully you gentlemen might take some lessons home from all this," remarked Stanley Wellington, smugly narrowing his eyes. "Learn how to treat a woman and she'll serve you well."

Mathilda stuck her head around the kitchen's doorway; she'd finished cleaning up from lunch. "BACK IN WITH YOU!" screamed Stanley Wellington. "You need to get started on dinner! You owe me like a week's worth of food, woman!"

"Oh – oh yes, of course, dear," Mathilda mewed sheepishly, diving back into her womanly land of cupboards and pots.

Gerp nodded in approval. Stanley Wellington's wife certainly knew her place. "We've returned your lost love," he said. "Now for your part of the agreement."

"I make good on my promises," responded Stanley Wellington. "Look outside."

Gerp and Rodle both looked. On the other side of the window, the suburb had disappeared, replaced by diamond-studded black: space! "Your house functions as a rocket?" questioned Rodle.

"What amazing technology!" cried Gerp. "I didn't even feel us lift off."

"Of course," said Stanley Wellington. "We've been in space for a while. Where did you think the bridge of stars came from to carry your motorcycle?"

Rodle's jaw dropped.

Gerp smirked. "Told you it happened." He turned back to Stanley Wellington. "There's just one thing I'm not sure of – this is really great and all, but why are we in space?"

The politician chuckled. "You knew of the supervillainess, but not her hideout? It's been all over the local news lately!"

"We just got here today."

"Well, it's common knowledge: Her fortress is on Moonpaw."

"Moonpaw?" asked Rodle. "That's a ridiculous name."

"Quite," agreed Stanley Wellington. "But it's tradition, you know. She renamed it MOON DOOM anyway."

Gerp shivered. "That's quite a bit more threatening. She... truly is evil."

Rodle bowed his head, respectful for true genius, be it evil or good. Never in his life had he heard such a clever use of assonance, and of such an aptly named moon! Indeed, he suspected it would bring this... doom... from the moon... that all in the Center of the Cats and outward had reason to fear.

Stanley Wellington explained the supervillainess's fortress to the science-men. They shuddered in fear many a time. The impenetrable circular outside! (Corners are weaknesses, as all castle-dwellers know – and the two men were definitely castle-dwellers.) The similarly shaped lava-tar-excrement moat! The throne made of five thousand armchairs! And the dinosaurs! The supervillainess seemed to have many powers that did not necessarily stem from an uncanny ability to trap Nic Cage in Nic Cages. Chiefly among those powers seemed to be recruiting attractive, goateed men to do her bidding, as far as Gerp and Rodle could see. Gerp stroked his hairless chin sadly. He had never had a goatee in his life; not even half a muttonchop to his name.

Stanley Wellington withdrew a map from within his suit jacket and spread it upon the coffee table. "Here is a map of the supervillainess's fortress," he said, pointing to the title of the map, which read, "Supervillainess's Fortress (Impenetrable)".

"It says it's impenetrable!" exclaimed Gerp. "How will we get in? And how did anyone get this map?"

Stanley Wellington shrugged. "I don't know. I got it off of WiKittyLeaks."

Gerp was disgusted. "Sir, I don't want to know about your tastes in pornography."

"It's not pornography!" argued the seventh King vehemently. "It's a website that shows some secret materials from within the inner workings of the Center of the Cats. Really quite fascinating. Most of this information, even I never knew! For instance, are you aware that the cat planet, Earthface, needs a flea collar? Imagine life without it! Giant space fleas!"

Gerp and Rodle were not nearly as amused by this information as their comrade seemed to be. They were still pretty sure this "WiKittyLeaks" catered to some weird fetish. But a map was a map, and it was what they needed... or did they?

"Wait," Rodle said, interrupting the suspense. "This fortress has only one room."

Stanley Wellington was shocked. "No maze? No dungeons? No recreation center?"

Gerp shook his head sadly. "Nothing of the sort. Look." He pointed out how, on the map, within the dinosaur jungles and behind the lava moat, there was just one big gray square labeled, "Fortress Interior". The throne was there, and a half-finished war zeppelin (it was a very detailed map), but aside from that, nothing.

"How is this impenetrable? Assuming one can get past the dinosaurs and the moat," Gerp plotted, waving his hand with each successive threat posed by the fortress, "It shouldn't be that hard. I mean, they built a superhighway there without her noticing it!" He pointed to the crumbling gray shape labeled, "Ruins of Superhighway (and Robert Downey, Jr.'s Car)". "Wait a second, who is Robert Downey, Jr.?"

"I think, sir," began Rodle, "That he is one of the goateed gentlemen ensnared in the supervillainess's irresistible charm." Robert Downey, Jr. himself might have quarreled with that definition, but it made Gerp's blood boil. Gerp was not one to be outdone by some other man's facial hair! He suspected this Robert Downey, Jr. was also probably a jerk. After all, why would the fair dame be attracted to him so if he wasn't?

It seemed impossible for women to overcome their natural tendencies.