Author's Note: All you need to know is that this will involve the entire downstairs and cats. Two kittens, to be precise.

Now, I could explain things or we could get right to the fun –– enjoy!


"Mrs. Hughes?" Never before had Charles Carson been greeted with such a peculiar sight. Only, the housekeeper was oblivious to his call, distracted by something underneath the table.

He took another step into the sitting room, perturbed. Mrs. Hughes was a woman of refinement and taste. There was no need for her to be crouched on the floor with her head hidden by the table's cloth. And why was she making such strange noises? She were acting as though something were hiding away!

"It's quite all right: you're safe now." The woman warmly spoke to whatever lurked in the shadows, chuckling, "Oh, there's no need to be shy. Not after the mess you caused earlier."

Charles opened his mouth to interrupt once more, entirely bewildered. But then he heard the queerest sound come from underneath the table. It almost sounded as though–– but that couldn't be possible. He had to be imagining things.

The man took another step forward, feeling as though he'd stepped into a novel. Only, this was not a novel he would ever be caught reading!

"Do I have to get Mr. Barrow to coax you out?" This time, she snorted at the thought. "I suppose he might not take too kindly to that, given he's the reason you both got in."

What was this? Thomas was at fault for whatever was hiding in the housekeeper's sitting room? But wait a moment –– "both"? What could she possibly mean by "both"?

Charles simply had to know what was going on. With that in mind, he stooped right beside the table, angling his body toward her so as to be heard, "Mrs. Hughes?"

A yelp escaped the woman, a hiss breaking through the cloth as her head banged against the wood. He winced out of sympathy, watching a hand reach into pinned hair and inspect it for damage.

The butler began to fiercely apologise but that didn't last too long. Not when a pointed visage poked out from underneath the table, putting an end to that nonsense, "I'm fine, Mr. Carson! There's no need for that. At most, I've only a scratch."

"Right." Wait a moment. "Did you say a––?"

Before he could get another word out, two black blurs sped out from the shadows, racing right at them.

Charles proceeded to let out a yelp of his own as he dodged the kittens, frightfully unprepared. That only prompted Mrs. Hughes to flinch at the noise, swiftly turning in his direction.

Yes, well, with her turning and his dodging the little hellions, it only made sense for the most distinguished members of staff to collide into one another and take a tumble. Luckily, he kept from falling directly on top of her. It was more like she knocked into him and he was forced to take her in his arms, falling backwards.

Now if he ignored the kittens and the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him, he wasn't entirely opposed to this. It was rather bizarre, all things given. And he really would like to have a proper explanation. But as he felt the warmth of Mrs. Hughes gently pressed against him, he found himself much more amenable to these peculiarities than he might normally be.

"My, my." The housekeeper murmured, dazed enough not to question their current positions. "And I thought they'd been bad enough in the kitchens."

"Mrs. Hughes," An explanation craved to be asked. But the faintest of blood trickled from her sleeve, taking his attention away at once, "We should get that seen to."

"'That', Mr. Carson?" She questioned him, looking back and holding up the wrist in question. "Oh, that. So, I've a scratch, after all. Well, that can be easily managed."

"Indeed. But let's make sure that's the worst of it." Charles spoke, not liking the look of it. Ignoring the creak in his bones, he regained his bearings and helped the woman up. She groaned once more, her other hand going back into her hair to inspect it a second time.

"We'll have to get that seen to as well," He commented, peering into the hair pins so as to see the damage. He didn't spot any blood, which was a relief. The last thing they needed was for Mrs. Hughes to have hurt her head. "But it looks all right to me."

"Well, that's a relief." She teased, turning a little toward him only to moan at the movement. Clearly, it wasn't all fine and dandy. "Fine. We'll get it seen to, both the scratch and the bump. But I doubt either are worthy of a visit from Doctor Clarkson."

"Maybe not. But let's keep an eye on them, just in case." He had half a mind to ring the doctor, whether this was worthy of the man's attention or not. "The last thing you need is an infection or worse."

She chuckled again, letting him guide her out of her sitting room and toward aid, "I don't suppose you'd care to catch them while they're still around? If they're still around, that is."

"I doubt they're leaving anytime soon, Mrs. Hughes." Charles informed her, well aware of how hellions like those tended to function. "We'll be able to catch them soon enough."

She looked up at his disdainful tone, "I hope you don't intend to harm them!"

"I only want to make sure they don't get up to any more trouble." He may not care for strays but he wasn't about to harm them. "But there's something more important than that now."

"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes lightly questioned, smiling. "Do you need to make sure they haven't gotten into your pantry?"

"Hardly." When she continued to look at him, questioningly, "We need to get a good look at you before anything else happens."

"Mr. Carson, surely there are other things that are more important?" Mrs. Hughes started up, only to pause at his clear disagreement. Scoffing a little, but not unkindly, "All right. If it'll make you feel better."

"Thank you."

"While we're at it," He should have known she would try to change the subject, what with all that lip-biting, "Would you care to hear how this all came about?"

Charles gave a small smile, amused in spite of it all. He never cared for cats. And he really didn't like the thought of Mrs. Hughes being injured. But he couldn't deny it was nice to be able to take care of her. As for the kittens, well, he would see about them. "I'm all ears."

"Well, if you must know, it apparently began with Barrow…"


Author's Note: Do I know how long this story will be? Not a clue. Is there any real plot? Nope! It'll just be a little story inspired by my temporary house guest. I have a few ideas involving some pairings and people, but nothing like normal.

Also! I'm taking requests for this! So if you have a cat-related prompt (or want a specific character to get involved), all you have to do is ask :)

In any case, hope you enjoyed this! Next up: we get to learn how it all got started. Just how did Thomas have a hand in the matter?

'Till next time! And have a lovely day :)