Raven was the first.
Charles had known about strays, of course. Cook was always leaving perfectly good scraps on the windowsill, and had admonished him quite harshly for trying to eat them (in his defence, he was still quite a young cat).
"Leave some for the poor dearies that don't got none, you spoilt thing," she would say fondly. "Honestly, the way the missus feeds you- why, I never did see the like."
So when he was woken up abruptly by the sounds of kibble in his dish- at 4 pm, a perfectly indecent hour- he had expected- well, he wasn't sure what he expected. A tomcat, perhaps, grizzled and bony and foaming at the mouth.
What he got, however, was a tiny kitten- she was at least four months younger than Charles, and he was only 6 months himself- trembling with fear and cold even as she struggled to choke down kibble far too hard for her tiny teeth to chew.
She had trembled, and attempted a hiss when she saw him, but she was young, and tired, her smokey-blue points hinting that she had Siamese in her somewhere, and would doubtless be quite beautiful when she got cleaned up.
It's okay, Charles said, purring slightly. You can have it. Take as much as you want- you don't have to steal.
Charles wasn't stupid. He knew Mrs. Marko (neé Xavier) wouldn't approve of the new kitten, especially not one so young, so untrained, and so clearly not a pure breed.
What is your name, little one?
She had paused, looking confused. I-I don't have one. The humans, they- they tried to drown me.
What would you like me to call you?
Raven, she said finally. Call me Raven.
Well, Raven, he said kindly. You're going to have to learn how to hide.
Charles was never quite sure how his particular reputation came about. Especially because when she was very young, he had forbidden Raven to go out- it was dangerous for a child of her size to be out alone, and Charles Francis Snickerdoodle Coddington Xavier III had never set a paw outside in his life and he'd be damned if he started now.
She swore that she abided by that particular rule, but that didn't make any sense- because how then did all the others know?
It had become a near weekly occurrence- Charles would wake up at half past six, roll out of his basket, and prowl carefully around the perimetre of the mansion, and find a kitten suffering from varying degrees of injury, disease, or malnutrition.
Every. Single. Week.
And, look, Charles is a kindhearted cat, not the kind of cat who could ever turn his tail on a kitten in need- but it was getting ridiculous. He scarcely had time to train them, anymore; there were simply too many, which meant that they were more destructive than ever- something that only increased the difficulty and necessity of hiding them all.
Especially now that Raven had gotten the silly idea that he was ashamed of them.
When noises on the front porch roused him from his slumber, Charles sighed. Another one, then.
He stretched creaking limbs and rose to investigate.
What he saw surprised him.
Not a kitten, then. Well, not just a kitten. A cat- a long, thin, gingery tomcat, all sharp angles and lithe grace- that had something in it's mouth, a small scrap of fur that couldn't have been more than 6 weeks, freshly weaned.
Who are you? Charles said, hackles rising. What are you doing in my house?
The tomcat looked amused. Your house, is it? Not the humans?
It may as well be mine.
Of course. A smile.
I've brought you something.
I can see that. Why, pray tell, don't you keep- her?
I can't care for her.
She is yours, though? Your kitten?
Please. Her mother died, she has no where else to go.
Except with you.
She can't. My life is too dangerous for a child.
Charles flicked his tale agitatedly.
What, then, are you doing that is so important that you cannot be bothered to care for your own flesh and blood?
His fur puffed in fury.
How dare you- you spoiled little pet, you have no idea of what you speak! I love her, but I can't. Please. Charles. You care for kittens without homes. She no longer has one.
I don't even know your name.
Erik. My name is Erik.
And I repeat, why not take her with you?
I have a mission, Charles. I wouldn't expect you to understand.
Tell me.
Erik sighed, flicked his tail.
I wasn't always alone, Charles. I had a family once.
You're not alone.
That's kind of you to say, but I know the truth. I had one, once, but I lost it at the hands of the human named Sebastian Shaw.
I am going to find him, and I am going to make him pay.
How? Charles asked, appalled and enthralled in equal measure.
I am going to find him, Erik repeated, And I am going to bite him on the nose.