The noise came again, and the cat sat up taller, its whiskers straightened, and its tail and neck became larger with erect fur, the better to menace the creature behind the crock. Katrina lifted her skirts and backed away. She was not afraid of mice, but she didn't care to watch executions, either. She retreated to the scullery and busied herself with the broom, though she was certain she'd already done all she could.

In a few moments the cat tore through the scullery and out the open door into the back garden. Katrina had never seen it move so fast, though she had known it for two whole days. She crept to the pantry and peered in. The crock was rocking. She watched from the doorway, horrified at the thought of any mouse so large it could do that. Not even a rat would be able to -- But then the crock tipped slowly on its side and rested on the floor. Katrina ducked behind the door and watched through the crack. The large stone rose, and she saw a long-fingered and decidedly masculine hand pushing it upwards. She cupped both hands over her mouth. A man in a dusty black frock coat stepped out of a hole and lowered the stone.

"Cinder, you cowardly cat, you can come out now. I didn't bring the dog," he called.

Katrina watched the cat that had scorned her trot up to the man and rub against his legs.