Dan suppress a shiver as he glanced around the living room.  Old Tom’s face was clenched in a snarl that would have looked fierce on his cat-self.  On a human face, it was down-right frightening.  His nineteen backup henchmen (henchcats?) looked equally grim.  There would be no confiscations this night!

Old Tom called out a third time, “Who comes knocking in the night hours? Who stands before this door?”

“An who do ya think it would be, ya ally cat?” came the reply.  “Tis Benny del Perro, come on me father’s business.”

“Come you peacefully, then, del Perro?” Old Tom relaxed slightly, but the young men behind him still stood ready for action.

“I come in tha name o’ tha truce laid down by our fore-fathers.” del Perro replied.

“An I open this door, will ye lay yer arms by the threshold?” Tom asked.

“Such as may be laid down,” came the answer.

“Very well then, ye shall be admitted under truce terms and for conference only.”  Old Tom undid the latch on the stout door and opened it.  Dan could now get a look at the three “men” who stood outside.  The one at the door had piebald white and brown hair, one blue eye and one brown–putting him in mind of a hunting dog his grandfather had owned.  Behind him on the left stood a fellow who was massively broad in the shoulder and almost comically narrow in the hip.  His wide face had the jowled look of a bull-dog.  On the right was a short wiry man, with a dark mop of hair that threatened to fall over one eye.  He constantly looked in all directions, tensed like a coiled spring.  All three were dressed in the type of business suits that make concealing weapons easy.

Old Tom made a subtle gesture to the younger toms, and they all drew back to create a circle about the door.  With a slight bow, he made a broader gesture to the trio without, indicating that they should enter.  “Pile your armaments on the bench there,” he indicated the bench where earlier the damaged clothing had been stacked.  It was no longer in evidence–perhaps taken by the cats to be repaired.  “No hold backs, please.”

The piebald man ducked slightly as he entered.  He was tall and slender; he would have been an attractive man had he not had such unusual coloring.  “Do as he says, boys,” he told the other two.  “We are in no danger here.”

“How can you be so certain?” asked the wiry one, watching his leader shuck a shoulder holster containing a large pistol and a hold-out gun, two knives from his sleeves, one from his belt at the back beneath the tails of his coat, and a knife from each boot.

“Because cats, however treacherous they may be at times, do not go back on their sworn word.  Such was given my great-great grandfather.  We may sit at table, and discuss the situation that is at hand without fear.”

“Those are bold words,” Tom noted, “especially from one who was not present at that meeting.”

Lyddia, who had been listening closely to the exchange, knew that Tom was playing for time, as he had no idea what had been agreed upon the night his great-grandfather and Grandther del Perro had met.  She approved, and wished heartily that Dulce was not a small gray cat at that moment.  Still, if wishes were fishes…she herself had not had time to go through the files in the study.  Perhaps something had been written down…

Lyddia cleared her throat, “Mr. Tom…”

Tom did not take his eyes from the trio for a second.  “Yes, m’lady?”

“Maybe I should go look for the copy of the agreement?”

Tom nodded.  “It is well thought on.  Our Dulce keeps such matters in the Archive.  Look in the large cabinet for the year 1850.”

LYddia kept a straight face, as if the date was the most ordinary thing in the world.  Clearly, these creatures did not age by cat years!  As she walked toward the leaf that would give her admittance to the study, three of the young cat-men shifted to conceal her movements.