I stared at the fur-wrapped key, still slightly queasy. Whiskers was sprawled across the coffee table, tail flicking like a metronome of mischief.
"So where's this vault?" I asked.
He sniffed. "Behind the wall. The one with the suspicious painting of a bowl of fruit. That's not fruit—it's code."
Naturally.
I pulled the painting aside to reveal—of course—a small paw-shaped impression in the plaster. Whiskers hopped up, tapped it with his right paw, and a section of the wall creaked open, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with faded wallpaper and the faint scent of… lavender and litter.
"This building was once a training facility for the FFL," he whispered.
"The what now?"
"Feline Federation of Landlords. Operatives trained in rent enforcement, stealth inspections, and passive-aggressive stair-staring. But something went wrong. The Vault sealed itself years ago… until now."
We stepped inside, and as the hidden door shut behind us, the corridor lights flickered to life. Painted on the walls were murals of cats in business suits and monocles, pawing over blueprints and mortgage paperwork.
At the end of the hall, a voice echoed through the vents: "IDENTITY VERIFICATION REQUIRED. PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME AND FAVORITE BRAND OF TUNA."
Whiskers looked at me. "Don't mess this up."