The noise came again—this time followed by a soft grunt and the unmistakable sound of something stuck. 

Wick rose with deliberate calm. His paws made no sound on the tile as he approached the cat door. The plastic flap bulged inward slightly, then froze. Two small, furry paws dangled from the outside edge, flailing weakly. 

“Oh no,” Tigra whispered, bounding to his side. “Not again.” 

Quigley trotted over and wagged his tail. “Friend?” 

Wick stared at the struggling paws. “Not friend,” he muttered under his breath. With the authority of a creature who’d seen far too many absurdities for one lifetime, he took a step closer. 

The flap gave a final pop, and there it was—a raccoon. The same raccoon, in fact, that had gotten stuck last month trying to steal the leftover tuna. 

It blinked at Wick in surprise, halfway in and halfway out, chubby middle wedged firmly in the frame. 

Tigra tilted her head. “He really doesn’t learn, does he?”