Pavlova's defining trait was that she was utterly detached from ethics.

It wasn't that she was disinterested in the concepts of ethics and morals. She just watched. From afar. And never really participated in them herself. In fact, not participating in ethics and morals was kind of her thing. She was the Oscar Wilde of the warrior cats' universe, but less gay. If she had heard his argument, that morals were merely a construct of the society around her, and not adhering to them was the only way to make progress, she would have been inclined to agree.

As a consequence, she'd earned a reputation throughout Twolegplace of being, generally, bad news. This had been achieved without her really leaving her garden.

Currently, she was sitting on the fence - literally, not metaphorically. She was watching, silently, watching other cats in their gardens. Her cold, yellow-green eyes scanned the cats below, her snow-white plumy tail flicking back and fourth as she observed, simply because there wasn't much else to do. She'd made a habit of it, even.

She could see easily into about four gardens - maybe ten, if she sat on her house's roof, and it wasn't difficult to simply move along the grid-like network of fence to see further. She wasn't sure when she'd started. Other cats intrigued her, not in an 'I want to be social with them' way, but in a 'how do their minds work' way.

It was a few hours past dawn. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Pavlova was completely indifferent. Monsters were starting to speed down the Thunderpaths - a few hours past sunhigh, they'd speed back, excreting smog which wafted into the air, slowly creating a greyer and greyer blanket. More noise came from inside the Twoleg nests around this time. As the Twolegs all left, and the houses emptied, cats would begin to come outside.

In the past week she'd noticed something new. Cats seemed to learn links between sounds and events. If one heard the sound of a monster coming up the drive, it was connected to the cat's Twolegs, even though there was no reason why anyone should be sure who it was. Any Twoleg could emerge from the monster, yet individuals continually made that deduction.

It was curious. (Of course, there was always the counter argument that there was no reason not to think so, but still. You'd think that what with science being so prevalent around here cats would be searching for solid proof.)

Her own ears pricked as she heard a noise inside. Food?

She mentally slapped herself. There she was, doing it too. There was no real guarantee that Twolegs consistently meant her getting food. (Though recent trends had proven that dilating her pupils and looking innocent did tend to better her chances considerably.)

The Twoleg, a female, had entered the kitchen, and was opening the fridge. Pavlova flicked her tail. Promising.

She padded across the hardwood floor and pushed her ear against the Twoleg, purring. She was rewarded with that gentle cooing noise they made (ugh) and a scratch between her shoulderblades. The Twoleg pulled a can out of the fridge and Pavlova's hopes soared. Tuna?

Her stomach growled as the Twoleg grabbed the can opener from the shelf, and her mouth watered at the sound of the lid coming undone. She moved towards her bowl, but stopped in her tracks - the scent was unfamiliar.

She jumped up onto the chair to get a better look at the food, pricking her ears. It was some slimy looking orange stuff. Not meat. Twoleg food. (As with any house cat, all meat is cat food. Even if the Twoleg prepared it so that they could eat it, the cat was equally entitled to it. No exceptions.)

Her ears pricked, disappointed, and she jumped from the chair, heading back out into the garden. It took her a few pawsteps to realise - she still felt hungry.

She hadn't felt hungry before the twoleg got the can out of the fridge, and there had been no food that was meant for her. Seeing the can had triggered a physical response. It wasn't rational. It made sense, but it wasn't rational.

The researcher becomes her own subject.

Her pawsteps slowed. If this was common to all cats, there was potential here. Potential to do what, she wasn't sure. This new discovery, that cats, and perhaps all intelligent life forms, subconsciously associated one thing with another, despite the fact that it was easy to rationalise why they shouldn't always be connected, fascinated her. It was there was a mouse, being dangled from the top of a skyscraper, full of potential energy. And should that potential be realised? Splat.

What's more, she was holding the mouse.

She grinned, and kept walking.

Chapter by Leafyy