

"The workers left in 1974. The cat showed up sometime after. Nobody agrees on how he got the helmet."
The corridor bends left after the fourth torch. He knows.
Standard orange, size medium. Scratched on the left side where he keeps bumping the wall on his way to the second chamber.
Straight for forty meters, right at the collapsed pillar, past the door nobody built. He does it without thinking now.
Undefined. He inspects things. He blinks at torches. Once a month he moves a small stone from one pile to another.
Tabby, unclear age, answers to nothing. He does not chase mice. The mice know this and behave accordingly.
