During his evenings in the kitchen, Wensley never ran into more than the occasional mouse or two*. So, when he heard someone rifling though his pantry, muttering, he took the only logical course of action. Picking up his heaviest skillet, he inched his way to the corner, and, taking a deep breath, ran forward with a battle cry to meet his new foe.

*Whether or not he shrieked like a girl when meeting these intuders is up for debate.