Anxiety peaked when Fiona checked the mudroom and found only two kittens. Panic surged through the house as they searched every cupboard and closet, calling for the smallest. A terrifying silence fell until John stopped near the kitchen pantry, pressing his ear to the drywall. From deep within the house's skeleton, he heard a faint, rhythmic scratching—not frantic clawing, but steady, purposeful movement. "He's in the vents, Fiona," John whispered, his face pale.