[ WP ] Every dragon has a unique hoard of things they like to collect . ( Like sofas , or jigsaw puzzles ) Your hoard obsession happens to be housecats .

I do n't want to go to Mrs McCree's. She's scary. She's old and she smells like pipe smoke. She always has a strange glint in her eye like she's up to something, always has a smile on her face like she knows something about me, always gives me a sweet for being a `` good boy''. 
 
 And, I'm scared of her cats. 
 
 She's got about a million of them in her little flat. Big, small, kittens, tomcats, Siamese and tabby. Every time I go to her place, they are all there, filling the room like a furry thundercloud, thundering with purrs. They hate me. I can see it in their eyes that they are only waiting for Mrs McCree to leave to pounce on me and drown me in their deadly heavy fur. I hate them. 
 
 But Mum says we should be kind to old ladies, that we should n't ignore them just because they have a lot of cats. So here I am, knocking. 
 
 The door opens: Mrs McCree is in her slippers and tartan, blue smoke streaming from her nostrils. Cats ebb and flow around her ankles, rumbling in a multitude of colors. `` Yes, dear?'' 
 
 `` Mum says would you like to come over for dinner?'' 
 
 `` Oh, that's alright, dear, she need n't have bothered.'' Her tongue flicked around her scaly, lipless mouth. `` I have my meal for tonight... right in front of me.''
