Cricketpaw was standing near by, close enough to hear the splash of water and the sound of something rolling. He approached slowly, and poked his head over the edge of the ditch, his eyes spotting Zephyrglade. "Hey, are you ok-AAAHHH" his sentence ended short with a yowl as he lost his footing and rolled into the ditch less than a tail-length from the older tom.

Mittens loved fishing. And lake houses. But mostly fishing at lake houses. Though really, all her lake houses were more like huts. If all huts were little mounds of dirt that were less than an inch high, that is. So in actuality, maybe Mittens really just loved fishing at little mounds of dirt less than an inch high and not so much lake houses but— Wait. How did Mittens even get on this topic? Were there even any lakes around here? Despite having been an unenthused member (Member? More like hapless victim) of this band of crazies for the past who knows how long, Mittens still got lost on a daily basis. Or rather, an hourly basis.

But it's fine, you know? Mittens was fine. Totally, completely, unrepentantly—

With a shrill meow, an undignified squawk, Mittens rolled head over heals into the ditch and landed right on top of Zephyrglade. Mittens stared at Zephyrglade beneath her, then at Cricketpaw. She sighed, looking in askance at the sky.

So maybe she wasn't fine after all.

"Meow," she greeted them. Though it was less like a greeting and more like a lame pick-up line. Something along the lines of, You come here often? or Are you a cat because I'm feline a connection between us. Or maybe it was really just Mittens saying, I accept my fate and We're going to be here all day, aren't we?. Though in actuality, it was a lot more likely that Mittens just said something like, Nice place you got here. Lot of dirt. I dig it.