"Fetch my blade!" cried Prince Sarib.
The weapon clattered to the tiled floor. Sarib hissed and leapt down after it. It spun several times before he managed to hook one paw through the handgrip. He stalked three-legged for the door.
"Perhaps," suggested his majordomo, "a duel is not the ideal solution? In your current condition?"
"I may be an ensorcelled cat," Sarib spat, "but that man is a flea-bitten dog who dares touch my sister. I shall teach him a lesson regardless!"
Sarib stood in place, shedding angrily. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to open the door for me?"