Martina was always a good cat. She knew it from the way her owner scratched her head, let her curl up next to her by the fire, the way Martina's purring made her smile. She knew by the way that, when her owner's granddaughter would visit, she would always bring a carafe of milk and fresh fish for her. She knew by the way her wonder never seemed disgusted by the birds she dragged in - Günther, the cat from down the lane said that he would get scolded for doing the same. And so, Martina had thought of herself as a very lucky cat.

That was until the wolf entered. Martina had never been taught to fear wolves, but she thought them just oversized dogs, and disturbingly unnerved by her hissing. And so, she hid under the table until the smell went away - and it never did. When she emerged, it was dark out. Where was her owner? Where was her granddaughter, who was supposed to come before sunset?

Martina had to find out.

When Martina left the comfort under the bed, she was on edge. The wolf's smell never left, and had been there for days now. What had happened to her owner? As Martina entered the kitchen something didn't seem right. She saw her owner at the stove, cooking, but it still wasn't right. Her owner didn't have such big shoulders. Her owner wasn't as hairy, and her owner certainly did not smell like a wolf. Martina tried to run, but it was too late, the wolf had already smelled her, and turned around. Martina didn't think once before darting. She sprinted through the dining room, into the parlor, and out her cat door. She could feel the wolf right behind her. A nearby tree provided safety for her, and she climbed up it as fast as her quick kitten paws could carry her. The wolf burst out the door a second later, and took a look around. finding nothing, he went back inside, the door slamming shut behind him. Martina quivered in fear, and decided that she would stay in the tree until she could get help. As night fell, Martina got tired, so she quietly left the tree, and curled up under a bush to fall asleep.

Martina woke up early the next morning to the sound of someone coming up the path that led to her owner's house. Cautiously, she climbed the tree, and peered down. She gave a meow of joy when she saw that it was her owner's granddaughter. Maybe she could help.

Little Red Riding Hood was startled to see Martina outside this early. Usually her grandma's cat would sleep in late, and stay inside. As Martina did figure eights between her legs, hurriedly meowing. Red Riding Hood walked up to the porch. What had gotten into the cat. She took one last look at the cat, and then opened the door, ready to see her grandma.

Red Riding Hood pushed the door open.

The kitchen looked almost right, and that was what made it wrong. A pot simmered on the stove, just as always, but the room smelled sharp and wild. Martina, still outside, hissed and arched her back, her tail puffed like a bottlebrush.

“Grandma?” Red called.

There was no answer—only the scrape of something heavy moving across the floor.

Red’s heart thumped. Slowly, she backed out and shut the door as quietly as she could. Martina leapt up into her arms, paws pressing urgently against Red’s chest as she let out a low, warning growl.

“Okay,” Red whispered. “Okay. I get it. We need help.”

She carried Martina down the path and into the small shed near the garden, a place her grandmother used for baking when the kitchen got too hot in summer. Red shut the door behind them and slid the latch closed. Only then did she notice someone else was already inside.

On the table sat a small gingerbread man, arms crossed, one cookie foot tapping impatiently.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “I’ve been hiding in flour for hours.”

Red blinked. “You can talk.”

“Of course I can talk,” the gingerbread man said. “I can also run very fast, but even I don’t outrun wolves indoors. Name’s Ginger. And you are?”

“Red,” she said faintly. “And this is Martina.”

Martina hopped down and sniffed Ginger, then gave a small, approving meow.

“So,” Ginger said, peering through a crack in the shed wall toward the house, “I’m guessing the wolf finally showed up?”

Red nodded. “He’s inside. And my grandma—”

“We’ll figure that out,” Ginger said quickly, softening his voice. “But we don’t charge in without a plan.”

Martina flicked her ears and padded to the window, pointing her nose toward the back of the house. She let out a sharp meow, then scratched twice at the wood.

“She wants us to go around back,” Red said, surprised at herself for understanding.

Ginger grinned. “Smart cat. I’m small, fast, and distracting. You’re brave and know the house. And Martina—” he glanced at the cat, who was already halfway up a shelf, “—has claws and eyes everywhere.”

The three of them shared a look.

“All right,” Red said, tightening her grip on her basket. “Let’s get Grandma’s house back.”

And quietly, carefully, they slipped out of the shed and into the morning light, ready to work together.