Lucky for Karkat, Wildcat had been on the prowl (or, well, as much as you could when you were grocery shopping) when the vortex tore through the sky and emptied the dinosaurs into the streets of downtown LA. It didn't take her long to leap into action, dropping her paper grocery bags and loaf of bread and shifts quickly into one of her larger forms--a smilodon. She figures fight prehistoric with prehistoric, right?

Running down the street at full pelt, claws scraping against the tarmac and mask strapped tightly to the head of the large cat, she chases after some of the smaller dinosaurs--the bigger ones are far too large for her to even attempt to fight--and manages to bring down a few with a quick bite around their long necks. They scream as she crunches down and then hang limp in her jaws, blood dripping down the fangs.

And then her ears perk to a familiar sound. She drops the dinosaur, mentally hoping it'll be there when she gets back because she'd love to try and make some jerky out of it, and roars at another small pack that are circling some cars before she finds what she's looking for.

Without much warning, she's almost ontop of him, swatting and roaring angrily at a deinonychus that has gotten far too close for comfort. From a distance, she'd look like a mother tiger, protecting a cub, but from Karkat's point of view? A bloodied maw and suddenly a weight ontop of him? Maybe she didn't think this through well enough.