BlogClan Tavern, Triple Trouble

As the door swung open with a creak, everyone inside the dusty, shadowed room turned to face the newcomer.
“Ayyy, Hazel! Welcome to the Tavern!” a ginger tabby screeched from an empty table in the back. he had three empty cans of root beer on the table, and what appeared to be one more next to his paw.
“Hey.” Hazel grabbed a glass from the long wooden table at the front that secluded the abandoned kitchen from the rest of the tavern. She filled up her glass with Dr. Pepper and took a seat at a half-full table.
“Juni, Winter, Willow.” She nodded to acknowledge them.
Willow tilted her head and smiled. “We should have a Doctor Who discussion page!”
Juni and Winter nodded. Willow continued. “Used to be one on the old blog.”
Hazel agreed wholeheartedly. It made perfect sense to bring it back. She was about to speak, when a sudden shadow fell over her and large hands clamped over her mouth. She struggled to say her words, but the monster refused to soften its grip. Hazelspots, full of rage, ripped the monster’s hands off her mouth and turned to face the beast. She gasped at the sight. The constant chat that usually filled the lively Tavern stopped, and every cat turned to gaze at the monster, and were surprised in the same way she was.
“The Spammonster…” one of the cats whispered in awe.
“You’re not real. You can’t be.” Hazel stared, wide-eyed at the monster. He tried to move and put his hands over her mouth again but she lightly pushed them away.
“He is real. I’ve seen him before.” Winter said with a frown.
Hazel continued to stare, mouth wide open.
The Tavern was completely silent until the ginger tabby at the back, in a root-beer induced stupor, threw a root beer can straight at the monster’s head. The beast let out a mighty roar and tried to slash at Hazel’s face. Hazel ducked and rolled away from him. When she got back on her paws, the Spammonster was in front of her again. She leaped and clawed his noses, then dug her claws into his chest fur and raked his belly. He let out a whimper, too pitiful for a mighty creature like him. Hazel herded him out of the Tavern and watched him run away across the street.
Quiet applause came from the root beer cat. After a little bit of silence, Willow got up on the table. “Who’s up for a round of Hamilton?”
Half the Tavern screeched in reply- not “yes,” but rather a loud, resonating “What time is it? Showtime!”
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