The Official Seal of M.C. Striker

My claws clamped around the smooth wooden knob of a heavy date stamp resting beside an open ink pad on the study desk. With a raspy chitter, I hauled it up and brought it down hard onto a blank cream ledger sheet—thwack! Lifting it revealed a crisp crimson rectangle of boxed numerals. A hiss of satisfaction rattled in my throat. Not content with just numbers, I pressed the scaly pad of my left palm directly into the damp red sponge, then slammed my hand beside the print. The textured impression of claws and scales transferred instantly onto the paper, sealing the page as mine.