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P.S. Don't let the length of my post scare you away. You don't have to write anything nearly this long. I just wrote a bunch so you could explore the Center of Operations with Macavity. :)
IC: Macavity prowled about the location he'd chosen, purring contentedly. His center of operations was a massive factory. What it had once produced, he did not know, but the machines left behind fascinated him. Some of them looked quite dangerous: more than adequate torture or killing devices, should he deign to use them. Of course, he'd have to learn how first. He pressed a few random buttons on one of the control panels stationed along the catwalks, but received no reward from his efforts, even when he pressed the enticing red one. Likely the energy required to run the machines had left the building long ago. He'd have to find some way to restore it. He was nothing if not resourceful.
His paws carried him along the handrail of the catwalk. He'd already decided he didn't care for the walking surface the twolegs would have used while passing to and fro on their daily business. It was formed of a steel mesh, just enough metal to support a pedestrian, but with gaps in between the metal strips wide enough to swallow the pads of a cat's paw and force him to walk on the unprotected spaces in between the toughened skin, a painful prospect. It would have been another good form of punishment if he could only figure out how to make a cat stay on it. Oh, well, ideas would come later.
At the end of the handrail he jumped, landing lightly on the sill of a window. From here, he could see the road passing the front of the factory. Down the road, the city began to open up. He could see a theater's lights flashing in the darkness of evening, advertising their latest show. His mind wandered to his home in London, where he'd viewed the performance of "Firefrorefiddle: The Fiend of the Fell." Inspiring! He'd been only a kit when he'd seen it, but he truly felt he could credit the masterful actor of the character Firefrorefiddle with driving the desire to pursue crime into Macavity's blackened heart. He smiled as he remembered how strongly Mr. Mistoffelees had remonstrated their parents for bringing him to see the show, every one of his ebony furs standing on end. Macavity chuckled.
Further down the road, a train was just pulling into the station. Back home, the train was how many cats traveled from city to city. Macavity purred, thinking of the cars opening to allow new members of his company to step upon the city streets before beginning their life of crime. From what he'd witnessed, however, cats in the area usually traveled by foot. It was a good method, permitting a cat to hunt his own game as he moved, rather than hoping he could hold out until the cars stopped moving, then scrounge something in the next city. He was glad of the factory's placement, far enough from the city to provide good hunting grounds, near enough that those cats inclined to steal their food could bring twoleg fare to the freshkill pile.
He looked through the catwalk to the concrete floor. That would likely be the area the cats would congregate, with their paws practically pampered compared to the harsh treatment of the catwalks. Side offices would make ideal places for queens to raise kits, with cubicle spaces to keep them isolated and drawers that could be opened to keep the kits warm in. If a queen preferred, she might simply claim the space under the desk, more open, although somewhat exposed to passersby. A workers' locker at the far side would do to keep slaves in. If the dark, cramped quarters didn't break a cat's spirit in a reasonable amount of time, Macavity didn't know what would. He'd already recovered all but three of the keys and hidden them away in his office.
He leaped onto another handrail and ran along its length, jumping when it was split by a walkway, running again, ever upwards. Up, up, up to the highest office, no doubt once belonging to the chief twoleg, the one who had kept the place running smoothly in its prime.
Macavity slipped through the doorway and his paws were instantly greeted by a thick green carpet. He paused to knead the plush material a bit, then jumped onto the desk. It was a wide, impressive platform from which he could address insubordinates, also providing a spacious plane on which to nap and contemplate his organization's next deeds of villainy. The desk drawers made good places to hide any trinkets in, especially considering that most cats didn't know how to open them. Even if one cunning feline could open the drawers, he wouldn't be able to find the location of Macavity's precious slave keys.
A bookshelf stood against a side wall, fully stocked. Books had always mystified Macavity. Twolegs opened them, perused them for hours, and then shut them, a satisfied expression on their faces. One day, he too would be privy to their secrets. Harsh penalties to anyone who damages those, he noted to himself.
Enough wandering. Satisfied with his exploration, Macavity left the office and wandered down the rails to the catwalk floor. He would have to be present should any cat come in ready to join his organization.
...Or to be enslaved.