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The Cat was not amused.

Py and it had come to an uneasy truce in recent weeks when in each others’ presence, whereby they both pretended the other did not – in any way, shape, or form – exist.

And the Cat had developed a tolerance for Harmony which was as close to affection as it ever got.   That is to say, the Cat was gracious enough not to slay her as she stood, should she deign to lay a hand on its mangy regal coat.   Now that’s beneficience.

But I – scum that I am – dared to introduce a new member of the inferior non-feline species into the Cat’s kingdom.   Moreover, they’d met before on the intruder’s previous storming of the castle to leave a message under a door and then on a mirror for a lowly vassal.   How dare she set foot again in these hallowed halls?   Amelia was a red rag to a Cat.   Well.   To this Cat.

When I opened the apartment door, the Cat was sitting just a few feet in, right in the way.   Very upright, tail wrapped around its feet, staring very hard.

Amelia may have been dusty and weary from the self-imprisonment in the tower, but she herself was a regular queen of hearts whereupon ‘Off with its head’ was a regular problem solution.   Fuck.  I should have expected this.   This was a baaaaaaad idea…

Forgot something though, didn’t I?

Amelia never does as expected.

She looked at the Cat, that looked back unblinkingly.   Then she gracefully dropped to her knees, spreading out her hands apologetically on the bare floorboards in front of her, bowing her head in supplication.   The Cat looked calmly at the penitent prostrated at its feet.   It unfolded, yawned, and stretched – but only while digging its claws a little into the wood grain very close to Amelia’s outstretched fingers.   Then it walked away from her majestically, and left the room.

The Cat had spoken.





  1. Loves a little groveling, that Cat?!

    • Rosemarie Fullerton
    • Posted February 5, 2010 at 8:27 pm
    • Permalink
    • Reply

    I like this one.

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