a New Home
Courtney hears her father cursing downstairs when he gets the paper, and the door slamming. Everything goes calm again quickly, and when she does get up it’s a very ordinary scene, with her father reading the paper in the living room.
“Uh… everything okay, Pop?” Courtney looks around the room cautiously.
“Hmm? Morning sweetheart. How are you?” He asks pleasantly, but doesn’t look up from the paper. Typical.
“I’m… okay. What was the yelling about? Was the paperboy hitting on mom again?”
“Hunh??” He blinks at her. “Err… There was some kind of stray… thing trying to get in the house. Probably rabid. What did…?”
“Ha. Gotcha. The paperboy’s a woman. Go back to the sports page.” She grins and heads for the front door.
He looks relieved, and goes back to reading warily.
Courtney opens the door and peers out, half expecting some sort of small wood-goblin.
On the porch railing is a furry grey lump. The long whiskers and large ear and scruffy tail say it’s a cat. The right ear is mostly missing. His eyes are closed and it looks like it’s just dozing there with a proprietary air.
“Oh.” She says, blinking, and closes the door behind her. “Hello. Did, um, Quick send you? Or Tobermory?” She’s not sure if she’ll get an answer.
“Word is you have a room available?” He turns his head to her and opens his left eye.
“Yeah. Sorry about my dad. My parents, um, are dog people. I guess.”
His voice is gravelly but his tone is pleasant. He makes an amused noise. “Riiight. So do you have a room available?”
“Yeah, if you can get along with the house goblins and don’t destroy any magical equipment. And ignore my parents.” She grins a little.
“Good! I don’t do skim milk. Two percent or higher.” He raises himself on one front leg, revealing the other one is completely missing, hops down from the railing with a little wobble, and trot-hobbles up to the door expectantly.
She blinks again. “Uh… okay. I’m Courtney. You got a name?” She opens the door obligingly.
“Fisher.” He hobbles in gamely and looks around, completely at home. “Any siblings?”
“No, just my parents and my uncle, and me. It’ll be easier on everyone if you don’t talk to my parents, by the way.” She gets some half-and-half out of the fridge and shakes it up. “And there’s the goblins. Half-dozen or so. They’re harmless, unless you try and take their food away.”
He licks his whiskers, watching intently. “Mmmhm.”
She pours a little half-and-half in a saucer and sets it down for him. “Will you eat cat food? Or is there something else I should have around for you, other than milk.”
“Whatever… not picky.” He hunkers down and laps at the milk eagerly. He looks like a cat that doesn’t get quite enough.
“Great. That’ll be easier to explain than where all the tuna’s going.”
He gives a throaty chuckle, almost chokes, clears his throat and doesn’t say anything else until the milk is gone. Then it’s a purr. He sits up on his haunches to wash his face.
She sits in the kitchen chair and smiles a little, charmed by the purr. “You want anything else?”
“Sure! Okay.” He drops back down on his front leg and looks at her. “Oh, yeah. Sorry I don’t have much practice at this.” He hobbles over and bashes his head against her leg. “Purr, purr, shed.”
She blinks, then chuckles softly. “I think we’ve got chicken pot pie left over from last night. Or fish sticks. Your call.” She reaches down to stroke his head tentatively.
He goes back to real purring. Her first touch makes him flinch just a little, then he tilts his head into it. When she lands on the spot behind the halved ear he stills and the purr goes up a notch. “Homemade pot pie?”
She scratches gently, smiling. “Yeah, my mom’s a caterer.”
“Really? Oh… who needs cat food when there’s leftovers.” He sits, enjoying the scratching.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t always get to bring her work home. Thanksgiving’s always nice though.” She seems to be willing to scratch him for as long as he wants.
“Damn. Cat food’s okay…” He leans into the scratching until he falls over.
“Er! Umm. Are you okay? She looks startled.
“Hunh?” He picks himself up, shakes himself, and bathes his tail. “Chicken?”
“Right.” She steps around him gingerly and gets the pot pie out of the fridge.
He’s still purring and watching her, tailtip twitching.
She heats up the pot pie in the microwave, blows on it to make sure it’s not hot enough to burn him, then sets it next to him. She made sure there were a lot of chicken pieces in it. She gets herself a poptart and a banana, then sits on the floor across from him companionably.
He finishes it all, slowing down by the end. It’s a pretty big meal for a smallish cat. Then he hobbles over to sit beside her and bathe. He’s a little unsteady, but compensates fairly well for the missing leg.
She grins, watching him. “So how do you feel about Multiversal Nexii?”
He gives a feline shrug. “Never worried about them much, why?” He leans against her to scratch himself without falling over.
She doesn’t mind. “I visit one. Often. And I have a lot of friends from it. Some of ‘em are kind of weird.”
“Do they hate cats?” He drapes his tail tip over her leg.
“I don’t think so. Some of them definitely like them.” She taps his tail tip with one finger.
“Not too many dog people?” He flicks his tail playfully.
“Not strictly. Mostly they’re any-animal people. I know a lady who has a cat bone-golem. It kicks ass.” She makes a grab for the tail and deliberately misses.
“Hmh. I can take care of myself.” He says defensively. The tail flicks again, and pulls away. He considers a moment and then hops into her lap.
She straightens her legs to give him more space, grinning.
“Just don’t bring home any dog people, or I’ll have to kick their ass.” He settles in, purring softly.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” She scratches behind his ears obligingly, relaxing against the cabinet doors.
“What’s the old man like?” He relaxes, full and warm.
“My uncle? He’s grouchy and hermit-like, but he means well. He likes books and tea and research. He usually has a fire going in his study. Play your cards right, and you can probably sleep on his couch in front of it whenever you want.”
“Mmmm… warm.” He mumbles sleepily.
She grins. “Yeah, sure.” She’s decided she likes this cat.
“I can have your pillow, right?” He mumbles.
“I kind of like my pillow. I have an extra, though. You can have it.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Mmm…” He continues purring softly and slowly goes limp.
Her mother comes into the kitchen, freezes, and stares. “Don’t… move honey, I’ll… I’ll call the exterminator…”
“Mom, it’s a cat. He’s a perfectly nice cat.” Courtney has to struggle not to laugh.
“Animal Control then. It… didn’t bite you…?” She edges toward the broom as a weapon of self defense.
“No. I gave him some milk. He’s asleep.” She puts an arm over the cat defensively. “He’s just a little beat up ‘s’all.”
“It’s… maybe we should take it to the pound? I’ll find a box…” She looks skeptical.
Courtney makes doe eyes. “He likes me. I want to keep him.”
“We could get you a kitten. A nice purebred even. It’s… is that thing missing an ear?”
“Yeah, and an eye and a leg. I don’t want a purebred, and I definitely don’t want a kitten. It’d break stuff.”
“And… a leg…?” She sinks into a chair clutching the broom.
Fisher yawns and flicks his tail once.
“Yeah. I don’t want a dog to get him. I’ll take care of him, I promise.” She continues to make bambi eyes, hoping she won’t have to add crying to it.
“But it’s… that’s… Sweetie, your father isn’t going to… it’s probably diseased…”
Courtney can feel Fisher sigh, then he rolls over on his back, paws in the air, and yawns again.
“See? Isn’t he cute? He’s perfectly healthy.” Courtney smiles brightly.
A flea hops off him onto Courtney. Fortunately her mother isn’t close enough to see.
“Oh my god… It really is missing a leg.” Her mother looks horrified.
Courtney quickly dispatches the flea magically. It makes a tiny popping sound. “His name is Fisher. So I can keep him, right?”
“…Fisher…? It doesn’t have a collar…”
“Of course not. He hasn’t been anyone’s pet before.”
She looks uncertain, and slightly horrified still. “You father won’t… That’s what he had to beat with the paper this morning, isn’t it?”
He squirms a little, resisting the urge to scratch.
“No, no. That was an opossum. I think this guy was trying to catch it. Bet he’s a great hunter.”
His whiskers twitch and he purrs louder.
She sighs. “Talk to your father.” She gives a tiny shudder.
“Okay. Thanks mom.” She beams and scoops Fisher up. “I’ll go talk to him now.”
He makes an aborted little protest noise and tries to pull himself into a more comfortable position.
As they leave the room, she mutters, “Sorry, I just figured we should go before she changed her mind. I’ll talk my dad into it later.”
“Muph. Warn me next time.” He settles into her arms but his tail lashes.
“Okay. Sorry. Wanna see my room?”
“Sure. Nice bed?”
“Canopy bed.” She mounts the stairs slowly, then turns and nudges the bedroom door open with her foot. The room is Full of Books.
“Oooh…” He squirms a little, wanting down.
She sets him gently on the floor and goes to her bookshelf. “You don’t object to magic, right? I think I can get rid of those fleas.”
“What’s magic to a cat?” He sniffs at the bottom row of books.
“You tell me.” She grins and selects a book with a rabbit and an apple tree on the cover.
“How good are you?” He eyes the book warily.
“Way above my age level. Relax. I’ll triple-check my formulas before I try anything.” She sits on the edge of the bed and crosses her legs. “Make yourself at home.”
“As long as it doesn’t damage my fur.” He eyes the bed and readies himself, wiggling his behind. He jumps, is unable to hold on with one leg and tumbles back, jumps again and makes it.
Courtney politely pretends not to notice this, flipping through her book.
“I have very beautiful fur.” He licks his chest and curls up on her pillow.
“A spell should be easier on your fur than powders or shampoos or anything.
“Shampoo?” He raises his head. “Don’t even think about giving me a bath.”
She laughs. “That’s what I thought.”
He curls up again, then stirs to give himself a thorough scratching, and shed all over her pillow.
“Purr, purr, shed?” She asks.
He glances at her and his whiskers twitch, then his ear and a half swivel and he looks to the door just before there’s a knock on it.
“Uncle A?” She brightens.
He opens the door a crack. “Your mother is manically disinfecting the kitchen. Is something up?”
“Come in and meet Fisher,” She says cheerfully. “Mom thinks he’s terrifying, and dad tried to hit him with the paper.”
“Another houseguest?” He peers in, raising an eyebrow.
Fisher settles down again and watches Aloysius, just his tailtip twitching.
“A cat. You said I could invite one. He’s perfect. He’ll talk to me, and Mom and Dad are horrified, and he’s scrappy. Fisher, this is my uncle.”
“Scrappy? As long as he’s clean.” He leans on the doorframe, amused.
“Bet I bathe more often than you do.” Fisher’s whole tail flicks.
“Also, he’s a smartass.” Courtney adds cheerfully.
“Well we should all get along well. The furniture in my study is off limits, but you can give the house goblins some exercise.”
If cats could smirk, he’d be smirking now.
“Aww, I told him he could have the couch by the fire.”
He raises an eyebrow and sighs. “Just that couch then, and no claws.
“You don’t get no claws unless you build me a ramp.” Fisher sits up and waves the one front leg.
Aloysius seems unsure how to respond.
“I can do that.” Courtney volunteers.
“Good girl.” Fisher bathes his whiskers.
Aloysius rolls his eyes. “No fleas, I hope?”
“Not for long. Here’s the spell…” She lays the book open next to her.
Fisher sits still primly, patient and watching.
“Do you want any help?” Her uncle watches.
“Yeah, I need you to double check my parameters.” She fetches a notebook and pencil and sketches out a few sigils.
Aloysius leans on the bedpost and looks over her work, making a few suggestions for minor adaptations.
She scribbles a few more notes, then writes out the final spell carefully. “Looks okay?”
“That looks fine.” Aloysius nods approvingly.
Fisher hobbles over to look.
Courtney holds the paper out for him to see.
He looks it all over, then returns to her pillow. “Okay.”
He’s been here ten minutes and already I’m losing all rights to my pillow.” Courtney observes, sketching a couple sigils in the air with her fingertip.
“He’s not allowed in my bedroom.” Aloysius murmurs, watching her work.
“Talk to him. You think he’s gone follow my instructions?” Coutney grins.
“I think he lacks opposable thumbs.”
“I compensate for everything I lack. Is this supposed to tickle?” He wriggles on her pillow.
“It’ll tingle a little,” Power crackles around her and skims over his fur. The fleas begin to dissolve and die with little popping sounds, like rice krispies.
Fisher squirms and scratches impatiently, then shakes his head fiercely as one pops in his ear.
The spell draws to a close with a hissing noise. Most of the fleas are completely gone. All are dead.
He gives himself a thorough scratching, depositing whatever’s left of the fleas on her pillow. “Thanks!”
“Ew. Time to do laundry.” She pats his head gently. “You’re welcome. Can I go down to the pet store, Uncle A?”
“Of course. But don’t go overboard.”
“Pet store for what?” Fisher looks wary. “Feeder mice?”
“Cat food. Litter box. Catnip toys?” She shrugs.
“No feeder mice?” Fisher looks up at her.
“You just ate.”
“I meant for playing with. Will they have fish? I like fishing.”
“You want to come along? If you promise not to break anything, I’ll bring you.”
“I won’t break anything.” He hops off the pillow and over to her, sitting up and putting his one front paw on her as a prelude to climbing up to her shoulder.
She leans down to help him, not wanting to be clawed particularly.
“I got I-iaoow!” He sighs and settles around her shoulders, digging in all the same to keep himself anchored. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Uh… everything okay, Pop?” Courtney looks around the room cautiously.
“Hmm? Morning sweetheart. How are you?” He asks pleasantly, but doesn’t look up from the paper. Typical.
“I’m… okay. What was the yelling about? Was the paperboy hitting on mom again?”
“Hunh??” He blinks at her. “Err… There was some kind of stray… thing trying to get in the house. Probably rabid. What did…?”
“Ha. Gotcha. The paperboy’s a woman. Go back to the sports page.” She grins and heads for the front door.
He looks relieved, and goes back to reading warily.
Courtney opens the door and peers out, half expecting some sort of small wood-goblin.
On the porch railing is a furry grey lump. The long whiskers and large ear and scruffy tail say it’s a cat. The right ear is mostly missing. His eyes are closed and it looks like it’s just dozing there with a proprietary air.
“Oh.” She says, blinking, and closes the door behind her. “Hello. Did, um, Quick send you? Or Tobermory?” She’s not sure if she’ll get an answer.
“Word is you have a room available?” He turns his head to her and opens his left eye.
“Yeah. Sorry about my dad. My parents, um, are dog people. I guess.”
His voice is gravelly but his tone is pleasant. He makes an amused noise. “Riiight. So do you have a room available?”
“Yeah, if you can get along with the house goblins and don’t destroy any magical equipment. And ignore my parents.” She grins a little.
“Good! I don’t do skim milk. Two percent or higher.” He raises himself on one front leg, revealing the other one is completely missing, hops down from the railing with a little wobble, and trot-hobbles up to the door expectantly.
She blinks again. “Uh… okay. I’m Courtney. You got a name?” She opens the door obligingly.
“Fisher.” He hobbles in gamely and looks around, completely at home. “Any siblings?”
“No, just my parents and my uncle, and me. It’ll be easier on everyone if you don’t talk to my parents, by the way.” She gets some half-and-half out of the fridge and shakes it up. “And there’s the goblins. Half-dozen or so. They’re harmless, unless you try and take their food away.”
He licks his whiskers, watching intently. “Mmmhm.”
She pours a little half-and-half in a saucer and sets it down for him. “Will you eat cat food? Or is there something else I should have around for you, other than milk.”
“Whatever… not picky.” He hunkers down and laps at the milk eagerly. He looks like a cat that doesn’t get quite enough.
“Great. That’ll be easier to explain than where all the tuna’s going.”
He gives a throaty chuckle, almost chokes, clears his throat and doesn’t say anything else until the milk is gone. Then it’s a purr. He sits up on his haunches to wash his face.
She sits in the kitchen chair and smiles a little, charmed by the purr. “You want anything else?”
“Sure! Okay.” He drops back down on his front leg and looks at her. “Oh, yeah. Sorry I don’t have much practice at this.” He hobbles over and bashes his head against her leg. “Purr, purr, shed.”
She blinks, then chuckles softly. “I think we’ve got chicken pot pie left over from last night. Or fish sticks. Your call.” She reaches down to stroke his head tentatively.
He goes back to real purring. Her first touch makes him flinch just a little, then he tilts his head into it. When she lands on the spot behind the halved ear he stills and the purr goes up a notch. “Homemade pot pie?”
She scratches gently, smiling. “Yeah, my mom’s a caterer.”
“Really? Oh… who needs cat food when there’s leftovers.” He sits, enjoying the scratching.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t always get to bring her work home. Thanksgiving’s always nice though.” She seems to be willing to scratch him for as long as he wants.
“Damn. Cat food’s okay…” He leans into the scratching until he falls over.
“Er! Umm. Are you okay? She looks startled.
“Hunh?” He picks himself up, shakes himself, and bathes his tail. “Chicken?”
“Right.” She steps around him gingerly and gets the pot pie out of the fridge.
He’s still purring and watching her, tailtip twitching.
She heats up the pot pie in the microwave, blows on it to make sure it’s not hot enough to burn him, then sets it next to him. She made sure there were a lot of chicken pieces in it. She gets herself a poptart and a banana, then sits on the floor across from him companionably.
He finishes it all, slowing down by the end. It’s a pretty big meal for a smallish cat. Then he hobbles over to sit beside her and bathe. He’s a little unsteady, but compensates fairly well for the missing leg.
She grins, watching him. “So how do you feel about Multiversal Nexii?”
He gives a feline shrug. “Never worried about them much, why?” He leans against her to scratch himself without falling over.
She doesn’t mind. “I visit one. Often. And I have a lot of friends from it. Some of ‘em are kind of weird.”
“Do they hate cats?” He drapes his tail tip over her leg.
“I don’t think so. Some of them definitely like them.” She taps his tail tip with one finger.
“Not too many dog people?” He flicks his tail playfully.
“Not strictly. Mostly they’re any-animal people. I know a lady who has a cat bone-golem. It kicks ass.” She makes a grab for the tail and deliberately misses.
“Hmh. I can take care of myself.” He says defensively. The tail flicks again, and pulls away. He considers a moment and then hops into her lap.
She straightens her legs to give him more space, grinning.
“Just don’t bring home any dog people, or I’ll have to kick their ass.” He settles in, purring softly.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” She scratches behind his ears obligingly, relaxing against the cabinet doors.
“What’s the old man like?” He relaxes, full and warm.
“My uncle? He’s grouchy and hermit-like, but he means well. He likes books and tea and research. He usually has a fire going in his study. Play your cards right, and you can probably sleep on his couch in front of it whenever you want.”
“Mmmm… warm.” He mumbles sleepily.
She grins. “Yeah, sure.” She’s decided she likes this cat.
“I can have your pillow, right?” He mumbles.
“I kind of like my pillow. I have an extra, though. You can have it.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Mmm…” He continues purring softly and slowly goes limp.
Her mother comes into the kitchen, freezes, and stares. “Don’t… move honey, I’ll… I’ll call the exterminator…”
“Mom, it’s a cat. He’s a perfectly nice cat.” Courtney has to struggle not to laugh.
“Animal Control then. It… didn’t bite you…?” She edges toward the broom as a weapon of self defense.
“No. I gave him some milk. He’s asleep.” She puts an arm over the cat defensively. “He’s just a little beat up ‘s’all.”
“It’s… maybe we should take it to the pound? I’ll find a box…” She looks skeptical.
Courtney makes doe eyes. “He likes me. I want to keep him.”
“We could get you a kitten. A nice purebred even. It’s… is that thing missing an ear?”
“Yeah, and an eye and a leg. I don’t want a purebred, and I definitely don’t want a kitten. It’d break stuff.”
“And… a leg…?” She sinks into a chair clutching the broom.
Fisher yawns and flicks his tail once.
“Yeah. I don’t want a dog to get him. I’ll take care of him, I promise.” She continues to make bambi eyes, hoping she won’t have to add crying to it.
“But it’s… that’s… Sweetie, your father isn’t going to… it’s probably diseased…”
Courtney can feel Fisher sigh, then he rolls over on his back, paws in the air, and yawns again.
“See? Isn’t he cute? He’s perfectly healthy.” Courtney smiles brightly.
A flea hops off him onto Courtney. Fortunately her mother isn’t close enough to see.
“Oh my god… It really is missing a leg.” Her mother looks horrified.
Courtney quickly dispatches the flea magically. It makes a tiny popping sound. “His name is Fisher. So I can keep him, right?”
“…Fisher…? It doesn’t have a collar…”
“Of course not. He hasn’t been anyone’s pet before.”
She looks uncertain, and slightly horrified still. “You father won’t… That’s what he had to beat with the paper this morning, isn’t it?”
He squirms a little, resisting the urge to scratch.
“No, no. That was an opossum. I think this guy was trying to catch it. Bet he’s a great hunter.”
His whiskers twitch and he purrs louder.
She sighs. “Talk to your father.” She gives a tiny shudder.
“Okay. Thanks mom.” She beams and scoops Fisher up. “I’ll go talk to him now.”
He makes an aborted little protest noise and tries to pull himself into a more comfortable position.
As they leave the room, she mutters, “Sorry, I just figured we should go before she changed her mind. I’ll talk my dad into it later.”
“Muph. Warn me next time.” He settles into her arms but his tail lashes.
“Okay. Sorry. Wanna see my room?”
“Sure. Nice bed?”
“Canopy bed.” She mounts the stairs slowly, then turns and nudges the bedroom door open with her foot. The room is Full of Books.
“Oooh…” He squirms a little, wanting down.
She sets him gently on the floor and goes to her bookshelf. “You don’t object to magic, right? I think I can get rid of those fleas.”
“What’s magic to a cat?” He sniffs at the bottom row of books.
“You tell me.” She grins and selects a book with a rabbit and an apple tree on the cover.
“How good are you?” He eyes the book warily.
“Way above my age level. Relax. I’ll triple-check my formulas before I try anything.” She sits on the edge of the bed and crosses her legs. “Make yourself at home.”
“As long as it doesn’t damage my fur.” He eyes the bed and readies himself, wiggling his behind. He jumps, is unable to hold on with one leg and tumbles back, jumps again and makes it.
Courtney politely pretends not to notice this, flipping through her book.
“I have very beautiful fur.” He licks his chest and curls up on her pillow.
“A spell should be easier on your fur than powders or shampoos or anything.
“Shampoo?” He raises his head. “Don’t even think about giving me a bath.”
She laughs. “That’s what I thought.”
He curls up again, then stirs to give himself a thorough scratching, and shed all over her pillow.
“Purr, purr, shed?” She asks.
He glances at her and his whiskers twitch, then his ear and a half swivel and he looks to the door just before there’s a knock on it.
“Uncle A?” She brightens.
He opens the door a crack. “Your mother is manically disinfecting the kitchen. Is something up?”
“Come in and meet Fisher,” She says cheerfully. “Mom thinks he’s terrifying, and dad tried to hit him with the paper.”
“Another houseguest?” He peers in, raising an eyebrow.
Fisher settles down again and watches Aloysius, just his tailtip twitching.
“A cat. You said I could invite one. He’s perfect. He’ll talk to me, and Mom and Dad are horrified, and he’s scrappy. Fisher, this is my uncle.”
“Scrappy? As long as he’s clean.” He leans on the doorframe, amused.
“Bet I bathe more often than you do.” Fisher’s whole tail flicks.
“Also, he’s a smartass.” Courtney adds cheerfully.
“Well we should all get along well. The furniture in my study is off limits, but you can give the house goblins some exercise.”
If cats could smirk, he’d be smirking now.
“Aww, I told him he could have the couch by the fire.”
He raises an eyebrow and sighs. “Just that couch then, and no claws.
“You don’t get no claws unless you build me a ramp.” Fisher sits up and waves the one front leg.
Aloysius seems unsure how to respond.
“I can do that.” Courtney volunteers.
“Good girl.” Fisher bathes his whiskers.
Aloysius rolls his eyes. “No fleas, I hope?”
“Not for long. Here’s the spell…” She lays the book open next to her.
Fisher sits still primly, patient and watching.
“Do you want any help?” Her uncle watches.
“Yeah, I need you to double check my parameters.” She fetches a notebook and pencil and sketches out a few sigils.
Aloysius leans on the bedpost and looks over her work, making a few suggestions for minor adaptations.
She scribbles a few more notes, then writes out the final spell carefully. “Looks okay?”
“That looks fine.” Aloysius nods approvingly.
Fisher hobbles over to look.
Courtney holds the paper out for him to see.
He looks it all over, then returns to her pillow. “Okay.”
He’s been here ten minutes and already I’m losing all rights to my pillow.” Courtney observes, sketching a couple sigils in the air with her fingertip.
“He’s not allowed in my bedroom.” Aloysius murmurs, watching her work.
“Talk to him. You think he’s gone follow my instructions?” Coutney grins.
“I think he lacks opposable thumbs.”
“I compensate for everything I lack. Is this supposed to tickle?” He wriggles on her pillow.
“It’ll tingle a little,” Power crackles around her and skims over his fur. The fleas begin to dissolve and die with little popping sounds, like rice krispies.
Fisher squirms and scratches impatiently, then shakes his head fiercely as one pops in his ear.
The spell draws to a close with a hissing noise. Most of the fleas are completely gone. All are dead.
He gives himself a thorough scratching, depositing whatever’s left of the fleas on her pillow. “Thanks!”
“Ew. Time to do laundry.” She pats his head gently. “You’re welcome. Can I go down to the pet store, Uncle A?”
“Of course. But don’t go overboard.”
“Pet store for what?” Fisher looks wary. “Feeder mice?”
“Cat food. Litter box. Catnip toys?” She shrugs.
“No feeder mice?” Fisher looks up at her.
“You just ate.”
“I meant for playing with. Will they have fish? I like fishing.”
“You want to come along? If you promise not to break anything, I’ll bring you.”
“I won’t break anything.” He hops off the pillow and over to her, sitting up and putting his one front paw on her as a prelude to climbing up to her shoulder.
She leans down to help him, not wanting to be clawed particularly.
“I got I-iaoow!” He sighs and settles around her shoulders, digging in all the same to keep himself anchored. “Okay, let’s go.”