FIC: Dogs Have Owners, Cats Have Staff - Minerva/Gabrielle, PG-13/soft R
My contribution to hp_funnyfest.
Title: Dogs Have Owners, Cats Have Staff
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Requestor: celandineb
Pairing: Minerva/Gabrielle
Claim: In her cat form Minerva is liable to hairballs and VERY fond of catnip
Rating: PG-13 to soft R
Summary: Gabrielle Delacour finds out what it’s like to be owned by a cat!
Warnings: Implied f/f sex and nudity, large age gap (though everyone’s legal), mild age play, Minerva in cat form (though no bestiality), silliness
Notes: Don’t own these characters, not making any profit, etc. Written for hp_funnyfest - more silly and cute than rip-roaringly funny! Many thanks to my beta who wishes to remain anonymous. “Zut alors” is the French equivalent of “drat” or “oh, damn!”
“ZUT ALORS!”
Cleaning up after a cat that has just messed up one’s plush woollen carpets and Persian rugs with hairball after hairball is not fun at all. Especially when one is not dressed for housemaid’s chores, but required to spend one’s days wearing baby doll dresses, lace-topped ankle socks, Mary Jane shoes and inordinate amounts of frills and ribbons - and very little of anything else.
Gabrielle glared as she lugged the bucket full of warm, sudsy water and the sponge into the luxurious living room. House rules forbade use of magic in the cleaning up of kitty hairballs, and after the war all house elves had naturally been freed (Gabrielle, with her sense of justice and fairness that would have made a Gryffindor of her had she attended Hogwarts, was of course extremely glad of this, except at times like these). Minerva was very particular about the value of good old-fashioned elbow grease in keeping a house spick and span. And it was, according to that regal, imperious (but oh so desirable to Gabrielle) Headmistress of Hogwarts, the only way to curb the high spirits of a giddy girl of nineteen so that a lady of Minerva’s advanced age could keep up with her.
That, and turning into a very stubborn, spoilt cat from time to time.
As she knelt and scrubbed, Gabrielle’s very short skirt left very little to the imagination. Glancing over her shoulder, Gabi noticed the cat sitting behind her, expression tranquil and composed as always, getting a most enticing view of her pet human’s pert little rear (partially exposed beneath the merest wisp of a pink, lacy G-string) and long, perfectly smooth and shapely legs.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Gabi snapped, knowing full well that her kitty companion intended doing no such thing.
Gabrielle and Minerva had met through mutual friends after the war; their courtship was a sudden, whirlwind affair, a seemingly unlikely mismatch of opposites that scandalised the more conservative and straight-laced elements of the wizarding world because of the extreme difference in their ages. But the lovers cared not - Gabrielle had long had a preference for older women, and at last Minerva could safely indulge her fetish for sweet young blondes in cutely girlish garb - her sense of propriety had long debarred her from indulging her proclivities with Hogwarts students.
Their love was true and enduring, but on days like this Gabrielle could often be heard muttering dark threats about having a certain kitty-cat spayed (fortunately for her, Minerva had no inkling about what the Muggle term actually meant, and Gabi never had any intention of carrying out such a drastic act). And today was no exception. The mess was proving exceedingly difficult to get out of the carpet, and the calm, smug gaze of Puss, sensed over Gabi’s shoulder, felt more irritating than usual. The old adage about dogs having owners and cats having staff certainly seemed to apply to Gabrielle’s living arrangements with one Minerva McGonagall.
Having finally managed to get the mess out of the rug and carpet, Gabrielle decided that a little sweet revenge would be in order. Nothing unpleasant or painful, of course - she loved her darling Pussy too much for that - but something that would make the normally prim and proper Minerva lose her dignity once and for all, even if only in feline form.
Trying to repress a naughty little giggle, Gabrielle emptied the water and put away the bucket and sponge. She already looked delectable in the skimpy costume she was wearing, but changed into something even more revealing - a virtually see-through, sheer white nightgown cut way above her knees and dipping low at the neck to reveal plenty of cleavage - to further titillate and frustrate her dear love.
She emerged from the bedroom with a wickedly seductive smile on her face, dangling something from her slender, perfectly manicured little hand. It was purple and fuzzy, beaded with two little black stones for eyes and bore stiff, bushy fake whiskers, and Gabrielle swung it by its long, woolly string tail.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Gabrielle crooned as she sat on the rug - careful to avoid the wet patch - and twirled the catnip mouse in front of the cat, whose eyes had widened and whose nostrils had most decidedly begun to twitch.
Gabrielle let the mouse swing back and forth in her hand, like a pendulum, and idly counted the seconds until the cat pounced. Less than four, in fact - with a spring swift as a cheetah’s, Kitty leapt for the mouse, and mewed plaintively as Gabi jerked it just out of reach. Gabrielle giggled and made the mouse dance in front of Minerva’s face, puling it away each time those little paws and claws got too close. Minerva in cat form never could resist catnip, especially when it was all wrapped up in a nice little mouse-shaped package. Gabi smiled and swung the mouse again, letting Minerva grasp it briefly before yanking it from her and tossing it across the room. Minerva sped after the mouse, finally catching it between her two front paws and rolling with it along the floor, nuzzling and chewing it, turning over and over like a ball of tabby wool. She was in utter kitty heaven, deliciously maddened by the scent of the catnip. Gabrielle watched her raptly, laughing and clapping her hands like a delighted child at the playful cat.
Minerva looked so cute, an overgrown kitten tumbling on the floor with her catnip mouse. How Gabrielle adored this lover of hers, despite her strictness regarding cleaning of the house. All the hairballs and messiness, the scratched furniture and shed fur were worth it too. No greater love could there be than between a girl and her cat, Gabrielle thought to herself as she watched Minerva tire herself out playing with the mouse, and eventually slink over to where Gabi was sitting to perch on her lap and settle there for a much needed cat-nap.
Gabrielle smiled fondly as she stroked her darling Minnie and heard the kitty’s rumbling purr. Much as she loved her Pussy Cat, however, Gabi could hardly wait until her beloved resumed human shape. Then Gabrielle could shed her costumes for her favourite dress of nothing at all, and join Minerva in some less innocent games than those involving catnip mice.
Title: Dogs Have Owners, Cats Have Staff
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Requestor: celandineb
Pairing: Minerva/Gabrielle
Claim: In her cat form Minerva is liable to hairballs and VERY fond of catnip
Rating: PG-13 to soft R
Summary: Gabrielle Delacour finds out what it’s like to be owned by a cat!
Warnings: Implied f/f sex and nudity, large age gap (though everyone’s legal), mild age play, Minerva in cat form (though no bestiality), silliness
Notes: Don’t own these characters, not making any profit, etc. Written for hp_funnyfest - more silly and cute than rip-roaringly funny! Many thanks to my beta who wishes to remain anonymous. “Zut alors” is the French equivalent of “drat” or “oh, damn!”
“ZUT ALORS!”
Cleaning up after a cat that has just messed up one’s plush woollen carpets and Persian rugs with hairball after hairball is not fun at all. Especially when one is not dressed for housemaid’s chores, but required to spend one’s days wearing baby doll dresses, lace-topped ankle socks, Mary Jane shoes and inordinate amounts of frills and ribbons - and very little of anything else.
Gabrielle glared as she lugged the bucket full of warm, sudsy water and the sponge into the luxurious living room. House rules forbade use of magic in the cleaning up of kitty hairballs, and after the war all house elves had naturally been freed (Gabrielle, with her sense of justice and fairness that would have made a Gryffindor of her had she attended Hogwarts, was of course extremely glad of this, except at times like these). Minerva was very particular about the value of good old-fashioned elbow grease in keeping a house spick and span. And it was, according to that regal, imperious (but oh so desirable to Gabrielle) Headmistress of Hogwarts, the only way to curb the high spirits of a giddy girl of nineteen so that a lady of Minerva’s advanced age could keep up with her.
That, and turning into a very stubborn, spoilt cat from time to time.
As she knelt and scrubbed, Gabrielle’s very short skirt left very little to the imagination. Glancing over her shoulder, Gabi noticed the cat sitting behind her, expression tranquil and composed as always, getting a most enticing view of her pet human’s pert little rear (partially exposed beneath the merest wisp of a pink, lacy G-string) and long, perfectly smooth and shapely legs.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Gabi snapped, knowing full well that her kitty companion intended doing no such thing.
Gabrielle and Minerva had met through mutual friends after the war; their courtship was a sudden, whirlwind affair, a seemingly unlikely mismatch of opposites that scandalised the more conservative and straight-laced elements of the wizarding world because of the extreme difference in their ages. But the lovers cared not - Gabrielle had long had a preference for older women, and at last Minerva could safely indulge her fetish for sweet young blondes in cutely girlish garb - her sense of propriety had long debarred her from indulging her proclivities with Hogwarts students.
Their love was true and enduring, but on days like this Gabrielle could often be heard muttering dark threats about having a certain kitty-cat spayed (fortunately for her, Minerva had no inkling about what the Muggle term actually meant, and Gabi never had any intention of carrying out such a drastic act). And today was no exception. The mess was proving exceedingly difficult to get out of the carpet, and the calm, smug gaze of Puss, sensed over Gabi’s shoulder, felt more irritating than usual. The old adage about dogs having owners and cats having staff certainly seemed to apply to Gabrielle’s living arrangements with one Minerva McGonagall.
Having finally managed to get the mess out of the rug and carpet, Gabrielle decided that a little sweet revenge would be in order. Nothing unpleasant or painful, of course - she loved her darling Pussy too much for that - but something that would make the normally prim and proper Minerva lose her dignity once and for all, even if only in feline form.
Trying to repress a naughty little giggle, Gabrielle emptied the water and put away the bucket and sponge. She already looked delectable in the skimpy costume she was wearing, but changed into something even more revealing - a virtually see-through, sheer white nightgown cut way above her knees and dipping low at the neck to reveal plenty of cleavage - to further titillate and frustrate her dear love.
She emerged from the bedroom with a wickedly seductive smile on her face, dangling something from her slender, perfectly manicured little hand. It was purple and fuzzy, beaded with two little black stones for eyes and bore stiff, bushy fake whiskers, and Gabrielle swung it by its long, woolly string tail.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Gabrielle crooned as she sat on the rug - careful to avoid the wet patch - and twirled the catnip mouse in front of the cat, whose eyes had widened and whose nostrils had most decidedly begun to twitch.
Gabrielle let the mouse swing back and forth in her hand, like a pendulum, and idly counted the seconds until the cat pounced. Less than four, in fact - with a spring swift as a cheetah’s, Kitty leapt for the mouse, and mewed plaintively as Gabi jerked it just out of reach. Gabrielle giggled and made the mouse dance in front of Minerva’s face, puling it away each time those little paws and claws got too close. Minerva in cat form never could resist catnip, especially when it was all wrapped up in a nice little mouse-shaped package. Gabi smiled and swung the mouse again, letting Minerva grasp it briefly before yanking it from her and tossing it across the room. Minerva sped after the mouse, finally catching it between her two front paws and rolling with it along the floor, nuzzling and chewing it, turning over and over like a ball of tabby wool. She was in utter kitty heaven, deliciously maddened by the scent of the catnip. Gabrielle watched her raptly, laughing and clapping her hands like a delighted child at the playful cat.
Minerva looked so cute, an overgrown kitten tumbling on the floor with her catnip mouse. How Gabrielle adored this lover of hers, despite her strictness regarding cleaning of the house. All the hairballs and messiness, the scratched furniture and shed fur were worth it too. No greater love could there be than between a girl and her cat, Gabrielle thought to herself as she watched Minerva tire herself out playing with the mouse, and eventually slink over to where Gabi was sitting to perch on her lap and settle there for a much needed cat-nap.
Gabrielle smiled fondly as she stroked her darling Minnie and heard the kitty’s rumbling purr. Much as she loved her Pussy Cat, however, Gabi could hardly wait until her beloved resumed human shape. Then Gabrielle could shed her costumes for her favourite dress of nothing at all, and join Minerva in some less innocent games than those involving catnip mice.