Cats and Grandmas, a story(beginning) of Beryl and Radar for the Giraffe Call
To eseme's prompt
The Grandmothers, as Aunt Eva tended to call them, had been on Beryl's case recently about The Cat.
They didn't all have the Spark, they didn't all know first-hand what The Damned Cat was, but they all knew, and they all seemed to think that, since Beryl could talk to (or hear) the Cat, then it was her sacred duty to do whatever it was they wanted her to do about the Cat.
She's stopped listening after a while, and when that had gotten her full-name-scolded (and reminded that she was not currently the Aunt, no matter what the cards seemed to hold, and would thus be respectful, thank-you-very-much), she had tried dodging questions.
When that hadn't worked, she'd decided to take the problem to the source and ask Radar and Lam what she should do.
Lam was, predictably, no help at all. "Bite them." The tiny Siamese kitten groomed herself between answers. "Then growl and hiss until they go away."
Radar, more surprisingly, gave the matter some thought. "They want to know what I am, and why Lam exists, yes?"
"What you want, yes, and 'why you made Lam.'" Beryl petted Radar behind the ear, where he best liked being petted. "They don't listen when I say that you didn't make her."
"They wouldn't want to. It means someone else is doing something they've forgotten how to do." The orange tabby (today, at least, he was an orange tabby) sighed, an angry huff. "Well, child-kitten, I suppose we're going to have to go into the attic."
"Aunt Eva's attic?" Aunt Eva's attic was a terrifying place.
"No." At least this time, he didn't sound as if she was being stupid. "Aunt Bea's attic. I'd suggest you bring gloves."
Next: Cat's in the... Attic
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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/798214.html. You can comment here or there.
The Grandmothers, as Aunt Eva tended to call them, had been on Beryl's case recently about The Cat.
They didn't all have the Spark, they didn't all know first-hand what The Damned Cat was, but they all knew, and they all seemed to think that, since Beryl could talk to (or hear) the Cat, then it was her sacred duty to do whatever it was they wanted her to do about the Cat.
She's stopped listening after a while, and when that had gotten her full-name-scolded (and reminded that she was not currently the Aunt, no matter what the cards seemed to hold, and would thus be respectful, thank-you-very-much), she had tried dodging questions.
When that hadn't worked, she'd decided to take the problem to the source and ask Radar and Lam what she should do.
Lam was, predictably, no help at all. "Bite them." The tiny Siamese kitten groomed herself between answers. "Then growl and hiss until they go away."
Radar, more surprisingly, gave the matter some thought. "They want to know what I am, and why Lam exists, yes?"
"What you want, yes, and 'why you made Lam.'" Beryl petted Radar behind the ear, where he best liked being petted. "They don't listen when I say that you didn't make her."
"They wouldn't want to. It means someone else is doing something they've forgotten how to do." The orange tabby (today, at least, he was an orange tabby) sighed, an angry huff. "Well, child-kitten, I suppose we're going to have to go into the attic."
"Aunt Eva's attic?" Aunt Eva's attic was a terrifying place.
"No." At least this time, he didn't sound as if she was being stupid. "Aunt Bea's attic. I'd suggest you bring gloves."
Next: Cat's in the... Attic
Want more words, or just really like this post? Drop some money in the tip jar!
(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/798214.html. You can comment here or there.