As the truck slowly moved away from the loading dock, its headlights picked up the sight of two large alley cats racing across the road in front of them. They did not pick up the form of the larger black cat crouched facing the side road from which the other cats had just emerged. Sir Ex rose to his full height and moved gracefully to the center of the road.
The truck's headlights illuminated the scene like a stage production. There was Sir Ex in the classic feline challenge pose: mouth open, back arched, stub of a tail pointed skyward, right forepaw extended with claws shining, ears flattened close to the skull, and mouth issuing the insult no red-blooded dog could ignore.
'Mangy kitten killer! You who would run from the shadow of an adult cat! Come face the anger of Sir Ex!'
The enraged dog forgot the other knights and turned to face the challenger. At a normal time he would have thought twice about taking on
At the last instant, with split second timing, Sir Ex pivoted and aimed himself at the exact center of the truck. He crouched just in time for the big machine to rumble safely over him. The pursuing dog, being taller, did not have that option.
The heavy truck bumper struck the boxer with a resounding crunch. He did not even whimper as he went spinning through the air, to land as a bloody mass of bones and fur beside the road.
Greywhiskers smirked contentedly. 'My Royal Executioner never disappoints me,' he gloated.
Blue-eyes looked as shocked as it is possible for a cat to do and just nodded his head in admiration. The many cats watching in the shadows melted silently into the pre-dawn darkness. Their feeling was one of complete confidence; as long as Greywhiskers IV was on the throne, Catasia would be secure.
The following conversation was reported to the chronicler by one Inkdevil, mascot cat of the printshop, who liked to ride the newspaper truck on its daily rounds dropping off papers.
'Hey Jack,' the truck driver said to his helper, 'did you see
'Naw,' Jack replied. 'Cats 'r dumb animals. Jes' one of them coincidences if ya ask me!'
Hermione at Moon House by Ardath Mayhar
The Grange (Moon House)
Oxbridge
June, 1884
For the past Years, these Journal Entries have been quiet-even dull, for the Tastes of some. However, following my former Position, with its disastrous Ending, that has come as a welcome Relief. Dullness, when one is a Familiar to Adepts, equates with Peace, and that is desirable to lone Females engaged in doing their Duty and rearing their Young in a conventional Manner.
Sir Athelstan Girby is, by and large, a very pleasant Gentleman. His astronomical Investigations tend to be most convenient, taking place as they do by Night. The Calculations that he performs by Day in his Study are not likely to cause unexpected Consequences of the sort that Sorcerers tend to create.
In addition, he is partial to Kits, which is most gratifying to their proud Mama. My new Litter is at this Moment at Play about his Feet and rolling on his Lap as he absently fondles their furry Ears. The Opportunity this gives me to write in my Journal is advantageous, for in my past Employment it often fell out that my Master kept me so occupied that I became remiss in my monthly Reports to the Coven of Familiars.
Sir Athelstan's Work, I must admit, is not something that I Understand, even after two Years of constant Attention. The Astrolabe, the Mathematical Calculations, the measurings upon Charts of the Heavens, all those are a Mystery to one trained in the more Occult Practices of Magicians.
However, as he does not need my Presence or my Skills in the Practice of his Art, that is of no Consequence. This has become most gratifying, as I was never one to court closer Acquaintance with Demons and suchlike Conjurations. The Stars, the Moon, and the Planets keep their proper Distance, as well they should, leaving our quiet Household to its own Devices.
My Reports to the Coven are, of course, invariably Dull and without Substance. It has occurred to more than One of my Peers that an Astronomer, who is no true Magician, should need no Familiar.
Being one who has always tried industriously to perform her Duty, I have also suggested to my Master that he might easily dispense with the Presence of so many Feline Persons within his Household. But Sir Athelstan became most Disturbed at the Suggestion, rising to his Feet and pacing to and fro in a most unsettled Manner.
'I am a lonely Man,' he said to me in Reply. 'And while an ordinary Cat, content to keep the Mice in order and to sit by the Fire and Purr, might suffice for Some, I require a more responsive Companion. Perhaps I do not use your special Abilities to their Fullest-indeed, I regret that you may feel somewhat Frustrated at the lack of such Exercise. Yet after enjoying the Company of Hortense, your lamented Predecessor, I could not find it in my Heart to return to more ordinary Domestic Pets.'
At that Point he stopped and bent to look into my Eyes (which I must admit are a fetching Shade of Green), and to set his Hand lightly upon my Head. 'You are my Friend, Hermione. After that, a mere Pet would just not Do.'
Once, of course, I had thought over his Explanation, I could only agree. The Coven, after being apprised of his Needs, granted an extension of his special Privilege, and so we continue as we were, a Family in every Sense of the Word.
The Kits, of course, adore their large Playmate. Often I feel that they disrupt his Work, but when I call them to Order, Sir Athelstan almost always objects and keeps them Nearby. That pleases me, as a Mother, and yet I could only feel that it might lead to Disaster. However, I felt at the time that might be only a Reflection of the Culmination of my former Position.
Having one's Kit devour a mouse that happens to be one's Charge, however understandable such an Error might be, can only leave Scars upon the Memory of the Familiar involved. It has left me more Cautious than before, you may rest Assured.
Perhaps the Matter that most engages Sir Athelstan's regard is the Literacy of my Kind. He has interested Himself closely in the Education of my new Litter, which has now reached a Point at which all are scribbling away for an Hour each Day, using pinfeather-quill Pen and small Thimbles of Ink. They must prepare for their own Futures, and of course I am Teaching them all that I may.
Their tiny Copybooks litter the Space about the Master's Table, and he takes Care to place his Feet so as to avoid damaging any Work in Progress. I found him, some Days ago, with Rufus, the most precocious Tom in the Litter, sitting upon his Desk. The Kit was Writing busily, and Sir Athelstan was helping him to form his Letters with the Copperplate Swirls and Curlicues that he uses Himself in his Correspondence with other Astronomers about the Realm.
I was upset at the Time, although I could find no immediate Reason. Was that the Intuition common to my Kind? I can only feel that to be True, for Misfortune came of it, and very soon.
Being young and flexible of Mind, the Kits seem to have absorbed Much of the Esoteric Detail concerning Sir Athelstan's Work. Rufus in particular loved to work the Astrolabe, when it was not in use, and he has also learned, much to my Astonishment, quite a Lot of the Mathematical Calculation necessary for plotting the Orbits of Stars and Planets.
Finding his Copybook filled with this Lore, I felt some Pride at his Accomplishment. Foolish Hermione! I have been taught, as have all my Kind, that Pride goeth before a Fall, and such has proven to be the Case.
That became obvious two Days past, when there came a Knock at the Door. Musgrave, Sir Athelstan's Manservant, upon receiving the Communication handed in by the Servant outside, brought it directly to the Study. I watched my Charge's Face as he read, and I knew at once that something had gone Amiss.
