<![CDATA[KittyCatS! Community Forum - CatTaleS!]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/ Thu, 09 Apr 2026 12:40:22 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Mrs. Phossy and the Cats of Pfaff]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=32192 Wed, 17 Oct 2018 11:55:01 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=32192

Mrs. Phossy worked at the local match-making factory in Pfaff, dipping tiny shivers of wood into the vats of phosphorus to make matches for the rich folk in town. It was a dirty and dangerous job and many of the other ladies who worked at the Bryant & May match factory rarely lived into their later years. Still, four shillings a day was four times as much as she might earn by sweeping the crossings in the town and, thankfully she thought, she hadn’t to stand outside in all weathers on some street corner in the hope of getting a meagre wage from the passers-by. Very importantly, she explained to those who asked her why she took such a dreadful job, she owned a beautiful tabby cat and couldn’t bear the thought of allowing him to starve on the streets.

Mrs. Phossy may have had heaps of troubles but these were nothing to what was to happen the day after Tabby followed her to work. If only she had looked over her shoulder. If only she had glanced down to her feet.

“If only, if only,” she would later one day chide herself but, by the time she found out that Tabby had followed her into the Bryant & May match factory, it was too late.

“I can’t risk getting the sack,” she muttered under her breath, “if I return home, to lead Tabby back.”

And so, Mrs. Phossy hid her treasured pet beneath the bundle of ladies’ coats and capes that were amassed at the side of the factory.

At first Tabby was quite content to snooze in the warm of the snug pile of clothing and simply allow the seconds to drift past. However, the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to hours and, by the time the hours were becoming a day, Tabby decided that enough was enough and it was time for him to wake up and explore his new settings.

Mrs. Phossy and the other match girls were all busy at their labours and they had their backs turned towards the mischievous cat. This meant that Tabby was free to explore without restriction and it wasn’t long before he accidently dipped his paws into the nearest vat, to determine what was festering inside.

Had Tabby been able to read, had Tabby been able to determine the contents of the vat, he wouldn’t have been so keen to stick his paws in the most unfortunate container in the factory: the newly formulated non-phosphorus formula of match-striking compound. However, cats are cats and Tabby knew no better: instantly the tips of each and every claw of Tabby’s paw were covered in the tiniest amount of the highly reactive compound.

Thankfully for the fate of Tabby (and the narrative of this story too) the factory’s bell happened to declare the end of the working day at the precise moment that the tips of his claw made contact with the match-making compound. The shock of the bell’s ringing caused Tabby to immediately withdraw his claws and jump down, back onto the bundle of clothing. At that precise moment, each and every match girl turned around in unison and headed towards the bundle of clothing to coat themselves as protection from the cold, before heading home for the evening. Mrs. Phossy pushed her way to the front of the crowd and scooped Tabby up in her arms, before anyone could complain or mutter their annoyance at having a strange cat inside the factory.

You may or may not be aware of the physical characteristics of a cat. Perhaps you already know this remarkable fact: cat claws are retractable! A cat is able to extend and withdraw their claws at will. If they are content and relaxed, their claw will draw into their paws. If they are scared or aggressive their claws will protrude out, ready to scratch and claw any attacker. As Mrs. Phossy picked up Tabby, the cat immediately relaxed into her arms and so Mrs. Phossy never realised that the tip of each claw was covered with a tiny amount of match-making compound. This was such an unfortunate shame, for if she had of realised, she would have never have been so keen to take the cat up into her arms. Hidden to her, on the tip of each claw, the reactive compound began to simmer and ferment. You may guess, it could only be a matter of time before the most unfortunate outcome was to occur.

The second unfortunate disaster to befall Mrs. Phossy occurred when Flash Harry, the local spiv, met the match girls as they left the factory. Instantly he took a shine to one of Mrs. Phossy’s work colleagues and he sidled up to Mrs. Phossy and whispered discretely into her ear.

“What have you been up to all day,” he murmured under his breath to Mrs. Phossy.

He was keen to establish a conversation with the girls so that he might try his luck at asking his favourite one out on a date.

“Match-making,” replied Mrs. Phossy. “Just match-making.”

Flash Harry’s head began to spin and his heart began to flutter.

“If Mrs. Phossy was pairing up men and women all day,” he thought to himself, “then she would be the perfect person to establish a report, in order to date the young lady of his dreams. Flash Harry glanced over Mrs. Phossy’s shoulder and he twinkled a sly wink at one of her work colleagues. An embarrassed smile was given in return.

Now, for what Flash Harry had in dashing good looks, he lacked in intellect. His poor knowledge of the industrial processes of the adjacent factory had misled him to think that Mrs. Phossy was a match-maker of people: someone who helped men and women get together to form husband and wife partnerships. He never realised that the local factory was an industrial complex for the manufacture of matchsticks!

As was said, what he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in dashing good looks. The fact that he was incredibly handsome should lead you to deduce that he was also incredibly stupid.

Tabby, from safe within Mrs. Phossy’s arms, looked up at the handsome young man. At once Tabby detected Flash Harry’s stupidity and the shackles of the cat began to twitch. Instinctively the hair on the back of Tabby began to rise and the very slightest tip of each claw began to quiver from deep within his paws. As the cat surveyed the interaction between Mrs. Phossy and the young man, the reactive compound upon each claw began to gently spark and fester. A tingling sensation played on Mrs. Phossy's arm and she dropped Tabby to the ground.

“It must be pins and needles!” she exclaimed aloud. “That cat must be heavier than I thought!”

Flash Harry looked down at the cat and he saw his opportunity to impress the gang of ladies. He stepped towards Tabby and bent down, to try and pick the cat up.

Instinctively, Tabby edged backwards a few steps and then turned and scarpered away.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4951]

“Don’t worry, ladies,” beamed Flash Harry. “I’ll rescue the cat!”

In his imagination, Flash Harry imagined the ladies wooing at his chivalrous deeds. He pictured himself holding the stray animal to his manly chest and offering it outwards to the match-maker: Mrs. Phossy. At the same time, he thought to himself, the other factory workers would coo and beam at his heroic deeds.

“Yes,” he thought to himself, this will be the ideal opportunity to impress the gang and sidle up closer to the lady of his dreams. All he had to do was to retrieve the cat and return it to Mrs. Phossy.

Meanwhile, Tabby darted off and squeezed through a doorway marked “Mr. Lenz’s Woodwork Store.”

“Don’t fret, ladies,” he called back to the gang. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll rescue the cat for you.”

“Come on, Lizzy,” mumbled one of the gang, “Let’s go into the gin palace while we are waiting. I fancy a jar of something to whet the palate!”

“You girls go ahead,” called Mrs. Phossy to the departing gang, “I’ll wait here for Flash Harry and then I’ll join you later. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

The gang of match girls departed into the adjoining gin palace and Mrs. Phossy stayed waiting on the street, near to the woodwork store. She was tired, after a hard day’s work, and didn’t want to go chasing around an empty woodwork store all evening! She’d let the young man retrieve her pet and then the two of them could rejoin her friends, within the gin palace.

Inside Mr. Lenz’s woodwork store, Tabby had begun to explore his new surroundings. Stacked up against each wall, Mr. Lenz had left planks of wood. The store smelt deliciously of the aroma of seasoned wood. Tabby edged closer.

As Tabby grew closer to the upright planks, his snout became filled with the delights of the wood and his claws began to twitch from deep within their sheaves. How he would love to draw his talons down across the fresh virgin surface of the wood! Tabby yearned and hankered, just one scratch would satisfy his lust for clawing at the bare wooden surface. The temptation grew and grew and the clawing desire filled his entire being. He simply had to just scratch that wood!

Tabby raised his foot against the leaning timbers and, to the satisfaction of his catty being, he ran his claws down deeply through the virgin timber. Again and again, he pulled his claws down the tempting lumber: here against the near wall and there against the far side. He drove his claws deep into the beckoning timber: first in one pile and then in another. He satisfied his natural feline urgings: in large piles and in small. Within seconds there wasn’t one single plank of wood left, without the imprint of Tabby's claws etched within its surface.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4952]

You may recall from earlier, Tabby’s claws were unlike a normal cat’s claws: Tabby’s claws had been festering with a reactive compound of match-making chemicals. Each and every single scratch that had been driven into the collection of wood began to smoulder and smoke, like dried tinder beneath a magnifying glass in bright sunshine. By the time that Flash Harry had stepped into the wood works, the interior of the store was filled with clouds of smoke from the burning timbers.

You may also recall from earlier that Flash Harry had less intelligence than a rubber spoon in a cabinet of sharp cutlery. He was hardly “the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“Good grief!” he exclaimed, as he spied the growing clouds of fresh wood smoke. “The cat has ventured into a fish-curing works …”

Flash Harry craned his head upwards, through the bellowing clouds of smoke, towards the bare ceiling.

“ … and worse of all,” he muttered in his stupidity, “it’s eaten all the fish!”

(To be continued.)

.jpg  Snapshot_010.jpg (Size: 222.95 KB / Downloads: 158)

.jpg  Snapshot_005.jpg (Size: 191.8 KB / Downloads: 155)

.jpg  Snapshot_001.jpg (Size: 216.6 KB / Downloads: 156) ]]>

Mrs. Phossy worked at the local match-making factory in Pfaff, dipping tiny shivers of wood into the vats of phosphorus to make matches for the rich folk in town. It was a dirty and dangerous job and many of the other ladies who worked at the Bryant & May match factory rarely lived into their later years. Still, four shillings a day was four times as much as she might earn by sweeping the crossings in the town and, thankfully she thought, she hadn’t to stand outside in all weathers on some street corner in the hope of getting a meagre wage from the passers-by. Very importantly, she explained to those who asked her why she took such a dreadful job, she owned a beautiful tabby cat and couldn’t bear the thought of allowing him to starve on the streets.

Mrs. Phossy may have had heaps of troubles but these were nothing to what was to happen the day after Tabby followed her to work. If only she had looked over her shoulder. If only she had glanced down to her feet.

“If only, if only,” she would later one day chide herself but, by the time she found out that Tabby had followed her into the Bryant & May match factory, it was too late.

“I can’t risk getting the sack,” she muttered under her breath, “if I return home, to lead Tabby back.”

And so, Mrs. Phossy hid her treasured pet beneath the bundle of ladies’ coats and capes that were amassed at the side of the factory.

At first Tabby was quite content to snooze in the warm of the snug pile of clothing and simply allow the seconds to drift past. However, the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to hours and, by the time the hours were becoming a day, Tabby decided that enough was enough and it was time for him to wake up and explore his new settings.

Mrs. Phossy and the other match girls were all busy at their labours and they had their backs turned towards the mischievous cat. This meant that Tabby was free to explore without restriction and it wasn’t long before he accidently dipped his paws into the nearest vat, to determine what was festering inside.

Had Tabby been able to read, had Tabby been able to determine the contents of the vat, he wouldn’t have been so keen to stick his paws in the most unfortunate container in the factory: the newly formulated non-phosphorus formula of match-striking compound. However, cats are cats and Tabby knew no better: instantly the tips of each and every claw of Tabby’s paw were covered in the tiniest amount of the highly reactive compound.

Thankfully for the fate of Tabby (and the narrative of this story too) the factory’s bell happened to declare the end of the working day at the precise moment that the tips of his claw made contact with the match-making compound. The shock of the bell’s ringing caused Tabby to immediately withdraw his claws and jump down, back onto the bundle of clothing. At that precise moment, each and every match girl turned around in unison and headed towards the bundle of clothing to coat themselves as protection from the cold, before heading home for the evening. Mrs. Phossy pushed her way to the front of the crowd and scooped Tabby up in her arms, before anyone could complain or mutter their annoyance at having a strange cat inside the factory.

You may or may not be aware of the physical characteristics of a cat. Perhaps you already know this remarkable fact: cat claws are retractable! A cat is able to extend and withdraw their claws at will. If they are content and relaxed, their claw will draw into their paws. If they are scared or aggressive their claws will protrude out, ready to scratch and claw any attacker. As Mrs. Phossy picked up Tabby, the cat immediately relaxed into her arms and so Mrs. Phossy never realised that the tip of each claw was covered with a tiny amount of match-making compound. This was such an unfortunate shame, for if she had of realised, she would have never have been so keen to take the cat up into her arms. Hidden to her, on the tip of each claw, the reactive compound began to simmer and ferment. You may guess, it could only be a matter of time before the most unfortunate outcome was to occur.

The second unfortunate disaster to befall Mrs. Phossy occurred when Flash Harry, the local spiv, met the match girls as they left the factory. Instantly he took a shine to one of Mrs. Phossy’s work colleagues and he sidled up to Mrs. Phossy and whispered discretely into her ear.

“What have you been up to all day,” he murmured under his breath to Mrs. Phossy.

He was keen to establish a conversation with the girls so that he might try his luck at asking his favourite one out on a date.

“Match-making,” replied Mrs. Phossy. “Just match-making.”

Flash Harry’s head began to spin and his heart began to flutter.

“If Mrs. Phossy was pairing up men and women all day,” he thought to himself, “then she would be the perfect person to establish a report, in order to date the young lady of his dreams. Flash Harry glanced over Mrs. Phossy’s shoulder and he twinkled a sly wink at one of her work colleagues. An embarrassed smile was given in return.

Now, for what Flash Harry had in dashing good looks, he lacked in intellect. His poor knowledge of the industrial processes of the adjacent factory had misled him to think that Mrs. Phossy was a match-maker of people: someone who helped men and women get together to form husband and wife partnerships. He never realised that the local factory was an industrial complex for the manufacture of matchsticks!

As was said, what he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in dashing good looks. The fact that he was incredibly handsome should lead you to deduce that he was also incredibly stupid.

Tabby, from safe within Mrs. Phossy’s arms, looked up at the handsome young man. At once Tabby detected Flash Harry’s stupidity and the shackles of the cat began to twitch. Instinctively the hair on the back of Tabby began to rise and the very slightest tip of each claw began to quiver from deep within his paws. As the cat surveyed the interaction between Mrs. Phossy and the young man, the reactive compound upon each claw began to gently spark and fester. A tingling sensation played on Mrs. Phossy's arm and she dropped Tabby to the ground.

“It must be pins and needles!” she exclaimed aloud. “That cat must be heavier than I thought!”

Flash Harry looked down at the cat and he saw his opportunity to impress the gang of ladies. He stepped towards Tabby and bent down, to try and pick the cat up.

Instinctively, Tabby edged backwards a few steps and then turned and scarpered away.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4951]

“Don’t worry, ladies,” beamed Flash Harry. “I’ll rescue the cat!”

In his imagination, Flash Harry imagined the ladies wooing at his chivalrous deeds. He pictured himself holding the stray animal to his manly chest and offering it outwards to the match-maker: Mrs. Phossy. At the same time, he thought to himself, the other factory workers would coo and beam at his heroic deeds.

“Yes,” he thought to himself, this will be the ideal opportunity to impress the gang and sidle up closer to the lady of his dreams. All he had to do was to retrieve the cat and return it to Mrs. Phossy.

Meanwhile, Tabby darted off and squeezed through a doorway marked “Mr. Lenz’s Woodwork Store.”

“Don’t fret, ladies,” he called back to the gang. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll rescue the cat for you.”

“Come on, Lizzy,” mumbled one of the gang, “Let’s go into the gin palace while we are waiting. I fancy a jar of something to whet the palate!”

“You girls go ahead,” called Mrs. Phossy to the departing gang, “I’ll wait here for Flash Harry and then I’ll join you later. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

The gang of match girls departed into the adjoining gin palace and Mrs. Phossy stayed waiting on the street, near to the woodwork store. She was tired, after a hard day’s work, and didn’t want to go chasing around an empty woodwork store all evening! She’d let the young man retrieve her pet and then the two of them could rejoin her friends, within the gin palace.

Inside Mr. Lenz’s woodwork store, Tabby had begun to explore his new surroundings. Stacked up against each wall, Mr. Lenz had left planks of wood. The store smelt deliciously of the aroma of seasoned wood. Tabby edged closer.

As Tabby grew closer to the upright planks, his snout became filled with the delights of the wood and his claws began to twitch from deep within their sheaves. How he would love to draw his talons down across the fresh virgin surface of the wood! Tabby yearned and hankered, just one scratch would satisfy his lust for clawing at the bare wooden surface. The temptation grew and grew and the clawing desire filled his entire being. He simply had to just scratch that wood!

Tabby raised his foot against the leaning timbers and, to the satisfaction of his catty being, he ran his claws down deeply through the virgin timber. Again and again, he pulled his claws down the tempting lumber: here against the near wall and there against the far side. He drove his claws deep into the beckoning timber: first in one pile and then in another. He satisfied his natural feline urgings: in large piles and in small. Within seconds there wasn’t one single plank of wood left, without the imprint of Tabby's claws etched within its surface.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4952]

You may recall from earlier, Tabby’s claws were unlike a normal cat’s claws: Tabby’s claws had been festering with a reactive compound of match-making chemicals. Each and every single scratch that had been driven into the collection of wood began to smoulder and smoke, like dried tinder beneath a magnifying glass in bright sunshine. By the time that Flash Harry had stepped into the wood works, the interior of the store was filled with clouds of smoke from the burning timbers.

You may also recall from earlier that Flash Harry had less intelligence than a rubber spoon in a cabinet of sharp cutlery. He was hardly “the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“Good grief!” he exclaimed, as he spied the growing clouds of fresh wood smoke. “The cat has ventured into a fish-curing works …”

Flash Harry craned his head upwards, through the bellowing clouds of smoke, towards the bare ceiling.

“ … and worse of all,” he muttered in his stupidity, “it’s eaten all the fish!”

(To be continued.)

.jpg  Snapshot_010.jpg (Size: 222.95 KB / Downloads: 158)

.jpg  Snapshot_005.jpg (Size: 191.8 KB / Downloads: 155)

.jpg  Snapshot_001.jpg (Size: 216.6 KB / Downloads: 156) ]]> <![CDATA[Fire Starter!]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=32187 Tue, 16 Oct 2018 13:08:45 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=32187

If you like stories about KittyCatS, you may be pleased to know that I have just completed my latest free children's eBook, that includes a number of KittyCatS from my collection, called "Fire Starter!"

When a series of fires broke out around Second Life, the finger of suspicion pointed to William Marley: the chimney sweep. Was he negligent with his sweeping duties? However, as is common with stories by Maxwell Grantly, all is not as you might expect it to be. Read “Fire Starter!’ to find out how William solved the riddle of the numerous chimney fires and, by doing so, saved the city’s inhabitants from their burning misery.

If you are interested in reading “Fire Starter!” you can find it below or you may like to know that it can be downloaded free of charge from the iBooks store or from Kobo. Just type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at either of these sites. Despite the inclusion of flames and other hazardous items, you may like to know that no KittyCatS were harmed in the making of this story.

.jpg  KIttyCatS.jpg (Size: 279.71 KB / Downloads: 76) ]]>

If you like stories about KittyCatS, you may be pleased to know that I have just completed my latest free children's eBook, that includes a number of KittyCatS from my collection, called "Fire Starter!"

When a series of fires broke out around Second Life, the finger of suspicion pointed to William Marley: the chimney sweep. Was he negligent with his sweeping duties? However, as is common with stories by Maxwell Grantly, all is not as you might expect it to be. Read “Fire Starter!’ to find out how William solved the riddle of the numerous chimney fires and, by doing so, saved the city’s inhabitants from their burning misery.

If you are interested in reading “Fire Starter!” you can find it below or you may like to know that it can be downloaded free of charge from the iBooks store or from Kobo. Just type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at either of these sites. Despite the inclusion of flames and other hazardous items, you may like to know that no KittyCatS were harmed in the making of this story.

.jpg  KIttyCatS.jpg (Size: 279.71 KB / Downloads: 76) ]]> <![CDATA[Bandit - The Short-Sighted Cat Burglar]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=30023 Tue, 10 Oct 2017 04:13:27 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=30023
Everyone in Myopia was short-sighted. The mayor had glasses, the football team all wore glasses and even the stray dogs that roamed the streets needed glasses too! Again, I must stress, everyone in Myopia (without exception) wore some form of corrective eye-piece.


.jpg  01.jpg (Size: 280.42 KB / Downloads: 11)

Thankfully, both Sophie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs Goggles, worked at the local spectacle factory and so there was a steady wage coming into the house.

One day, Mr. and Mrs. Goggles sat down at the breakfast table and together they discussed their daughter’s future.

“It’s about time that Sophie had her eyes tested,” said Mr. Goggles to his wife.

“Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Goggles, “but we both know she’s going to fail. Her eyesight is no better than anyone else in Myopia.”

“And, when she fails,” continued Mr. Goggles, “She is going to be so terribly upset.”

“Perhaps we could lessen her disappointment by getting her a gift,” suggested Mrs. Goggles, picking up the morning paper. “Let’s buy her a pet as a surprise.”

Secretly, both Mr. and Mrs. Goggles had wanted a cat for the household and so they were pleased to use Sophie’s impending eye test as an excuse to visit the local cat rescue centre.

Mrs. Goggles strained to read the classified ads but her attention was drawn to the bold print of “Rescue Cats for Sale” at the top of one page. She pointed out the advertisement to her husband.


.jpg  02.jpg (Size: 320.03 KB / Downloads: 10)

“This kitten looks rather cute, Darling,” she exclaimed to Mr. Goggles, “Don’t you think that it would be the perfect pet for Sophie?”

Mr. Goggles smiled and nodded. He strained his eyes to scan the advert. The kitten did indeed look perfect for their daughter. He was convinced that it would be the ideal pet for Sophie.

Unfortunately, both Mr. and Mrs. Goggles’ poor eyesight lead them each to the same fatal error: they both failed to read the smaller print beneath the photograph. If they had read the remainder of the text, they would have most certainly not taken such a liking for the feline picture. The article continued with a stern warning, “Caution: this cat has a prolific criminal record and is a serious kleptomaniac.” However (thankfully for the purposes of this story) later that day, Mr. and Mrs. Goggles paid a secret visit to the local cat rescue centre. There, unbeknown to Sophie, they purchased the delightful bandit kitten as a present for their daughter.


.jpg  03.jpg (Size: 296.86 KB / Downloads: 7)

Sadly, later, they were both right: when Sophie had her eyes tested, she failed miserably. However, they quickly managed to cheer her up by presenting her with the rescue kitten. Sophie was thrilled with her new pet but, alas, no one in the Goggles household had any inclination that their new feline addition was actually a short-sighted prolific cat burglar.


.jpg  04.jpg (Size: 315.06 KB / Downloads: 9) ]]>
Everyone in Myopia was short-sighted. The mayor had glasses, the football team all wore glasses and even the stray dogs that roamed the streets needed glasses too! Again, I must stress, everyone in Myopia (without exception) wore some form of corrective eye-piece.


.jpg  01.jpg (Size: 280.42 KB / Downloads: 11)

Thankfully, both Sophie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs Goggles, worked at the local spectacle factory and so there was a steady wage coming into the house.

One day, Mr. and Mrs. Goggles sat down at the breakfast table and together they discussed their daughter’s future.

“It’s about time that Sophie had her eyes tested,” said Mr. Goggles to his wife.

“Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Goggles, “but we both know she’s going to fail. Her eyesight is no better than anyone else in Myopia.”

“And, when she fails,” continued Mr. Goggles, “She is going to be so terribly upset.”

“Perhaps we could lessen her disappointment by getting her a gift,” suggested Mrs. Goggles, picking up the morning paper. “Let’s buy her a pet as a surprise.”

Secretly, both Mr. and Mrs. Goggles had wanted a cat for the household and so they were pleased to use Sophie’s impending eye test as an excuse to visit the local cat rescue centre.

Mrs. Goggles strained to read the classified ads but her attention was drawn to the bold print of “Rescue Cats for Sale” at the top of one page. She pointed out the advertisement to her husband.


.jpg  02.jpg (Size: 320.03 KB / Downloads: 10)

“This kitten looks rather cute, Darling,” she exclaimed to Mr. Goggles, “Don’t you think that it would be the perfect pet for Sophie?”

Mr. Goggles smiled and nodded. He strained his eyes to scan the advert. The kitten did indeed look perfect for their daughter. He was convinced that it would be the ideal pet for Sophie.

Unfortunately, both Mr. and Mrs. Goggles’ poor eyesight lead them each to the same fatal error: they both failed to read the smaller print beneath the photograph. If they had read the remainder of the text, they would have most certainly not taken such a liking for the feline picture. The article continued with a stern warning, “Caution: this cat has a prolific criminal record and is a serious kleptomaniac.” However (thankfully for the purposes of this story) later that day, Mr. and Mrs. Goggles paid a secret visit to the local cat rescue centre. There, unbeknown to Sophie, they purchased the delightful bandit kitten as a present for their daughter.


.jpg  03.jpg (Size: 296.86 KB / Downloads: 7)

Sadly, later, they were both right: when Sophie had her eyes tested, she failed miserably. However, they quickly managed to cheer her up by presenting her with the rescue kitten. Sophie was thrilled with her new pet but, alas, no one in the Goggles household had any inclination that their new feline addition was actually a short-sighted prolific cat burglar.


.jpg  04.jpg (Size: 315.06 KB / Downloads: 9) ]]> <![CDATA[Gobbles - The Hungry Cat]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=29926 Fri, 29 Sep 2017 12:42:51 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=29926 Day 1 - Friday

“It’s about time that you became more responsible for others,” said Mother.

Jack looked down at his feet forlornly. It sounded like he was going to have to do something that sounded very much like work.

Mother looked down at her son. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” she smiled, “I think you’re going to like this. I’ve bought you a kitten!”


.jpg  Snapshot_037.jpg (Size: 222.56 KB / Downloads: 23)

Jack beamed and a broad smile filled his face.

"Why, she's adorable!" he declared.

“But don’t forget, Jack,” said Mother, “you’ve got to look after her and feed her every day.”

“Oh, I won’t forget,” replied Jack. “I’ll start right now.”

“Just remember one thing,” Mother added, passing a treat to Jack. “Make sure that you don’t give her too much to eat!”

Furiously, the tiny kitten gobbled the titbit that the boy offered. Jack looked down at his adorable new pet and smiled.

“I’ll call her Gobbles,” said Jack. “That name suits her just fine!”


.jpg  Snapshot_001 (2).jpg (Size: 252.32 KB / Downloads: 13) ]]> Day 1 - Friday

“It’s about time that you became more responsible for others,” said Mother.

Jack looked down at his feet forlornly. It sounded like he was going to have to do something that sounded very much like work.

Mother looked down at her son. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” she smiled, “I think you’re going to like this. I’ve bought you a kitten!”


.jpg  Snapshot_037.jpg (Size: 222.56 KB / Downloads: 23)

Jack beamed and a broad smile filled his face.

"Why, she's adorable!" he declared.

“But don’t forget, Jack,” said Mother, “you’ve got to look after her and feed her every day.”

“Oh, I won’t forget,” replied Jack. “I’ll start right now.”

“Just remember one thing,” Mother added, passing a treat to Jack. “Make sure that you don’t give her too much to eat!”

Furiously, the tiny kitten gobbled the titbit that the boy offered. Jack looked down at his adorable new pet and smiled.

“I’ll call her Gobbles,” said Jack. “That name suits her just fine!”


.jpg  Snapshot_001 (2).jpg (Size: 252.32 KB / Downloads: 13) ]]> <![CDATA[KittyCatS Kitten Lost Upon Rezzing]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=29253 Sun, 25 Jun 2017 04:02:14 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=29253
However, as an alternative, the local fire and rescue service can always be trusted to assist for any lost kittens.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4329]

.png  Snapshot_002.png (Size: 404.14 KB / Downloads: 78) ]]>
However, as an alternative, the local fire and rescue service can always be trusted to assist for any lost kittens.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4329]

.png  Snapshot_002.png (Size: 404.14 KB / Downloads: 78) ]]> <![CDATA[An Old Cat's Dying Soliloquy]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28757 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:28:48 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28757

Years saw me still Acasto’s mansion grace,
The gentlest, fondest of the tabby race;
Before him frisking through the garden glade,
Or at his feet in quiet slumber laid;
Praised for my glossy back of zebra streak,
And wreaths of jet encircling round my neck;
Soft paws that ne’er extend the clawing nail,
The snowy whisker and the sinuous tail;
Now feeble age each glazing eyeball dims,
And pain has stiffened these once supple limbs;
Fate of eight lives the forfeit gasp obtains,
And e’en the ninth creeps languid through my veins.
Much sure of good the future has in store,
When on my master’s hearth I bask no more,
In those blest climes, where fishes oft forsake
The winding river and the glassy lake;
There, as our silent-footed race behold
The crimson spots and fins of lucid gold,
Venturing without the shielding waves to play,
They gasp on shelving banks, our easy prey:
While birds unwinged hop careless o’er the ground,
And the plump mouse incessant trots around,
Near wells of cream that mortals never skim,
Warm marum creeping round their shallow brim;
Where green valerian tufts, luxuriant spread,
Cleanse the sleek hide and form the fragrant bed.
Yet, stern dispenser of the final blow,
Before thou lay’st an aged grimalkin low,
Bend to her last request a gracious ear,
Some days, some few short days, to linger here;
So to the guardian of his tabby’s weal
Shall softest purrs these tender truths reveal:
‘Ne’er shall thy now expiring puss forget
To thy kind care her long-enduring debt,
Nor shall the joys that painless realms decree
Efface the comforts once bestowed by thee;
To countless mice thy chicken-bones preferred,
Thy toast to golden fish and wingless bird;
O’er marum borders and valerian bed
Thy Selima shall bend her moping head,
Sigh that no more she climbs, with grateful glee,
Thy downy sofa and thy cradling knee;
Nay, e’en at founts of cream shall sullen swear,
Since thou, her more loved master, art not there.

Credit: 'An Old Cat's Dying Soliloquy' by Anna Seward

.jpg  Snapshot_001-27.jpg (Size: 33.87 KB / Downloads: 78) ]]>

Years saw me still Acasto’s mansion grace,
The gentlest, fondest of the tabby race;
Before him frisking through the garden glade,
Or at his feet in quiet slumber laid;
Praised for my glossy back of zebra streak,
And wreaths of jet encircling round my neck;
Soft paws that ne’er extend the clawing nail,
The snowy whisker and the sinuous tail;
Now feeble age each glazing eyeball dims,
And pain has stiffened these once supple limbs;
Fate of eight lives the forfeit gasp obtains,
And e’en the ninth creeps languid through my veins.
Much sure of good the future has in store,
When on my master’s hearth I bask no more,
In those blest climes, where fishes oft forsake
The winding river and the glassy lake;
There, as our silent-footed race behold
The crimson spots and fins of lucid gold,
Venturing without the shielding waves to play,
They gasp on shelving banks, our easy prey:
While birds unwinged hop careless o’er the ground,
And the plump mouse incessant trots around,
Near wells of cream that mortals never skim,
Warm marum creeping round their shallow brim;
Where green valerian tufts, luxuriant spread,
Cleanse the sleek hide and form the fragrant bed.
Yet, stern dispenser of the final blow,
Before thou lay’st an aged grimalkin low,
Bend to her last request a gracious ear,
Some days, some few short days, to linger here;
So to the guardian of his tabby’s weal
Shall softest purrs these tender truths reveal:
‘Ne’er shall thy now expiring puss forget
To thy kind care her long-enduring debt,
Nor shall the joys that painless realms decree
Efface the comforts once bestowed by thee;
To countless mice thy chicken-bones preferred,
Thy toast to golden fish and wingless bird;
O’er marum borders and valerian bed
Thy Selima shall bend her moping head,
Sigh that no more she climbs, with grateful glee,
Thy downy sofa and thy cradling knee;
Nay, e’en at founts of cream shall sullen swear,
Since thou, her more loved master, art not there.

Credit: 'An Old Cat's Dying Soliloquy' by Anna Seward

.jpg  Snapshot_001-27.jpg (Size: 33.87 KB / Downloads: 78) ]]> <![CDATA[Macavity: The Mystery Cat]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28756 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:23:32 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28756

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw—
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it's useless to investigate—Macavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
It must have been Macavity!'—but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumb;
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN'T THERE !
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Credit 'Macavity: The Mystery Cat' by T. S. Eliot

.jpg  8707016679_2a3168734e_o.jpg (Size: 40.93 KB / Downloads: 31) ]]>

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw—
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it's useless to investigate—Macavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
It must have been Macavity!'—but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumb;
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN'T THERE !
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Credit 'Macavity: The Mystery Cat' by T. S. Eliot

.jpg  8707016679_2a3168734e_o.jpg (Size: 40.93 KB / Downloads: 31) ]]> <![CDATA[Death of a Favourite Cat]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28755 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:12:15 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28755

’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
A Favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.

Credit: 'Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes' by Thomas Gray

.jpg  Snapshot_021.jpg (Size: 47.92 KB / Downloads: 63) ]]>

’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
A Favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.

Credit: 'Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes' by Thomas Gray

.jpg  Snapshot_021.jpg (Size: 47.92 KB / Downloads: 63) ]]> <![CDATA[Cats Sleep Anywhere]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28754 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:06:15 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28754

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody's lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere! They don't care! Cats sleep anywhere.

Credit: Eleanor Farjeon (1881 - 1965)

.jpg  9171158949_f2d71e4995_o.jpg (Size: 34.31 KB / Downloads: 33) ]]>

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody's lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere! They don't care! Cats sleep anywhere.

Credit: Eleanor Farjeon (1881 - 1965)

.jpg  9171158949_f2d71e4995_o.jpg (Size: 34.31 KB / Downloads: 33) ]]> <![CDATA[Kitty Kitty (Tyger Tyger)]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28753 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:59:13 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28753

Kitty Kitty, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Kitty Kitty, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Based upon the poem 'The Tyger' by William Blake (1794)

.jpg  Snapshot_001-49.jpg (Size: 40.32 KB / Downloads: 31) ]]>

Kitty Kitty, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Kitty Kitty, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Based upon the poem 'The Tyger' by William Blake (1794)

.jpg  Snapshot_001-49.jpg (Size: 40.32 KB / Downloads: 31) ]]> <![CDATA[The Kitten (The Raven)]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28752 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:20:45 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28752

The night-time gales howled outside the cabin and ripped loose branches from the grasp of the winter trees. The trees creaked and groaned under the strain of the wind’s icy grip and stretched their bare branches towards the stars, as in a resolute act of submission to the harshness of the elements.

Inside their cabin, Maxwell and Skippy huddled by the reassuring safety of a roaring open fire, as the gale vented its fury outside their home. Reluctantly, Maxwell pointed up to the hands of the clock upon the chimney breast and then he turned downwards towards his younger brother.

“Just one short story before bedtime,” pleaded Skippy, looking upwards towards his older brother and smiling sweetly, “Just one short story before it’s time for bed, please.”

Maxwell smiled and reached towards a book resting upon the arm of the couch. He picked it up carefully, pretending to blow clouds of make-believe dust of its ancient leather cover.

“This is a perfect story for a night such tonight,” he smiled at his younger brother, “It will make your blood chill in terrifying fear and absolute misery.”

Maxwell held one hand under the book to steady its pages and then raised his free hand upwards, trembling his outstretched fingers in a dance of teasing anxiety, as he muttered his voice in a low tantalising horrified mummer. The light from the flickering fire caught the silhouette of the claw-like fingers and a set of extended shadows danced and flickered across the far wall of the room, as in some gruesome dance of fear.

Skippy looked upwards to his elder brother with loving admiration and tiny goose bumps of anticipated fear rose across the back of his neck. He trembled slightly and let out a hushed squeal of feigned horror.

“Oh lovely!” he giggled, “Please do continue.”

With that, he rested gently beside his bigger brother upon the couch in front of the fire and then watched as Maxwell lowered his hand, extended his forefinger gently and placed it upon the top of the opened page, to trace the words one-by-one. (For, although being a hundred and five years old, Maxwell still hadn’t quite mastered the skill of fluently reading aloud.)

Slowly and deliberately Maxwell began to read ...

------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some cat gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some kitten," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4283]

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some kitten entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late kitty entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Cat," said I, "or Kitten, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4284]

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Kitten of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4277]

Then this ebony cat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Kitten wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly cat to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing cat above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Kitten, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a kitty then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the cat said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore'."

But the Kitten still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of cat, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous cat of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous cat of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the cat whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if cat or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if cat or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, cat or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy paw from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

And the Kitten, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4286]

------------------------------------------------------------

Credit: The above poem was adapted from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)

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The night-time gales howled outside the cabin and ripped loose branches from the grasp of the winter trees. The trees creaked and groaned under the strain of the wind’s icy grip and stretched their bare branches towards the stars, as in a resolute act of submission to the harshness of the elements.

Inside their cabin, Maxwell and Skippy huddled by the reassuring safety of a roaring open fire, as the gale vented its fury outside their home. Reluctantly, Maxwell pointed up to the hands of the clock upon the chimney breast and then he turned downwards towards his younger brother.

“Just one short story before bedtime,” pleaded Skippy, looking upwards towards his older brother and smiling sweetly, “Just one short story before it’s time for bed, please.”

Maxwell smiled and reached towards a book resting upon the arm of the couch. He picked it up carefully, pretending to blow clouds of make-believe dust of its ancient leather cover.

“This is a perfect story for a night such tonight,” he smiled at his younger brother, “It will make your blood chill in terrifying fear and absolute misery.”

Maxwell held one hand under the book to steady its pages and then raised his free hand upwards, trembling his outstretched fingers in a dance of teasing anxiety, as he muttered his voice in a low tantalising horrified mummer. The light from the flickering fire caught the silhouette of the claw-like fingers and a set of extended shadows danced and flickered across the far wall of the room, as in some gruesome dance of fear.

Skippy looked upwards to his elder brother with loving admiration and tiny goose bumps of anticipated fear rose across the back of his neck. He trembled slightly and let out a hushed squeal of feigned horror.

“Oh lovely!” he giggled, “Please do continue.”

With that, he rested gently beside his bigger brother upon the couch in front of the fire and then watched as Maxwell lowered his hand, extended his forefinger gently and placed it upon the top of the opened page, to trace the words one-by-one. (For, although being a hundred and five years old, Maxwell still hadn’t quite mastered the skill of fluently reading aloud.)

Slowly and deliberately Maxwell began to read ...

------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some cat gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some kitten," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."

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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some kitten entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late kitty entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Cat," said I, "or Kitten, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Kitten of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

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Then this ebony cat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Kitten wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly cat to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing cat above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Kitten, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a kitty then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the cat said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore'."

But the Kitten still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of cat, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous cat of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous cat of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the cat whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if cat or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if cat or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, cat or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy paw from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Kitten "Nevermore."

And the Kitten, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

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Credit: The above poem was adapted from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)

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.jpg  Snapshot_045.jpg (Size: 35.08 KB / Downloads: 42) ]]> <![CDATA[The Donkey Tree]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28751 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:06:08 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28751

Skippy took Maxwell’s hand and led him towards the Vampire Kitties gardens. The sun beamed down upon the pair of elves and the swaying grasses whispered their hushed lullabies in the cool evening breeze.

“Maxwell, I”ve got one packet of seeds left,” Skippy called excitedly to his elder brother.

“This has to be the last sowing,” Maxwell replied sadly, “We’re got no more pocket money for any more seeds after this.”

“Don’t worry,” beamed Skippy, “I’ve saved the best to last. Look what I got left!”

Skippy stretched his hand aloft and held out a brightly-coloured packet of wonderly multi-coloured seeds. Maxwell looked down at Skippy’s hand and his face beamed with delight upon seeing the multitude of colours upon the packet.

“What are these?” Maxwell asked curiously.

“It’s a packet of donkey seeds,” beamed Skippy happily, “I’ve got a packet of donkey seeds!”

Skippy clapped and jumped with delight and passed the packet to Maxwell, for a closer inspection. Maxwell turned the front of the packet towards him, read the contents carefully and then giggled to himself.

“These aren’t donkey seeds,” he chuckled mischievously, “These are assorted seeds.”

Maxwell pointed to the word “Ass” with the pad of his forefinger, printed boldly across the front of the packet of seeds.

Skippy’s face broke into a whimper and his disappointed gaze fell to the ground.

“I so wanted to plant some donkeys” he explained, “I thought an ass was a donkey.”

“Let’s plant them anyway, Skippy,” beamed Maxwell, “These are our last seeds and so they are bound to be really special.”

Skippy’s face began to light up at the thought of a wondrous colourful display of brightly-coloured flowers and soon, all thoughts of donkey-bearing plants disappeared from his mind.

“I think, Maxwell,” he replied to his brother, “these are going to be the best of them all!”

Maxwell smiled back at his excited little brother and winked.

“Indeed, Skippy, I think you might be right!”

Within a day, a riot of assorted-coloured flowers had sprouted and spread throughout the garden.

“I wonder what kittens will fruit from these,” Skippy pondered aloud.

“I’m not sure,” replied Maxwell in wonderment, “but, whatever appears, there is bound to be a multitude of colours.”

Together, Maxwell and Skippy stood back as the multi-coloured flowers began to wilt, causing a cascade of vividly-coloured petals to fall into the tall grasses. A small tear began to form in the corner of Skippy’s eye and he held his big brother’s hand tightly and looked up into his reassuring face.

“The flowers are dying,” he sobbed and he pointed to the multitude of wilting petals, laying upon the ground.

Maxwell held his hand tightly and smiled down at Skippy.

“Circle of life,” he whispered, as a multitude of tiny buds began to swell in place of each passing flower.

Within a few seconds, the buds had fattened and blacked in colour. However, the tip of each bud retained the same vibrant colour as the flower that was originally in its place.

And then, one by one, the swollen buds burst open like pea pods and a black vampire kitten box gently dropped to the ground. Soon the garden was a sea of sombre-coloured vampire cats. However, each cat’s eye retained the same vibrant colour as the flower that once bore it. The two elves stood watching in awe and then turned to smile at each other.

“They’re beautiful,” Skippy grinned to his bigger brother.

Maxwell held onto his brother’s hand tightly and returned his smile.

“Our last seeds were the best, eh?” Maxwell whispered to his little brother.

However, his words were lost in the smooth swish of gentle rustles that the swaying grasses sung. The flowers had finally yielded their kitten fruits to the gardens and lay waiting to be picked up and loved by those who passed by.

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Skippy took Maxwell’s hand and led him towards the Vampire Kitties gardens. The sun beamed down upon the pair of elves and the swaying grasses whispered their hushed lullabies in the cool evening breeze.

“Maxwell, I”ve got one packet of seeds left,” Skippy called excitedly to his elder brother.

“This has to be the last sowing,” Maxwell replied sadly, “We’re got no more pocket money for any more seeds after this.”

“Don’t worry,” beamed Skippy, “I’ve saved the best to last. Look what I got left!”

Skippy stretched his hand aloft and held out a brightly-coloured packet of wonderly multi-coloured seeds. Maxwell looked down at Skippy’s hand and his face beamed with delight upon seeing the multitude of colours upon the packet.

“What are these?” Maxwell asked curiously.

“It’s a packet of donkey seeds,” beamed Skippy happily, “I’ve got a packet of donkey seeds!”

Skippy clapped and jumped with delight and passed the packet to Maxwell, for a closer inspection. Maxwell turned the front of the packet towards him, read the contents carefully and then giggled to himself.

“These aren’t donkey seeds,” he chuckled mischievously, “These are assorted seeds.”

Maxwell pointed to the word “Ass” with the pad of his forefinger, printed boldly across the front of the packet of seeds.

Skippy’s face broke into a whimper and his disappointed gaze fell to the ground.

“I so wanted to plant some donkeys” he explained, “I thought an ass was a donkey.”

“Let’s plant them anyway, Skippy,” beamed Maxwell, “These are our last seeds and so they are bound to be really special.”

Skippy’s face began to light up at the thought of a wondrous colourful display of brightly-coloured flowers and soon, all thoughts of donkey-bearing plants disappeared from his mind.

“I think, Maxwell,” he replied to his brother, “these are going to be the best of them all!”

Maxwell smiled back at his excited little brother and winked.

“Indeed, Skippy, I think you might be right!”

Within a day, a riot of assorted-coloured flowers had sprouted and spread throughout the garden.

“I wonder what kittens will fruit from these,” Skippy pondered aloud.

“I’m not sure,” replied Maxwell in wonderment, “but, whatever appears, there is bound to be a multitude of colours.”

Together, Maxwell and Skippy stood back as the multi-coloured flowers began to wilt, causing a cascade of vividly-coloured petals to fall into the tall grasses. A small tear began to form in the corner of Skippy’s eye and he held his big brother’s hand tightly and looked up into his reassuring face.

“The flowers are dying,” he sobbed and he pointed to the multitude of wilting petals, laying upon the ground.

Maxwell held his hand tightly and smiled down at Skippy.

“Circle of life,” he whispered, as a multitude of tiny buds began to swell in place of each passing flower.

Within a few seconds, the buds had fattened and blacked in colour. However, the tip of each bud retained the same vibrant colour as the flower that was originally in its place.

And then, one by one, the swollen buds burst open like pea pods and a black vampire kitten box gently dropped to the ground. Soon the garden was a sea of sombre-coloured vampire cats. However, each cat’s eye retained the same vibrant colour as the flower that once bore it. The two elves stood watching in awe and then turned to smile at each other.

“They’re beautiful,” Skippy grinned to his bigger brother.

Maxwell held onto his brother’s hand tightly and returned his smile.

“Our last seeds were the best, eh?” Maxwell whispered to his little brother.

However, his words were lost in the smooth swish of gentle rustles that the swaying grasses sung. The flowers had finally yielded their kitten fruits to the gardens and lay waiting to be picked up and loved by those who passed by.

.jpg  Snapshot_005-10.jpg (Size: 57.28 KB / Downloads: 29) ]]> <![CDATA[Tyger Tyger]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28750 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:00:23 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28750

Over the past few months, Skippy and I had been looking forward to Hallowe’en for two main reasons. Firstly, having been bought up in the world of humans, we were looking forward to the opportunity to go Trick or Treating in fancy dress. However, more importantly being elves, The Day of the Dead is a very important elven festival (for respecting our ancestry and heritage.)

This Hallowe’en proved to be an incrediably special one indeed.

You may recall that elves have little need to count: we rarely need to count beyond a few hundred or so. There are no words to describe numbers greater than one thousand. In fact, a thousand can mean either “one more than nine-hundred and ninety-nine” or any number that is greater. If you were to ask any elf, “How many stars are there in the sky?” they would answer “One thousand” and they would be correct in doing so. Likewise, if you were to ask any elf, “How many ancestors do you have?” again their answer would be, “One thousand” and again they would be completely correct. Just remember that “One thousand” is similar to your definition of a “multitude” or “countless.”

However, you must make distinction between the use of “one thousand” and the “Thousand.” The “Thousand” is always spelt with a capital letter when used in written texts. Great care is taken to pronounce it carefully and respectfully when it is spoken aloud. The “Thousand” is the name given by elves to all those elderly elves who have passed away into the afterlife and, likewise, it is the name given by animals to those of their species who have passed away from this life too. Broadly speaking, it is the entire mass of every previous life, be it either elven or of creature form. In elven folklore, the Thousand exist peacefully in the night skies and so the stars of night-time sky are also called the “Thousand” too. You may recall that an elf has two names, their “Earth Name” and their “Thousand Name.” The use of the Thousand Name is only adopted upon the death of an elf or in legal documents (such as Wills and Last Testaments, that are meant to be read after an elf has passed away.) Elves greatly value the wisdom and breath of knowledge that elders show and so older elves are always great valued in elven society and are shown an enormous amount of reverence and respect. I think that many human societies could learn a great deal from this!

Anyway, I digress and so back to our very special Hallowe’en!

Being an elf, it is essential to visit any sacred site (such as a stone circle, a crop circle or whirlpool) on the night of Hallowe’en, to show due reverence to the Thousand. This is a very busy day of the year and all animals too have very similar customs. These sacred sites can become very crowded on this night and this year’s Hallowe’en was no exception. As Skippy and I drew close to the Stone Circle, on the evening of The Day of the Dead, there was a multitude of other forest animals crowding around all keen to pay their respects to the Thousand too.

Skippy and I took our place, waiting outside the Stone Circle in a queue with many other forest creatures and we began to speak with those around us. A pair of hedgehogs recounted tales from their past of two brave elves who forfeited their own lives to save the kindred of the hedgehogs. They told us, “A hedgehog never forgets!” Also we met a herd of wolves that taught us a new song of the Thousand for recounting at full moon festivals. Mysteriously, one old grizzly bear waiting in the queue passed on a private greeting that was too precious and secret to repeat on the pages of this journal. That will have to remain in the thoughts of Skippy and I only.

However, most of our evening waiting for our turn in the Stone Circle was spent in the company of two jungle tigers; Tyger Tyger. (Skippy and I learnt that all tigers have the same spelt name and that individuals are distinguished solely by the stress placed upon the different phonemes of the word. They even avoid the use of the indefinite article when referring to groups of more than one tiger. It was refreshing to learn of a different set of customs and beliefs that were so different to our own.) These two tigers were very old and so, of course, we showed them great reverence and respect. They explained how they were nearing the end of their lives and they confided in us that they were worried about deforestation’s impact on their offsprings’ future. The impact of the leg-walkers and their methods of farming was causing these noble beasts great anxiety and worry.

With one accord, Skippy and I suggested that the young tigers were always welcome to dwell in the Secret Dell. No human even knew of its presence - let alone had plans to strip it of its trees and plant fields of crops. Tyger Tyger didn’t need asking twice and very soon a string of events unfurled that lead the two small tiger cubs to move into the hidden location of the Secret Dell.

Thus began the start of a new series of adventures with two new found friends.

.jpg  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 16.57.56.jpg (Size: 47.49 KB / Downloads: 29) ]]>

Over the past few months, Skippy and I had been looking forward to Hallowe’en for two main reasons. Firstly, having been bought up in the world of humans, we were looking forward to the opportunity to go Trick or Treating in fancy dress. However, more importantly being elves, The Day of the Dead is a very important elven festival (for respecting our ancestry and heritage.)

This Hallowe’en proved to be an incrediably special one indeed.

You may recall that elves have little need to count: we rarely need to count beyond a few hundred or so. There are no words to describe numbers greater than one thousand. In fact, a thousand can mean either “one more than nine-hundred and ninety-nine” or any number that is greater. If you were to ask any elf, “How many stars are there in the sky?” they would answer “One thousand” and they would be correct in doing so. Likewise, if you were to ask any elf, “How many ancestors do you have?” again their answer would be, “One thousand” and again they would be completely correct. Just remember that “One thousand” is similar to your definition of a “multitude” or “countless.”

However, you must make distinction between the use of “one thousand” and the “Thousand.” The “Thousand” is always spelt with a capital letter when used in written texts. Great care is taken to pronounce it carefully and respectfully when it is spoken aloud. The “Thousand” is the name given by elves to all those elderly elves who have passed away into the afterlife and, likewise, it is the name given by animals to those of their species who have passed away from this life too. Broadly speaking, it is the entire mass of every previous life, be it either elven or of creature form. In elven folklore, the Thousand exist peacefully in the night skies and so the stars of night-time sky are also called the “Thousand” too. You may recall that an elf has two names, their “Earth Name” and their “Thousand Name.” The use of the Thousand Name is only adopted upon the death of an elf or in legal documents (such as Wills and Last Testaments, that are meant to be read after an elf has passed away.) Elves greatly value the wisdom and breath of knowledge that elders show and so older elves are always great valued in elven society and are shown an enormous amount of reverence and respect. I think that many human societies could learn a great deal from this!

Anyway, I digress and so back to our very special Hallowe’en!

Being an elf, it is essential to visit any sacred site (such as a stone circle, a crop circle or whirlpool) on the night of Hallowe’en, to show due reverence to the Thousand. This is a very busy day of the year and all animals too have very similar customs. These sacred sites can become very crowded on this night and this year’s Hallowe’en was no exception. As Skippy and I drew close to the Stone Circle, on the evening of The Day of the Dead, there was a multitude of other forest animals crowding around all keen to pay their respects to the Thousand too.

Skippy and I took our place, waiting outside the Stone Circle in a queue with many other forest creatures and we began to speak with those around us. A pair of hedgehogs recounted tales from their past of two brave elves who forfeited their own lives to save the kindred of the hedgehogs. They told us, “A hedgehog never forgets!” Also we met a herd of wolves that taught us a new song of the Thousand for recounting at full moon festivals. Mysteriously, one old grizzly bear waiting in the queue passed on a private greeting that was too precious and secret to repeat on the pages of this journal. That will have to remain in the thoughts of Skippy and I only.

However, most of our evening waiting for our turn in the Stone Circle was spent in the company of two jungle tigers; Tyger Tyger. (Skippy and I learnt that all tigers have the same spelt name and that individuals are distinguished solely by the stress placed upon the different phonemes of the word. They even avoid the use of the indefinite article when referring to groups of more than one tiger. It was refreshing to learn of a different set of customs and beliefs that were so different to our own.) These two tigers were very old and so, of course, we showed them great reverence and respect. They explained how they were nearing the end of their lives and they confided in us that they were worried about deforestation’s impact on their offsprings’ future. The impact of the leg-walkers and their methods of farming was causing these noble beasts great anxiety and worry.

With one accord, Skippy and I suggested that the young tigers were always welcome to dwell in the Secret Dell. No human even knew of its presence - let alone had plans to strip it of its trees and plant fields of crops. Tyger Tyger didn’t need asking twice and very soon a string of events unfurled that lead the two small tiger cubs to move into the hidden location of the Secret Dell.

Thus began the start of a new series of adventures with two new found friends.

.jpg  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 16.57.56.jpg (Size: 47.49 KB / Downloads: 29) ]]> <![CDATA[Dear Diary]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28749 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 08:50:08 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28749

Dear Diary,

Every evening for the past month, Skippy and I have been looking out to the evening skies in eager anticipation for the rise of the Hunter’s Moon. This evening, as we sat by the attic window watching the eastern skies though the telescope the excitement was too much to bear and we both felt a tremendous natural urge to leave our attic bedroom and go out into the fields to dance beneath its glowing beauty. I guess that’s due to our elven heritage and culture.

We were both worried that, if we asked, Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield might insist that we stay inside and so we decided to sneak out of the attic window and climb down using the boughs of the oak tree.

The night was calm and the skies were clear, apart from a very slight mist. It was a perfect evening for the Hunter’s Moon and we could see the enormous shining globe rising up in the far east, casting a beautiful eerie light over the churchyard and the fields beyond.

Skippy and I donned our elven garments and prized open the attic window and carefully lowered ourselves onto the sturdy branches of the oak tree that grew immediately beyond the vestry. We clambered across the branches, down the trunk and dropped to the soft earth with a gentle thud.

It was only a short trek to the castle ruins at the end of the lane and so we decided to head there celebrate the Hunter’s Moon.

Within a few minutes we had reached the extremities of the castle and we found an open space within the ruins of the once mighty walls, where we could dance and sing freely. Both Skippy and I felt an enormous sense of liberation and natural energy beneath the vast array of the Thousand, basking in the gentle glow of the full moon. We felt totally safe and secure within the castle grounds and, despite the slight mist, it was the perfect location in which to celebrate the passing of the Hunter’s Moon.

Skippy, being the younger and less inhibited of us both, was the first to dance. He swayed and gesticulated with a natural, free form of movement and I decided to copy him. We called this, “The Skippy Dance.”

It was then that we heard a distant meowing coming from further within the castle ruins and so we decided to pause and investigate. As we drew deeper into the ruins, the meowing grew louder and we could see two pairs of glowing ruby eyed in the deepest shadows, reflected in the moonlight like the glowing embers of a roasting fire.

We both approached calmly, trying to reassure the tiny creatures as we did so. When we stepped into the shadows ourselves, we could made out that the meowing came from two tiny kittens, shivering in the balmy cool October night, huddled close together for warmth.

Carefully, oh so very carefully, I picked up one and held it under my cloak, close to my body and Skippy did the same with the other. The two kittens stopped their pitiful meowing and purred contently instead, snuggling in close to the warmth of our bodies.

There was no one around. Skippy and I couldn’t understand who would abandon two such frail and vulnerable creatures to the unknown dangers of the night and so we decided that we would take them home to care for them ourselves. We would ask around and, if we heard of anyone who had lost a pair of cats, we could return them to their rightful owners.

“What will Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield say?” both Skippy and I jinxed together.

Dear Diary

Earlier today, neither Skippy nor I could summon enough courage to tell Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield that we had found a pair of abandoned cats in the castle ruins, the night before. We just played in the shelter of the gravestones during the afternoon and rolled a ball for our cats to chase.

They both looked so happy and content in their new home and they were certainly getting a great deal of attention from us both. We had scavenged scraps of meat from the kitchen earlier and had both brushed the cats, freeing them from the tangles of briars that had accumulated in their fur. Now we were relaxing in the graveyard, playing games and coaxing our newfound friends.

From inside the church office we could hear Cardinal Snowfield singing, “Onward Christian Soldiers” and so we decided that, perhaps, this would be the best time to ask him if we could keep the two cats, until someone could claim them.

Skippy and I ran into the office only to find Cardinal Snowfield watching a portable television set, looking subdued and crest-fallen. Apparently, Christian Soldiers had just fallen at the first fence and also the Cardinal reported that he had “lost” this week’s church collection.

We decided to break the news about our discovery, as tactfully as possible. Skippy passed Cardinal Snowfield our pocket money allowance for the week and I pointed at the copy of the Racing Times, to the runners in the next race. I spotted a remarkable coincidence that both The Vampire King and his mare, The Vampire Queen, were running in two consecutive races that afternoon at Kempton Park. I suggested that Cardinal Snowfield should place an accumulator; he didn’t need asking twice. As quickly as a young gelding bolting from a clinic, the Cardinal picked up the telephone to ring the bookmaker while Skippy and I continued to watch the proceedings on the portable television, perched on his desk.

Suffice to say that both The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen came in first in their respective races and, when Skippy and I asked whether we could look after the two abandoned kittens, Cardinal Snowfield hugged us both and told us we could have the moon! Anyway, we didn’t really want the Moon, so we settled for a month’s supply of fresh cat food instead and Skippy took some crayons and drew a “Found” poster for display in the church notice board.

To be honest, I am rather hoping that the cats aren’t found because we are both getting rather attached to them.

Dear Diary,

Just a quickie to explain that it’s been a month now and no one has replied to Skippy’s “Found” poster. Both Skippy and I are really glad. We have grown to love our two cats (now named after the two winning racehorses) and we are so glad that no one came forward to claim them. We might even try breeding then when they get older – who knows what delights their offspring might hold!

(You can find out more about Maxwell and Skippy's cats in a free to download eBook called 'Dear Diary' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

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Dear Diary,

Every evening for the past month, Skippy and I have been looking out to the evening skies in eager anticipation for the rise of the Hunter’s Moon. This evening, as we sat by the attic window watching the eastern skies though the telescope the excitement was too much to bear and we both felt a tremendous natural urge to leave our attic bedroom and go out into the fields to dance beneath its glowing beauty. I guess that’s due to our elven heritage and culture.

We were both worried that, if we asked, Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield might insist that we stay inside and so we decided to sneak out of the attic window and climb down using the boughs of the oak tree.

The night was calm and the skies were clear, apart from a very slight mist. It was a perfect evening for the Hunter’s Moon and we could see the enormous shining globe rising up in the far east, casting a beautiful eerie light over the churchyard and the fields beyond.

Skippy and I donned our elven garments and prized open the attic window and carefully lowered ourselves onto the sturdy branches of the oak tree that grew immediately beyond the vestry. We clambered across the branches, down the trunk and dropped to the soft earth with a gentle thud.

It was only a short trek to the castle ruins at the end of the lane and so we decided to head there celebrate the Hunter’s Moon.

Within a few minutes we had reached the extremities of the castle and we found an open space within the ruins of the once mighty walls, where we could dance and sing freely. Both Skippy and I felt an enormous sense of liberation and natural energy beneath the vast array of the Thousand, basking in the gentle glow of the full moon. We felt totally safe and secure within the castle grounds and, despite the slight mist, it was the perfect location in which to celebrate the passing of the Hunter’s Moon.

Skippy, being the younger and less inhibited of us both, was the first to dance. He swayed and gesticulated with a natural, free form of movement and I decided to copy him. We called this, “The Skippy Dance.”

It was then that we heard a distant meowing coming from further within the castle ruins and so we decided to pause and investigate. As we drew deeper into the ruins, the meowing grew louder and we could see two pairs of glowing ruby eyed in the deepest shadows, reflected in the moonlight like the glowing embers of a roasting fire.

We both approached calmly, trying to reassure the tiny creatures as we did so. When we stepped into the shadows ourselves, we could made out that the meowing came from two tiny kittens, shivering in the balmy cool October night, huddled close together for warmth.

Carefully, oh so very carefully, I picked up one and held it under my cloak, close to my body and Skippy did the same with the other. The two kittens stopped their pitiful meowing and purred contently instead, snuggling in close to the warmth of our bodies.

There was no one around. Skippy and I couldn’t understand who would abandon two such frail and vulnerable creatures to the unknown dangers of the night and so we decided that we would take them home to care for them ourselves. We would ask around and, if we heard of anyone who had lost a pair of cats, we could return them to their rightful owners.

“What will Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield say?” both Skippy and I jinxed together.

Dear Diary

Earlier today, neither Skippy nor I could summon enough courage to tell Father Moesly and Cardinal Snowfield that we had found a pair of abandoned cats in the castle ruins, the night before. We just played in the shelter of the gravestones during the afternoon and rolled a ball for our cats to chase.

They both looked so happy and content in their new home and they were certainly getting a great deal of attention from us both. We had scavenged scraps of meat from the kitchen earlier and had both brushed the cats, freeing them from the tangles of briars that had accumulated in their fur. Now we were relaxing in the graveyard, playing games and coaxing our newfound friends.

From inside the church office we could hear Cardinal Snowfield singing, “Onward Christian Soldiers” and so we decided that, perhaps, this would be the best time to ask him if we could keep the two cats, until someone could claim them.

Skippy and I ran into the office only to find Cardinal Snowfield watching a portable television set, looking subdued and crest-fallen. Apparently, Christian Soldiers had just fallen at the first fence and also the Cardinal reported that he had “lost” this week’s church collection.

We decided to break the news about our discovery, as tactfully as possible. Skippy passed Cardinal Snowfield our pocket money allowance for the week and I pointed at the copy of the Racing Times, to the runners in the next race. I spotted a remarkable coincidence that both The Vampire King and his mare, The Vampire Queen, were running in two consecutive races that afternoon at Kempton Park. I suggested that Cardinal Snowfield should place an accumulator; he didn’t need asking twice. As quickly as a young gelding bolting from a clinic, the Cardinal picked up the telephone to ring the bookmaker while Skippy and I continued to watch the proceedings on the portable television, perched on his desk.

Suffice to say that both The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen came in first in their respective races and, when Skippy and I asked whether we could look after the two abandoned kittens, Cardinal Snowfield hugged us both and told us we could have the moon! Anyway, we didn’t really want the Moon, so we settled for a month’s supply of fresh cat food instead and Skippy took some crayons and drew a “Found” poster for display in the church notice board.

To be honest, I am rather hoping that the cats aren’t found because we are both getting rather attached to them.

Dear Diary,

Just a quickie to explain that it’s been a month now and no one has replied to Skippy’s “Found” poster. Both Skippy and I are really glad. We have grown to love our two cats (now named after the two winning racehorses) and we are so glad that no one came forward to claim them. We might even try breeding then when they get older – who knows what delights their offspring might hold!

(You can find out more about Maxwell and Skippy's cats in a free to download eBook called 'Dear Diary' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

.png  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 16.48.34.png (Size: 488.89 KB / Downloads: 34) ]]> <![CDATA[Jack and the Space Pirates]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28748 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 08:36:35 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28748
Jack and Jet find that their lives are thrown into turmoil when a gang of space pirates steals a valuable galleon. The two friends are flung into an incredible adventure and Jack is forced to devise a cunning plan to return them both to their intergalactic home.

Jack and the Space Pirates is a beautifully produced children’s storybook, with lovely enchanting illustrations on every page.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4273]

(You can find out more about Jack and his cat Jet in a free to download eBook called 'Jack and the Space Pirates' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

.png  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 16.34.15.png (Size: 465.88 KB / Downloads: 40) ]]>
Jack and Jet find that their lives are thrown into turmoil when a gang of space pirates steals a valuable galleon. The two friends are flung into an incredible adventure and Jack is forced to devise a cunning plan to return them both to their intergalactic home.

Jack and the Space Pirates is a beautifully produced children’s storybook, with lovely enchanting illustrations on every page.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4273]

(You can find out more about Jack and his cat Jet in a free to download eBook called 'Jack and the Space Pirates' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

.png  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 16.34.15.png (Size: 465.88 KB / Downloads: 40) ]]> <![CDATA[Lunar Dream]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28747 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 08:32:30 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28747
Well, elves are no different from you and I. When elves sleep, they dream of the most bizarre and amazing adventures too – just like us all. However, elven dreams are different from human dreams. When groups of elves sleep, their separate dreams merge into one big adventure so that the sleeping elves interact with each other within their own individual dream times. Their adventures and stories often remain bizarre (like all good dreams are) but each individual elf contributes to the plot of the major dreamtime, in the same way that the ingredients of a meal contribute to the overall taste of the finished dish.

Maxwell and Skippy were two typical young elves and they had the most amazing shared dreams when they slept. Allow me to tell you of one:

---------------------------

As the sun wearily dipped his glowing head below the western horizon, at the end of a long day, the moon cautiously peeped her face over the opposite edge of the nighttime sky.

Maxwell and Skippy took their two cats, The Vampire King and Queen, to stargaze at the myriad of twinkling stars. Soon they all became memorised by the beauty of the full moon.


.png  01.png (Size: 153.95 KB / Downloads: 0)

“Is the moon really made of cheese?” Skippy enquired of his older brother, pointing upwards into the night sky.

“Of course!” replied Maxwell, with a wry smile.

“In that case,” continued Skippy optimistically, “we really ought to take The Vampire King and Queen out there, some time soon. I bet it is crawling with mice!”

Maxwell looked at his younger brother and a spark of inspiration flashed across his eyes.

“Great idea!” he exclaimed to the younger elf. “We could take a rocket there!”

The two elves looked at each other and a smile broadened across both of their faces. They switched their gaze from the rising full moon and down to the two vampire cats standing by their feet.

“This could be quite an adventure for them,” smiled Maxwell to his brother. “I am sure that the moon is covered with mice!”

The two vampire cats gazed lovingly up at their young masters and began to imagine a feast of scurrying mice upon a cheese moon. This could be quite an adventure!

Maxwell took Skippy’s hand and together the two of them ran down to the bus stop, followed by their two vampire cats. They could see a pair of red double-decker buses down the road, travelling in unison towards them.


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“Perhaps taking a bus might be easier than going by rocket,” suggested Maxwell.

Within a few seconds, the first bus (a number eight) pulled in to the stop and eagerly the four of them clambered on.

“Two halves and two cats to the moon (return) please,” called Maxwell to the conductor, displaying one bent penny in his free hand.

“Sorry, little’un,” replied the bus conductor. “This doesn’t go as far as the moon …”

Maxwell’s head sunk to his chest and a tear began to well in the corner of Skippy’s eye.

“… you want the 15B that’s behind me!” he continued, with a cheeky wink.

With a beaming smile and a cheery “thank you” the party of four quickly dashed to the rear of the number 8 and boarded the second bus. Its display boldly read “Number 15B: Moon (Via Clapham Junction)” and the metalwork of the polished chassis sparkled with the same vibrant glow of that of the stars of the midnight skies.

“Two halves and two cats to the moon (return) please,” repeated Maxwell to the second conductor, as he again waved the bent penny cheerfully in payment.

“Halves? How old are you?” enquired the bus conductor curiously.

“One hundred and five …” replied Maxwell innocently.

“… and seventy!” added Skippy, with a youthful squeal.

“You won’t be needing halves,” he smiled, with a gleam appearing across his broad face. “Over-sixty-fives travel free.”

And with that, he ushered them onto the bus, pulled a frayed ivory-white cord that ran along the ceiling of the bus and then pulled it again sharply. A shrill double-ring echoed throughout the bus interior and immediately the engine of the bus began to rev and the vehicle jerked forward with a shudder.

Soon they would be passing through Clapham Junction and onto the Moon.

The bus trundled onto the Sea of Tranquility and, with a gentle thud, it landed near to a static flag that was held horizontally in the life-less lunar atmosphere. The two elves and their pet cats jumped off the platform of the bus and onto the surface of the moon.

Maxwell softly tapped the glass visor of Skippy’s helmet, pointed to the nearby flag and then the four of them trekked across to take a closer look. As they walked, the desolate lunar skyscape loomed menacingly over their heads, shrouding the skies with an inky-blackness in which thousands of tiny stars danced and sparkled without impediment. The two of them switched on their lunar communications.

“It’s so bleak up here,” murmured Skippy, as he sat by the base of the flag pole and trailed his index finger through the cheese dust, etching small loops and curves through the myriad of adult footprints that could be found randomly scattered around its base.

Maxwell’s eyes scanned across the distant inky horizons in search of signs of rodent life.

“I can’t see any mice,” he declared, deliberately stubbing his toe into a single distinct well-formed pair of footprints, next to the ancient markings of a past Apollo landing.

Skippy continued his doodling in the cheese dust (with a “Skippy and Maxwell were here” scribble using the tip of his index finger) and then looked up at his elder brother.

“”I don’t think,” he replied sadly, “that there are any mice here at all.”

Maxwell gazed down at his brother, sitting on the ground, and he shrugged.

“I guess they can’t survive without air,” he sighed. “Such a shame as The Vampire King and Queen were so looking forward to a chase!”

The two of them glanced across to their cats, which were bounding and bouncing through the craters and crevices of the lunar landscape. Despite the lack of mice, the two small cats were enjoying the opportunity of the quarter-sized gravity of the moon and were playing a simple game of chase.


.png  03.png (Size: 181.69 KB / Downloads: 0)

“Time for tea?” suggested Maxwell as he snapped off a small chunk of cheese from a nearby outcrop and handed it to Skippy.

The two elves carefully unpacked a picnic hamper and laid a square tartan rug upon the lunar surface. They both removed a selection of dried crackers from the hamper and placed the cheese on top. Then they looked at the closed visors of their astronaut helmets.

“Perhaps, we could save this for tea later, eh?” suggested Maxwell, with a blush.

Skippy smiled, nodded and the two of them packed their picnic goodies back into the hamper carefully.

“Shame there’s no mice,” repeated Skippy.

Maxwell glanced up at the life-less barren skies and shrugged.

“No air,” he moaned. “They could never survive here.”

The two elves felt the distant vibrations of the number 15B returning and they hurried back to the stop.

Within minutes they had mounted the bus, to return to earth (via Clapham Junction) and there was nothing left upon the lunar landscape except some new etchings in the footprints and the gentle hum of the solar wind drifting in from the sun.

However, the distant vibrations did not decrease as the bus vanished into a dot: in fact the vibrations grew and grew into a crescendo. Soon the whole lunar surface shook and trembled with a multitude of vibrations that rang out from every crater, that echoed through every valley and that reverberated into every crevice. From behind each crater, each crevice and each cranny - there appeared a tiny mouse, rolling within a small plastic exercise ball. A million tiny hands rose in unison and waved back into the bleak inky darkness of space.


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“Bon voyage!” they squeaked, “Bon voyage!”

---------------------------

The hands of the clock turned to half past seven and the alarm rang. Maxwell and Skippy awoke with a start from their shared dream times. Wearily, the two small elves sat upright in bed and began to rub the sleep from their eyes.

“I just had the most amazing dream last night,” Skippy yawned, as he stretched his arms above his head.

“I know, I know,” Maxwell sleepily replied with a smile. “ I was there too.”

(Credits: This story is beautifully illustrated with numerous magical images, composed by Skippy Beresford.)]]>
Well, elves are no different from you and I. When elves sleep, they dream of the most bizarre and amazing adventures too – just like us all. However, elven dreams are different from human dreams. When groups of elves sleep, their separate dreams merge into one big adventure so that the sleeping elves interact with each other within their own individual dream times. Their adventures and stories often remain bizarre (like all good dreams are) but each individual elf contributes to the plot of the major dreamtime, in the same way that the ingredients of a meal contribute to the overall taste of the finished dish.

Maxwell and Skippy were two typical young elves and they had the most amazing shared dreams when they slept. Allow me to tell you of one:

---------------------------

As the sun wearily dipped his glowing head below the western horizon, at the end of a long day, the moon cautiously peeped her face over the opposite edge of the nighttime sky.

Maxwell and Skippy took their two cats, The Vampire King and Queen, to stargaze at the myriad of twinkling stars. Soon they all became memorised by the beauty of the full moon.


.png  01.png (Size: 153.95 KB / Downloads: 0)

“Is the moon really made of cheese?” Skippy enquired of his older brother, pointing upwards into the night sky.

“Of course!” replied Maxwell, with a wry smile.

“In that case,” continued Skippy optimistically, “we really ought to take The Vampire King and Queen out there, some time soon. I bet it is crawling with mice!”

Maxwell looked at his younger brother and a spark of inspiration flashed across his eyes.

“Great idea!” he exclaimed to the younger elf. “We could take a rocket there!”

The two elves looked at each other and a smile broadened across both of their faces. They switched their gaze from the rising full moon and down to the two vampire cats standing by their feet.

“This could be quite an adventure for them,” smiled Maxwell to his brother. “I am sure that the moon is covered with mice!”

The two vampire cats gazed lovingly up at their young masters and began to imagine a feast of scurrying mice upon a cheese moon. This could be quite an adventure!

Maxwell took Skippy’s hand and together the two of them ran down to the bus stop, followed by their two vampire cats. They could see a pair of red double-decker buses down the road, travelling in unison towards them.


.png  02.png (Size: 240.83 KB / Downloads: 1)

“Perhaps taking a bus might be easier than going by rocket,” suggested Maxwell.

Within a few seconds, the first bus (a number eight) pulled in to the stop and eagerly the four of them clambered on.

“Two halves and two cats to the moon (return) please,” called Maxwell to the conductor, displaying one bent penny in his free hand.

“Sorry, little’un,” replied the bus conductor. “This doesn’t go as far as the moon …”

Maxwell’s head sunk to his chest and a tear began to well in the corner of Skippy’s eye.

“… you want the 15B that’s behind me!” he continued, with a cheeky wink.

With a beaming smile and a cheery “thank you” the party of four quickly dashed to the rear of the number 8 and boarded the second bus. Its display boldly read “Number 15B: Moon (Via Clapham Junction)” and the metalwork of the polished chassis sparkled with the same vibrant glow of that of the stars of the midnight skies.

“Two halves and two cats to the moon (return) please,” repeated Maxwell to the second conductor, as he again waved the bent penny cheerfully in payment.

“Halves? How old are you?” enquired the bus conductor curiously.

“One hundred and five …” replied Maxwell innocently.

“… and seventy!” added Skippy, with a youthful squeal.

“You won’t be needing halves,” he smiled, with a gleam appearing across his broad face. “Over-sixty-fives travel free.”

And with that, he ushered them onto the bus, pulled a frayed ivory-white cord that ran along the ceiling of the bus and then pulled it again sharply. A shrill double-ring echoed throughout the bus interior and immediately the engine of the bus began to rev and the vehicle jerked forward with a shudder.

Soon they would be passing through Clapham Junction and onto the Moon.

The bus trundled onto the Sea of Tranquility and, with a gentle thud, it landed near to a static flag that was held horizontally in the life-less lunar atmosphere. The two elves and their pet cats jumped off the platform of the bus and onto the surface of the moon.

Maxwell softly tapped the glass visor of Skippy’s helmet, pointed to the nearby flag and then the four of them trekked across to take a closer look. As they walked, the desolate lunar skyscape loomed menacingly over their heads, shrouding the skies with an inky-blackness in which thousands of tiny stars danced and sparkled without impediment. The two of them switched on their lunar communications.

“It’s so bleak up here,” murmured Skippy, as he sat by the base of the flag pole and trailed his index finger through the cheese dust, etching small loops and curves through the myriad of adult footprints that could be found randomly scattered around its base.

Maxwell’s eyes scanned across the distant inky horizons in search of signs of rodent life.

“I can’t see any mice,” he declared, deliberately stubbing his toe into a single distinct well-formed pair of footprints, next to the ancient markings of a past Apollo landing.

Skippy continued his doodling in the cheese dust (with a “Skippy and Maxwell were here” scribble using the tip of his index finger) and then looked up at his elder brother.

“”I don’t think,” he replied sadly, “that there are any mice here at all.”

Maxwell gazed down at his brother, sitting on the ground, and he shrugged.

“I guess they can’t survive without air,” he sighed. “Such a shame as The Vampire King and Queen were so looking forward to a chase!”

The two of them glanced across to their cats, which were bounding and bouncing through the craters and crevices of the lunar landscape. Despite the lack of mice, the two small cats were enjoying the opportunity of the quarter-sized gravity of the moon and were playing a simple game of chase.


.png  03.png (Size: 181.69 KB / Downloads: 0)

“Time for tea?” suggested Maxwell as he snapped off a small chunk of cheese from a nearby outcrop and handed it to Skippy.

The two elves carefully unpacked a picnic hamper and laid a square tartan rug upon the lunar surface. They both removed a selection of dried crackers from the hamper and placed the cheese on top. Then they looked at the closed visors of their astronaut helmets.

“Perhaps, we could save this for tea later, eh?” suggested Maxwell, with a blush.

Skippy smiled, nodded and the two of them packed their picnic goodies back into the hamper carefully.

“Shame there’s no mice,” repeated Skippy.

Maxwell glanced up at the life-less barren skies and shrugged.

“No air,” he moaned. “They could never survive here.”

The two elves felt the distant vibrations of the number 15B returning and they hurried back to the stop.

Within minutes they had mounted the bus, to return to earth (via Clapham Junction) and there was nothing left upon the lunar landscape except some new etchings in the footprints and the gentle hum of the solar wind drifting in from the sun.

However, the distant vibrations did not decrease as the bus vanished into a dot: in fact the vibrations grew and grew into a crescendo. Soon the whole lunar surface shook and trembled with a multitude of vibrations that rang out from every crater, that echoed through every valley and that reverberated into every crevice. From behind each crater, each crevice and each cranny - there appeared a tiny mouse, rolling within a small plastic exercise ball. A million tiny hands rose in unison and waved back into the bleak inky darkness of space.


.png  04.png (Size: 169.51 KB / Downloads: 0)

“Bon voyage!” they squeaked, “Bon voyage!”

---------------------------

The hands of the clock turned to half past seven and the alarm rang. Maxwell and Skippy awoke with a start from their shared dream times. Wearily, the two small elves sat upright in bed and began to rub the sleep from their eyes.

“I just had the most amazing dream last night,” Skippy yawned, as he stretched his arms above his head.

“I know, I know,” Maxwell sleepily replied with a smile. “ I was there too.”

(Credits: This story is beautifully illustrated with numerous magical images, composed by Skippy Beresford.)]]> <![CDATA[The Vampire Cats]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28746 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 08:23:51 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28746

.png  Chapter 1.png (Size: 234.76 KB / Downloads: 1)

Long, long ago two rambunctious elf boys, Skippy and Maxwell, crept out of their orphanage bedroom window and clambered down the trunk of an ancient oak tree, growing outside their window. They wanted to greet the zenith of the Hunters’ Moon that evening. The two young elves had seen the full moon rising in the clear October skies and they decided to head towards the ruins of the local castle in order to celebrate this important elven festival.

As they began to dance in the midst of the ruined castle, they both heard a faint meowing coming from the shadows deeper in the castle grounds and they decided to pause their celebrations in order to investigate. As first they thought that they could see two pairs of glowing embers, like a roasting fire, but as they approached they found two tiny baby ruby-eyed kittens huddled together, shivering in the cool balmy October night.

The two young elves carefully picked the kittens up and nestled them gently in their elven cloaks, returning to their orphanage home, to show them to the resident priests the following day.

However, the following day, they were hesitant to confess their antics from the previous evening until they heard the sounds of Cardinal Snowfield singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” in the church study annex. Perhaps, if he was in a good mood, it may be the right time to explain what they had done and how they had found two baby kittens the previous night.

They both ran into the church office, to find Cardinal Snowfield looking mournfully at a portable television screen perched upon his desk. Apparently, “Christian Soldiers” had fallen at the first fence and the cardinal had “lost” the week’s church collection.

Skippy passed Cardinal Snowfield the two elves’ pocket money for that week, as Maxwell’s eyes spotted a remarkable coincidence from the “Racing Times” laying on the cardinal’s desk: two horses, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen, were running in two consecutive races at Kempton Park, later that afternoon. The two elves suggested that Cardinal Snowfield could “invest” their pocket money to cheer himself up.

Suffice to say, both the Vampire King and the Vampire Queen came first in their respective races and, afterwards, Cardinal Snowfield took the two lost kittens to his heart in his subsequent glee. Despite displaying a “Found” poster on the church notice board the two small kittens were never claimed and so they became two well-loved pets of Maxwell and Skippy, named after the two racing horses at Kempton Park. Their strange sounding names seemed to fit well with their jet-black fur and brilliant red eyes. Although they tried to find out the history of their two new pets, it never dawned on them until many years later, why they had been abandoned at the castle ruins or what their background had been.

In fact, they never even noticed that their beloved pets failed to ever meow or make any cat-like sound. If only they had paused to wonder upon these things, but the minds of small children (both human and elven alike) are more interested in clockwork trains, jumping in puddles and other important childhood endeavours.

Chapter 2


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The two small elves cared deeply for their black-furred cats and played with them constantly. Over the course of the following year, the cats grew to full size and became established and well-loved pets. During the day, Maxwell and Skippy would attend the village school, St. Nicholas Primary School, with the other children of the village. During the late afternoons and evening, the two small elves would take their beloved cats into the church graveyard and play ball with them.

The following years could only be described as being totally blissful. At last, as the final summer term at St. Nicholas School drew to a close, Maxwell and Skippy were invited to the annual biology field trip out at Callas Farms.

The two little elves enjoyed seeing fluttering butterflies in the shivering tall grasses and many other natural childhood delights that remain in young children’s dreams long afterwards, in the depths of the nights that follow. They were even lucky enough to spy a distance orca whale leap out of the ocean’s depths and crash back into the waves, like an exploding rocket on a November’s Guy Fawkes night. Most special of all, they caught a fleeting glimpse of a mother kestrel devouring a meal, whilst taking a break from attending her nest.

“Isn’t that a most beautiful bird,” exclaimed Skippy, standing in awe at the kestrel’s splendour and majesty.

“Indeed,” replied his elder brother. “This has been the most exciting end to a most fantastic school year.”

However, on the journey home, Skippy began to look forlorn and he started to whimper.

“I’ve lost my stick. I think I left it in the kestrel field,” he wailed, as tears began flooding from his eyes.

“Don’t fret,” consoled Maxwell, with a reassuring smile and a warm hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “We can quickly return and find it.”

But, as the two elves returned to Callas Farms, they were shocked to find the ground strewn with warm empty gun cartridges. In the breeze above their heads they saw a few blood stained feathers drifting away slowly away in the summer air. There was no kestrel to be seen commanding the skies and no kestrel attending her nest as they had been before.

“We can’t leave the eggs without a mother,” wailed Skippy. “They will perish within hours.”

As quick as a flash, Maxwell lofted Skippy into the branches and soon the two small eggs were safely stashed away in the young elfs’ pockets, like precious stones in a jewellery case.

“We can hatch the eggs at home, on our pillows, and then release the fledglings when they are old enough,” reassured Maxwell to his younger brother.

The two elves carefully took their delicate treasures back home and lovingly placed them upon their bedroom pillows. Their two cats, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen assisted in warming the eggs and keeping them safe. After several days of careful nurturing and constant attention, both eggs successfully hatched and two most delightful and exquisite young kestrels were born. Day and night, over the next few weeks, the two small elves cared and nurtured their new-found pets and loved them both in the way that only an elf could.

Within months the young birds had grown and were old enough to be released back to the wild. Maxwell and Skippy trekked back to the kestrel field at Callas Farms with their two feathered friends. They released the birds and allowed them to soar away. Around the clear blue skies the two kestrels circled and then, to the surprise of both elves, the two birds returned to the hands of their rearers. It seemed that the birds had no wish to leave their trusted keepers.

Maxwell and Skippy returned home with their special friends. The six of them would soon become inseparable on their future adventures. Over the next few years, on their treks, the two kestrels and the two black cats would form a major part in many different adventures and would play an integral role in the rescue of the Wishing Tree – but more about that later.

Chapter 3

Maxwell and Skippy were training their kestrels in the vast open fields some distance from their home when their attention was caught by the rapid fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, flashing in the brilliant sunshine.

“Help! Help!” the tiny voice rang out across the grassland. “Come quickly! We need your help!”

The tiny insect flew in bopping circles of alarmed panic and, at once, the two elves knew that something serious was afoot. Without delay, they raced across the meadow gate and quickly followed the butterfly deep into the forest.

In the far distance, they could hear the crackle of splintering wood and smell the stench of burning timbers. It was clear that some serious and deadly menace was threatening the tranquility of the lives of the forest.

“Please be quick!” the butterfly called out in terrifying dread as it fluttered closer and closer to the source of the flames. “The Wishing Tree is in great peril and we can’t protect it for much longer!”

The group hurried to the raging inferno and the two elves saw a sight that filled their hearts with fear and dread. A blaze was consuming the forest and, deep in the heart of this awful inferno, a kaleidoscope of fluttering butterflies were swarming over a tiny shrub, desperately trying to fan the flames away with their tiny delicate wings. Just a few steps away, an abandoned hunters’ campfire lay discarded and smoldering in the heart of the scorching flames.

“What can we do?” screamed Skippy, watching one butterfly after another perish in the feeble attempt to save the tiny tree.

“We can’t get through this fire,” shouted Maxwell, raising his hands to shield his face from the heat of the inferno. “That tree will surely burn very soon!”

Then, without warning, the two kestrels of the elves stretched their wings aloft and shrieked out in unison. Together as one, they both rose from the gauntlets of their masters and, without fear or hesitation, they darted through the dancing flames. The two kestrels dropped to the ground beyond the fire and began to quickly peck the tiny tree from the soil. Next they were able to redeem it to safety away from the spiteful fingers of the roaring fires that were consuming the forest and they returned to the gauntlets of their trusted masters bearing their prize: The Wishing Tree.

Quickly, Maxwell took the small shrub from the claws of the birds and the group of them quickly retreated to a clearing, some distance away from the dangers of the roaring inferno.

“Thank you, thank you,” repeated the butterfly. “We will never be able to thank you enough for saving our treasured friend.”

“But who are you and what is this Wishing Tree?” asked Skippy, his head spinning with hundreds of unanswered questions to that day’s series of rapidly unfolding events.

“My name is Saxifrage,” replied the butterfly, “and the Wishing Tree has long been a great friend of ours, ever since the time of the Great Rift. (They shuddered.) Many years ago, it was discovered by a distant drab-grey ancestor of the butterflies and it was this very Wishing Tree that granted him the wish to be the most beautiful and colourful of all the forest’s creatures. You may know that some trees shed their leaves in the winter, when the bitter snows start to fall, but this tree sheds its leaves whenever it hears a genuine wish and grants it. There was no way that we could allow the tree to perish after receiving the response to our wish: to look magical and dazzling.”

“But, if it is so old, why is it so small?” enquired Skippy, scratching the side of his head in perplexed wonderment.

“Don’t ever be deceived by the size or the lack of size of an object,” replied Saxifrage. “Sometimes the smallest creatures can be the mightiest of them all. And now, we respectfully request that you help us to treasure and protect this magnificent plant for all times to come.”

“I think I might just have the perfect idea,” interjected Maxwell. “Skippy and I know of a skilled watchmaker in the town of New Brighton who could build a cryptex to keep the Wishing Tree safe.”

The five of them, the two elves, the two kestrels and Saxifrage, raced away to the seaside town and soon found a blacksmith who was able to direct them to the skilled watchmaker.

“Please, take this with my complements,” the master elderly craftsman said, handing the two elves a delicate cryptex. “I once heard tales of the Wishing Tree from my very own Grandfather, when I was a very young boy watching him work in his workshop, and it is my honour to give you the very finest cryptex from my collection.”

The two elves thanked the watchmaker and raced home, to place the cryptex in the safest place they knew. Soon they had returned home and the Wishing Tree had found a new home. It was safe and would remain so for all time to come.

Chapter 4

Later, one dreamy nighttime, the soft hushed pattering of tiny footsteps could only just be detected above the faint chorus of gathering cicadas: it was the return of the Sandman. He was attending to his nighttime duties of delivering dreams to the eyes of sleeping children. With muted steps, he stealthily crept into the room, carrying his precious treasure in his paws: a cache of finely crafted grains of sand. There, before him, lay the two young elves fast asleep in their beds, oblivious to the world around them.

The Sandman stepped forward and gently placed a single grain into the eyes of both elves. It was then that he spied the exquisite form of their cryptex on the bedside table between them. As the two elves continued their slumber they dreamt of meadows of tall whispering grass; the exploits of a magical travelling showman; long sultry hot summer days; a refreshing cool breeze beneath the spreading branches of a sturdy solitary tree and the bounding leap of two black cats with dazzling ruby eyes.

However, the attention of the Sandman was fixated upon the fine and delicate designs etched and painted onto the exterior of the bedside cryptex. With a hesitant paw, he reached forward and quietly prodded the cryptex inquisitively, enchanted by the delicate rotations and swirls of the device as it responded to his touch. Again and again, he poked and prodded and, again and again, the cryptex responded to his gentle endeavours. Then, suddenly and without warning, the pinnacle of the cryptex slid open and a casing, containing a tiny tree, glided up and began to revolve before him.

Had he known that he was looking at the Wishing Tree it is possible that he might not have made his following wish. However, the delights of the Wishing Tree were beyond the comprehension of the Sandman People and he was no exception to this.

“Their dream, I wish, would come true,” he murmured beneath his breath, as the two small elves continues in their blissful slumber.

All at once, the Wishing Tree heard the wish of the Sandman and it shed a single leaf in confirmation of his wish. Their nighttime visions would come true in the following days and these dreamy images were to be a prophecy of the adventures that lay before them both.

Chapter 5

Later, the following day while Skippy was playing ball with the Vampire King and Queen outside the cabin, a pair of weary footsteps could be heard making their way along the pathway nearby. Skippy looked up from his playful distraction and saw the friendly face of an elderly man trekking towards him.

“Good Morrow and Salutations!” the old man cheerfully called out and he raised a hand upwards in a friendly gesture of welcome.

Skippy’s eyes beamed as he saw the friendly face and he returned a respectful welcome.

“Hello and welcome to you too,” he piped out with a smile. “I’ve not seen you in these parts before.”

“My name’s River Falcon,” the old man replied, “but perhaps you may have heard of me by my stage name of ‘Professor River’ if you have ever been to the pier at New Brighton.”

“A professor?” giggled Skippy in delight. “A professor of Latin or Geometry?”

The elderly man smiled and stepped forward towards the small elf. He chuckled beneath his breath gently and winked a wizened eye in accompaniment.

“No,” he continued. “I am not an academic professor of some stuffy university subject. I am Professor River the Finger Smith. You may know of me as a magician or a conjurer but I prefer the term ‘Finger Smith’ as I do not perform mere tricks. If you come to my shows at the end of the pier you will see real magic!”

The old man reached an empty hand forward and grabbed his fist into the air before him. There in his hand now appeared a small black magic wand with two whitened tips at each end. A flicker of light lit the air and reflected into the sparkling eyes of the little elf. Skippy gazed forward in astonishment and his jaw dropped slightly, opening his mouth to form a tiny circle of quivering blushing lips.

The Finger Smith tapped the wand upon the palm of his empty hand and reached towards the ear of the small elf. There in his fingers was now a small banana, nestled firmly between the pads of his thumb and index finger. The old man balanced the fruit gently upon the collarbone at the top of Skippy’s shoulder and Skippy turned his head in surprise to see the face of a parrot staring back at him. Professor River smiled.

“If you are a magician, where is your top hat?” the young elf asked in bewilderment, to the old man towering before him.

“Stolen by fairies many months ago,” he replied with a sigh, “and I haven’t yet had time to either find it or buy a replacement.”

Skippy listened in wonderment as the Finger Smith continued.

“It was a hot sultry day and I was travelling from my home to the next show at New Brighton. I happened to pass through an open meadow; the weather was warm and the journey was long, so I stopped to rest in the shade of a large sturdy tree that was growing there. Within minutes I had dozed in the warmth of the day and when I awoke a short time later, my top hat was gone.”

“But how can you be sure it was fairies?” interrupted the small elf in astonishment.

“The meadow was vast and there was no one around. The only sign of presence was a single path of brushed-back grass leading towards the tree, the route I had taken to arrive there.” explained Professor River. “If only they knew that the top hat was magical, I am sure that they would have never have taken it.”

“But,” interjected Skippy, “why steal a top hat?”

The old Finger Smith tapped the side of his nose and a gold coin fell into the palm of his hand. He lifted the coin into the light and the sun sparkled and danced upon its surface like a symphony of constellations.

“The hat was covered in black satin and fairies love shiny objects,” he replied with a sigh. “I do hope that no bad comes from its misuse.”

He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger and pressed it into the palm of the little elf.

“A drink of water for an elderly man?” he enquired, “and then I can be on my way. I have many miles to trek and a show to perform tonight.”

Skippy took the small coin and fetched a refreshing glass of water from the cabin with enthusiasm. Within minutes Professor River and quenched his thirst and stepped away to continue his journey.

“Don’t forget,” he called, “if you see fairies with an old top hat, remember that the hat is magical. Take care with it. You may never know what supernatural conjuring may occur.”

And with that final warning he was gone. All that was left was a cloud of dry earth and dust that evaporated into the midday air like the diminishing smoke of an extinguished candle flame.

Chapter 6

“How do you attract a fairy?” Skippy asked, in curious wonderment.

“Go to the Valley of the Whispering Grass. Turn three times, play fine music, show something sparkly or even (if you are desperate) try potatoes dipped in honey,” replied the stranger helpfully.

Skipped nodded politely and plunged his hand deep into his pocket. The hard warm disc of a golden coin greeted his fingers reassuringly.

He repeated a thankful nod and continued his journey to school. His head danced of the thoughts of inky-black satin-covered top hats and the hidden multitudes of elusive fairies. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother of the knowledge that he had learnt.

Chapter 7


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That weekend the two elves headed off to the Valley of the Whispering Grass.

“Where are you going?” the grasses whispered in unison, swaying gently in the summer breeze, as the two elves passed.

The young elves knew better than to engage a conversation with a multitude of gossiping grasses and they continued their trek through the valley. It was not long before they saw a mighty tree standing erect in the meadow, stretching it boughs across the landscape, sheltering its underlings with a cool and satisfying shade.

“I am sure that I recognise this tree,” exclaimed Maxwell with surprise. “I am also sure that we have never been here before.”

“Me too,” added Skippy. “It seems familiar but I don’t know why.”

If only the two small elves had probed their dreamtime they would have recalled a distant bedtime vision, long past gone, left behind in a Sandman’s wish.

“Let’s try here first,” suggested Maxwell, removing a flute from his pack.

“Yes, let’s,” responded Skippy, joining him on the ground by the tree, holding a small golden coin firmly between his fingers.

Within minutes, the two of them had begun circling the sturdy tree three times, playing a harmonious tune and holding the coin aloft so that it sparked whenever they passed into a sunbeam that squeezed between the tree’s foliage.

It was not long before the enchanted musical notes of the pair of flutes had attracted a small crowd of fairies, all eager to listen to the beautiful music and to catch a fleeting glimpse of the sparkling coin. One of them even dared to approach the pair of elves, enticed by the harmonies of the flutes, like a sailor of Ancient Greece to the Sirens’ voice.

“What wondrous melodies!” chanted the fairy, lured closer and closer.

“We’re looking for a black satin-covered top hat,” explained Maxwell, seizing his chance.

“There was one here just weeks ago,” the fairy exclaimed.

“”It was taken as a gift to the Fairy King Emperor,” interjected another.

And very soon, Maxwell and Skippy were able to piece together the circumstances of the top hat from the hundreds of voices that called out and interrupted. It had been given to the Fairy King Emperor as an offering, in which to store his array of jewels. He had eagerly accepted the gift and dropped four large rubies into it from his store of jewels. As he turned to place some more jewels, two black cats with shining, sparkling ruby eyes had magically jumped out off the top hat and bounded away. The Fairy King Emperor had thrown the top hat away into the deepest ocean, in rage at his loss. All sorts of sea animals had passed by and visited the top hat and turned into a magnificent menagerie of underwater monsters. A small grain of sand had fallen into the hat and arose from the sea as a mighty mountain, carrying the hat aloft. Some explorers had left a fire burning on the island as they left and a cinder was carried by the breeze into the hat. The mountain had erupted into a gigantic volcano, Krakatoa and the top hat had been engulfed in flames to be destroyed forever.

Indeed, Maxwell and Skippy accumulated so much information (and much more) it was difficult to comprehend all that was said and make sense of the whole affair. Even still, they were able to understand that the hat was destroyed and now they should turn their search to the two ruby-eyed black cats instead.

“I fear that this is going to be the start of one enormous quest, exclaimed Maxwell with a sigh.

Skippy nodded in agreement and a crowd of babbling fairy voices added a chorus of “Agreed” in unison.

Chapter 8


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Maxwell and Skippy returned home later that day, to a friendly greeting of all of their pets. There were kestrels, rabbits, wolves and, of course, cats. One of the cats jumped up into Maxwell’s arms and it was then that Maxwell noticed the lack of a meow or friendly purr of welcome.

“Do you know what, Skippy?” exclaimed Maxwell. “The Vampire King has never purred once since we found him in the old ruins.”

“Come to mention it,” replied Skippy, “I think you’re right. I’ve never heard The Vampire Queen make a sound in all of these years either.”

Maxwell bent his head over the cat and rubbed the side of his face into its warm fur.

“Come closer, Skippy,” whispered Maxwell in a lowered voice to his brother. “Come closer and listen.”

The two elves placed the sides of their faces closer to The Vampire King. A silenced hush fell around them.

“If these are the King Emperor’s kittens,” exclaimed Maxwell, “there is no way I want to swap them for a pair of rubies, nor the combined treasures of all the fairies!”

“Agreed,” nodded Skippy. “We’ve had them for years and we are not going to lose them now.”

Maxwell lowered The Vampire King to the ground gently and coaxed the fur on the back of the silent cat. Skippy coaxed the Vampire Queen too and the two elves watched them both. The two cats looked up and returned their gaze and all four of them knew that all would be well.

Chapter 9


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The next few blissful days turned into weeks and then into months. Finally, alas, these months were to become years; for one human year equates to ten elven years and a year in the life of a cat may seem just a day in the minds of elves. After some 120 years, which seemed to be a few days less than four months to the young elves, the grey hairs became denser around the muzzles of The Vampire King and Queen and a blurry haze of cloudiness replaced the sparkle in their eyes. Both cats became more and more reluctant to leave the sanctuary of their baskets, to watch the setting of the sun below the distant horizon from the beach. But the two elves still loved them as much as they did when they first found them in the ruins, all those years before.

Each month, they would lovingly carry their beloved pets in a play-wagon, to the Stone Circle to watch their kestrels fly and to see the full moon rise between the plinths. Each night they would lovingly tuck them to sleep in their baskets at the foot of their beds. And, when they feared the end was soon approaching, they would lovingly nestle to sleep on their beds, taking turns to cradle The Vampire King and Queen within their folds, so that the cats might know the warmth of their bodies and be reassured by the sound of their heartbeats as they curled into a ball of slumber each night.

It was from one of these nights that the two elves awoke to find that The Vampire King and Queen were no more. In place of the two furry balls of greying dark fur rested four large rubies, still warm from the life that had resided there from the night before.

Maxwell and Skippy arose from their nighttime sleep and held each other’s hand reassuringly, looking down at the four ruby treasures that lay before them. There was no hint of sadness in their eyes - for how can you mourn a life that was wholly content and perfectly happy throughout. They looked at each other and smiled in unison, remembering the past 120 years with immense fondness: the watching of dancing butterflies in the balmy summer evenings; the first delicate footsteps in the early snows of winter; the faux hide-and-seek games in the fallen autumnal leaves and the countryside treks with their two kestrels. Then they picked the four rubies up, placed them on their bedside table and they walked outside to greet the first rays of the morning sun. High above them, twinkling a last farewell, shone the Morning Star in the breaking dawn sky. The two elves looked up to the skies and knew that their two beloved pets, The Vampire King and Queen, had returned at last to their final home within the Thousand.]]>

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Long, long ago two rambunctious elf boys, Skippy and Maxwell, crept out of their orphanage bedroom window and clambered down the trunk of an ancient oak tree, growing outside their window. They wanted to greet the zenith of the Hunters’ Moon that evening. The two young elves had seen the full moon rising in the clear October skies and they decided to head towards the ruins of the local castle in order to celebrate this important elven festival.

As they began to dance in the midst of the ruined castle, they both heard a faint meowing coming from the shadows deeper in the castle grounds and they decided to pause their celebrations in order to investigate. As first they thought that they could see two pairs of glowing embers, like a roasting fire, but as they approached they found two tiny baby ruby-eyed kittens huddled together, shivering in the cool balmy October night.

The two young elves carefully picked the kittens up and nestled them gently in their elven cloaks, returning to their orphanage home, to show them to the resident priests the following day.

However, the following day, they were hesitant to confess their antics from the previous evening until they heard the sounds of Cardinal Snowfield singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” in the church study annex. Perhaps, if he was in a good mood, it may be the right time to explain what they had done and how they had found two baby kittens the previous night.

They both ran into the church office, to find Cardinal Snowfield looking mournfully at a portable television screen perched upon his desk. Apparently, “Christian Soldiers” had fallen at the first fence and the cardinal had “lost” the week’s church collection.

Skippy passed Cardinal Snowfield the two elves’ pocket money for that week, as Maxwell’s eyes spotted a remarkable coincidence from the “Racing Times” laying on the cardinal’s desk: two horses, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen, were running in two consecutive races at Kempton Park, later that afternoon. The two elves suggested that Cardinal Snowfield could “invest” their pocket money to cheer himself up.

Suffice to say, both the Vampire King and the Vampire Queen came first in their respective races and, afterwards, Cardinal Snowfield took the two lost kittens to his heart in his subsequent glee. Despite displaying a “Found” poster on the church notice board the two small kittens were never claimed and so they became two well-loved pets of Maxwell and Skippy, named after the two racing horses at Kempton Park. Their strange sounding names seemed to fit well with their jet-black fur and brilliant red eyes. Although they tried to find out the history of their two new pets, it never dawned on them until many years later, why they had been abandoned at the castle ruins or what their background had been.

In fact, they never even noticed that their beloved pets failed to ever meow or make any cat-like sound. If only they had paused to wonder upon these things, but the minds of small children (both human and elven alike) are more interested in clockwork trains, jumping in puddles and other important childhood endeavours.

Chapter 2


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The two small elves cared deeply for their black-furred cats and played with them constantly. Over the course of the following year, the cats grew to full size and became established and well-loved pets. During the day, Maxwell and Skippy would attend the village school, St. Nicholas Primary School, with the other children of the village. During the late afternoons and evening, the two small elves would take their beloved cats into the church graveyard and play ball with them.

The following years could only be described as being totally blissful. At last, as the final summer term at St. Nicholas School drew to a close, Maxwell and Skippy were invited to the annual biology field trip out at Callas Farms.

The two little elves enjoyed seeing fluttering butterflies in the shivering tall grasses and many other natural childhood delights that remain in young children’s dreams long afterwards, in the depths of the nights that follow. They were even lucky enough to spy a distance orca whale leap out of the ocean’s depths and crash back into the waves, like an exploding rocket on a November’s Guy Fawkes night. Most special of all, they caught a fleeting glimpse of a mother kestrel devouring a meal, whilst taking a break from attending her nest.

“Isn’t that a most beautiful bird,” exclaimed Skippy, standing in awe at the kestrel’s splendour and majesty.

“Indeed,” replied his elder brother. “This has been the most exciting end to a most fantastic school year.”

However, on the journey home, Skippy began to look forlorn and he started to whimper.

“I’ve lost my stick. I think I left it in the kestrel field,” he wailed, as tears began flooding from his eyes.

“Don’t fret,” consoled Maxwell, with a reassuring smile and a warm hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “We can quickly return and find it.”

But, as the two elves returned to Callas Farms, they were shocked to find the ground strewn with warm empty gun cartridges. In the breeze above their heads they saw a few blood stained feathers drifting away slowly away in the summer air. There was no kestrel to be seen commanding the skies and no kestrel attending her nest as they had been before.

“We can’t leave the eggs without a mother,” wailed Skippy. “They will perish within hours.”

As quick as a flash, Maxwell lofted Skippy into the branches and soon the two small eggs were safely stashed away in the young elfs’ pockets, like precious stones in a jewellery case.

“We can hatch the eggs at home, on our pillows, and then release the fledglings when they are old enough,” reassured Maxwell to his younger brother.

The two elves carefully took their delicate treasures back home and lovingly placed them upon their bedroom pillows. Their two cats, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen assisted in warming the eggs and keeping them safe. After several days of careful nurturing and constant attention, both eggs successfully hatched and two most delightful and exquisite young kestrels were born. Day and night, over the next few weeks, the two small elves cared and nurtured their new-found pets and loved them both in the way that only an elf could.

Within months the young birds had grown and were old enough to be released back to the wild. Maxwell and Skippy trekked back to the kestrel field at Callas Farms with their two feathered friends. They released the birds and allowed them to soar away. Around the clear blue skies the two kestrels circled and then, to the surprise of both elves, the two birds returned to the hands of their rearers. It seemed that the birds had no wish to leave their trusted keepers.

Maxwell and Skippy returned home with their special friends. The six of them would soon become inseparable on their future adventures. Over the next few years, on their treks, the two kestrels and the two black cats would form a major part in many different adventures and would play an integral role in the rescue of the Wishing Tree – but more about that later.

Chapter 3

Maxwell and Skippy were training their kestrels in the vast open fields some distance from their home when their attention was caught by the rapid fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, flashing in the brilliant sunshine.

“Help! Help!” the tiny voice rang out across the grassland. “Come quickly! We need your help!”

The tiny insect flew in bopping circles of alarmed panic and, at once, the two elves knew that something serious was afoot. Without delay, they raced across the meadow gate and quickly followed the butterfly deep into the forest.

In the far distance, they could hear the crackle of splintering wood and smell the stench of burning timbers. It was clear that some serious and deadly menace was threatening the tranquility of the lives of the forest.

“Please be quick!” the butterfly called out in terrifying dread as it fluttered closer and closer to the source of the flames. “The Wishing Tree is in great peril and we can’t protect it for much longer!”

The group hurried to the raging inferno and the two elves saw a sight that filled their hearts with fear and dread. A blaze was consuming the forest and, deep in the heart of this awful inferno, a kaleidoscope of fluttering butterflies were swarming over a tiny shrub, desperately trying to fan the flames away with their tiny delicate wings. Just a few steps away, an abandoned hunters’ campfire lay discarded and smoldering in the heart of the scorching flames.

“What can we do?” screamed Skippy, watching one butterfly after another perish in the feeble attempt to save the tiny tree.

“We can’t get through this fire,” shouted Maxwell, raising his hands to shield his face from the heat of the inferno. “That tree will surely burn very soon!”

Then, without warning, the two kestrels of the elves stretched their wings aloft and shrieked out in unison. Together as one, they both rose from the gauntlets of their masters and, without fear or hesitation, they darted through the dancing flames. The two kestrels dropped to the ground beyond the fire and began to quickly peck the tiny tree from the soil. Next they were able to redeem it to safety away from the spiteful fingers of the roaring fires that were consuming the forest and they returned to the gauntlets of their trusted masters bearing their prize: The Wishing Tree.

Quickly, Maxwell took the small shrub from the claws of the birds and the group of them quickly retreated to a clearing, some distance away from the dangers of the roaring inferno.

“Thank you, thank you,” repeated the butterfly. “We will never be able to thank you enough for saving our treasured friend.”

“But who are you and what is this Wishing Tree?” asked Skippy, his head spinning with hundreds of unanswered questions to that day’s series of rapidly unfolding events.

“My name is Saxifrage,” replied the butterfly, “and the Wishing Tree has long been a great friend of ours, ever since the time of the Great Rift. (They shuddered.) Many years ago, it was discovered by a distant drab-grey ancestor of the butterflies and it was this very Wishing Tree that granted him the wish to be the most beautiful and colourful of all the forest’s creatures. You may know that some trees shed their leaves in the winter, when the bitter snows start to fall, but this tree sheds its leaves whenever it hears a genuine wish and grants it. There was no way that we could allow the tree to perish after receiving the response to our wish: to look magical and dazzling.”

“But, if it is so old, why is it so small?” enquired Skippy, scratching the side of his head in perplexed wonderment.

“Don’t ever be deceived by the size or the lack of size of an object,” replied Saxifrage. “Sometimes the smallest creatures can be the mightiest of them all. And now, we respectfully request that you help us to treasure and protect this magnificent plant for all times to come.”

“I think I might just have the perfect idea,” interjected Maxwell. “Skippy and I know of a skilled watchmaker in the town of New Brighton who could build a cryptex to keep the Wishing Tree safe.”

The five of them, the two elves, the two kestrels and Saxifrage, raced away to the seaside town and soon found a blacksmith who was able to direct them to the skilled watchmaker.

“Please, take this with my complements,” the master elderly craftsman said, handing the two elves a delicate cryptex. “I once heard tales of the Wishing Tree from my very own Grandfather, when I was a very young boy watching him work in his workshop, and it is my honour to give you the very finest cryptex from my collection.”

The two elves thanked the watchmaker and raced home, to place the cryptex in the safest place they knew. Soon they had returned home and the Wishing Tree had found a new home. It was safe and would remain so for all time to come.

Chapter 4

Later, one dreamy nighttime, the soft hushed pattering of tiny footsteps could only just be detected above the faint chorus of gathering cicadas: it was the return of the Sandman. He was attending to his nighttime duties of delivering dreams to the eyes of sleeping children. With muted steps, he stealthily crept into the room, carrying his precious treasure in his paws: a cache of finely crafted grains of sand. There, before him, lay the two young elves fast asleep in their beds, oblivious to the world around them.

The Sandman stepped forward and gently placed a single grain into the eyes of both elves. It was then that he spied the exquisite form of their cryptex on the bedside table between them. As the two elves continued their slumber they dreamt of meadows of tall whispering grass; the exploits of a magical travelling showman; long sultry hot summer days; a refreshing cool breeze beneath the spreading branches of a sturdy solitary tree and the bounding leap of two black cats with dazzling ruby eyes.

However, the attention of the Sandman was fixated upon the fine and delicate designs etched and painted onto the exterior of the bedside cryptex. With a hesitant paw, he reached forward and quietly prodded the cryptex inquisitively, enchanted by the delicate rotations and swirls of the device as it responded to his touch. Again and again, he poked and prodded and, again and again, the cryptex responded to his gentle endeavours. Then, suddenly and without warning, the pinnacle of the cryptex slid open and a casing, containing a tiny tree, glided up and began to revolve before him.

Had he known that he was looking at the Wishing Tree it is possible that he might not have made his following wish. However, the delights of the Wishing Tree were beyond the comprehension of the Sandman People and he was no exception to this.

“Their dream, I wish, would come true,” he murmured beneath his breath, as the two small elves continues in their blissful slumber.

All at once, the Wishing Tree heard the wish of the Sandman and it shed a single leaf in confirmation of his wish. Their nighttime visions would come true in the following days and these dreamy images were to be a prophecy of the adventures that lay before them both.

Chapter 5

Later, the following day while Skippy was playing ball with the Vampire King and Queen outside the cabin, a pair of weary footsteps could be heard making their way along the pathway nearby. Skippy looked up from his playful distraction and saw the friendly face of an elderly man trekking towards him.

“Good Morrow and Salutations!” the old man cheerfully called out and he raised a hand upwards in a friendly gesture of welcome.

Skippy’s eyes beamed as he saw the friendly face and he returned a respectful welcome.

“Hello and welcome to you too,” he piped out with a smile. “I’ve not seen you in these parts before.”

“My name’s River Falcon,” the old man replied, “but perhaps you may have heard of me by my stage name of ‘Professor River’ if you have ever been to the pier at New Brighton.”

“A professor?” giggled Skippy in delight. “A professor of Latin or Geometry?”

The elderly man smiled and stepped forward towards the small elf. He chuckled beneath his breath gently and winked a wizened eye in accompaniment.

“No,” he continued. “I am not an academic professor of some stuffy university subject. I am Professor River the Finger Smith. You may know of me as a magician or a conjurer but I prefer the term ‘Finger Smith’ as I do not perform mere tricks. If you come to my shows at the end of the pier you will see real magic!”

The old man reached an empty hand forward and grabbed his fist into the air before him. There in his hand now appeared a small black magic wand with two whitened tips at each end. A flicker of light lit the air and reflected into the sparkling eyes of the little elf. Skippy gazed forward in astonishment and his jaw dropped slightly, opening his mouth to form a tiny circle of quivering blushing lips.

The Finger Smith tapped the wand upon the palm of his empty hand and reached towards the ear of the small elf. There in his fingers was now a small banana, nestled firmly between the pads of his thumb and index finger. The old man balanced the fruit gently upon the collarbone at the top of Skippy’s shoulder and Skippy turned his head in surprise to see the face of a parrot staring back at him. Professor River smiled.

“If you are a magician, where is your top hat?” the young elf asked in bewilderment, to the old man towering before him.

“Stolen by fairies many months ago,” he replied with a sigh, “and I haven’t yet had time to either find it or buy a replacement.”

Skippy listened in wonderment as the Finger Smith continued.

“It was a hot sultry day and I was travelling from my home to the next show at New Brighton. I happened to pass through an open meadow; the weather was warm and the journey was long, so I stopped to rest in the shade of a large sturdy tree that was growing there. Within minutes I had dozed in the warmth of the day and when I awoke a short time later, my top hat was gone.”

“But how can you be sure it was fairies?” interrupted the small elf in astonishment.

“The meadow was vast and there was no one around. The only sign of presence was a single path of brushed-back grass leading towards the tree, the route I had taken to arrive there.” explained Professor River. “If only they knew that the top hat was magical, I am sure that they would have never have taken it.”

“But,” interjected Skippy, “why steal a top hat?”

The old Finger Smith tapped the side of his nose and a gold coin fell into the palm of his hand. He lifted the coin into the light and the sun sparkled and danced upon its surface like a symphony of constellations.

“The hat was covered in black satin and fairies love shiny objects,” he replied with a sigh. “I do hope that no bad comes from its misuse.”

He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger and pressed it into the palm of the little elf.

“A drink of water for an elderly man?” he enquired, “and then I can be on my way. I have many miles to trek and a show to perform tonight.”

Skippy took the small coin and fetched a refreshing glass of water from the cabin with enthusiasm. Within minutes Professor River and quenched his thirst and stepped away to continue his journey.

“Don’t forget,” he called, “if you see fairies with an old top hat, remember that the hat is magical. Take care with it. You may never know what supernatural conjuring may occur.”

And with that final warning he was gone. All that was left was a cloud of dry earth and dust that evaporated into the midday air like the diminishing smoke of an extinguished candle flame.

Chapter 6

“How do you attract a fairy?” Skippy asked, in curious wonderment.

“Go to the Valley of the Whispering Grass. Turn three times, play fine music, show something sparkly or even (if you are desperate) try potatoes dipped in honey,” replied the stranger helpfully.

Skipped nodded politely and plunged his hand deep into his pocket. The hard warm disc of a golden coin greeted his fingers reassuringly.

He repeated a thankful nod and continued his journey to school. His head danced of the thoughts of inky-black satin-covered top hats and the hidden multitudes of elusive fairies. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother of the knowledge that he had learnt.

Chapter 7


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That weekend the two elves headed off to the Valley of the Whispering Grass.

“Where are you going?” the grasses whispered in unison, swaying gently in the summer breeze, as the two elves passed.

The young elves knew better than to engage a conversation with a multitude of gossiping grasses and they continued their trek through the valley. It was not long before they saw a mighty tree standing erect in the meadow, stretching it boughs across the landscape, sheltering its underlings with a cool and satisfying shade.

“I am sure that I recognise this tree,” exclaimed Maxwell with surprise. “I am also sure that we have never been here before.”

“Me too,” added Skippy. “It seems familiar but I don’t know why.”

If only the two small elves had probed their dreamtime they would have recalled a distant bedtime vision, long past gone, left behind in a Sandman’s wish.

“Let’s try here first,” suggested Maxwell, removing a flute from his pack.

“Yes, let’s,” responded Skippy, joining him on the ground by the tree, holding a small golden coin firmly between his fingers.

Within minutes, the two of them had begun circling the sturdy tree three times, playing a harmonious tune and holding the coin aloft so that it sparked whenever they passed into a sunbeam that squeezed between the tree’s foliage.

It was not long before the enchanted musical notes of the pair of flutes had attracted a small crowd of fairies, all eager to listen to the beautiful music and to catch a fleeting glimpse of the sparkling coin. One of them even dared to approach the pair of elves, enticed by the harmonies of the flutes, like a sailor of Ancient Greece to the Sirens’ voice.

“What wondrous melodies!” chanted the fairy, lured closer and closer.

“We’re looking for a black satin-covered top hat,” explained Maxwell, seizing his chance.

“There was one here just weeks ago,” the fairy exclaimed.

“”It was taken as a gift to the Fairy King Emperor,” interjected another.

And very soon, Maxwell and Skippy were able to piece together the circumstances of the top hat from the hundreds of voices that called out and interrupted. It had been given to the Fairy King Emperor as an offering, in which to store his array of jewels. He had eagerly accepted the gift and dropped four large rubies into it from his store of jewels. As he turned to place some more jewels, two black cats with shining, sparkling ruby eyes had magically jumped out off the top hat and bounded away. The Fairy King Emperor had thrown the top hat away into the deepest ocean, in rage at his loss. All sorts of sea animals had passed by and visited the top hat and turned into a magnificent menagerie of underwater monsters. A small grain of sand had fallen into the hat and arose from the sea as a mighty mountain, carrying the hat aloft. Some explorers had left a fire burning on the island as they left and a cinder was carried by the breeze into the hat. The mountain had erupted into a gigantic volcano, Krakatoa and the top hat had been engulfed in flames to be destroyed forever.

Indeed, Maxwell and Skippy accumulated so much information (and much more) it was difficult to comprehend all that was said and make sense of the whole affair. Even still, they were able to understand that the hat was destroyed and now they should turn their search to the two ruby-eyed black cats instead.

“I fear that this is going to be the start of one enormous quest, exclaimed Maxwell with a sigh.

Skippy nodded in agreement and a crowd of babbling fairy voices added a chorus of “Agreed” in unison.

Chapter 8


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Maxwell and Skippy returned home later that day, to a friendly greeting of all of their pets. There were kestrels, rabbits, wolves and, of course, cats. One of the cats jumped up into Maxwell’s arms and it was then that Maxwell noticed the lack of a meow or friendly purr of welcome.

“Do you know what, Skippy?” exclaimed Maxwell. “The Vampire King has never purred once since we found him in the old ruins.”

“Come to mention it,” replied Skippy, “I think you’re right. I’ve never heard The Vampire Queen make a sound in all of these years either.”

Maxwell bent his head over the cat and rubbed the side of his face into its warm fur.

“Come closer, Skippy,” whispered Maxwell in a lowered voice to his brother. “Come closer and listen.”

The two elves placed the sides of their faces closer to The Vampire King. A silenced hush fell around them.

“If these are the King Emperor’s kittens,” exclaimed Maxwell, “there is no way I want to swap them for a pair of rubies, nor the combined treasures of all the fairies!”

“Agreed,” nodded Skippy. “We’ve had them for years and we are not going to lose them now.”

Maxwell lowered The Vampire King to the ground gently and coaxed the fur on the back of the silent cat. Skippy coaxed the Vampire Queen too and the two elves watched them both. The two cats looked up and returned their gaze and all four of them knew that all would be well.

Chapter 9


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The next few blissful days turned into weeks and then into months. Finally, alas, these months were to become years; for one human year equates to ten elven years and a year in the life of a cat may seem just a day in the minds of elves. After some 120 years, which seemed to be a few days less than four months to the young elves, the grey hairs became denser around the muzzles of The Vampire King and Queen and a blurry haze of cloudiness replaced the sparkle in their eyes. Both cats became more and more reluctant to leave the sanctuary of their baskets, to watch the setting of the sun below the distant horizon from the beach. But the two elves still loved them as much as they did when they first found them in the ruins, all those years before.

Each month, they would lovingly carry their beloved pets in a play-wagon, to the Stone Circle to watch their kestrels fly and to see the full moon rise between the plinths. Each night they would lovingly tuck them to sleep in their baskets at the foot of their beds. And, when they feared the end was soon approaching, they would lovingly nestle to sleep on their beds, taking turns to cradle The Vampire King and Queen within their folds, so that the cats might know the warmth of their bodies and be reassured by the sound of their heartbeats as they curled into a ball of slumber each night.

It was from one of these nights that the two elves awoke to find that The Vampire King and Queen were no more. In place of the two furry balls of greying dark fur rested four large rubies, still warm from the life that had resided there from the night before.

Maxwell and Skippy arose from their nighttime sleep and held each other’s hand reassuringly, looking down at the four ruby treasures that lay before them. There was no hint of sadness in their eyes - for how can you mourn a life that was wholly content and perfectly happy throughout. They looked at each other and smiled in unison, remembering the past 120 years with immense fondness: the watching of dancing butterflies in the balmy summer evenings; the first delicate footsteps in the early snows of winter; the faux hide-and-seek games in the fallen autumnal leaves and the countryside treks with their two kestrels. Then they picked the four rubies up, placed them on their bedside table and they walked outside to greet the first rays of the morning sun. High above them, twinkling a last farewell, shone the Morning Star in the breaking dawn sky. The two elves looked up to the skies and knew that their two beloved pets, The Vampire King and Queen, had returned at last to their final home within the Thousand.]]> <![CDATA[Buckthorn the CatFox]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28745 Fri, 31 Mar 2017 08:13:21 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=28745
One remarkable feature of the catfox is that each and every one of the species carries the inscription of a rainbow within the iris of its eye. It is said, at the time of the formation of the Great Rift (one shudders again) a slither of a rainbeam fragmented and fell to the earth with a crash. It was retrieved by a pair of catfoxes and delivered to the Lord Protectorate of the Elves. Legend has it that, since then, all subsequent offspring of this pair could be identified by the presence of a rainbeam etched within the iris of their eyes.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4270]

(You can find out more about Buckthorn, and how he came to rescue Leif the Elf, in a free to download eBook called 'Leif's Quest' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

.jpg  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 15.54.35.jpg (Size: 70.66 KB / Downloads: 52) ]]>
One remarkable feature of the catfox is that each and every one of the species carries the inscription of a rainbow within the iris of its eye. It is said, at the time of the formation of the Great Rift (one shudders again) a slither of a rainbeam fragmented and fell to the earth with a crash. It was retrieved by a pair of catfoxes and delivered to the Lord Protectorate of the Elves. Legend has it that, since then, all subsequent offspring of this pair could be identified by the presence of a rainbeam etched within the iris of their eyes.

[Image: attachment.php?aid=4270]

(You can find out more about Buckthorn, and how he came to rescue Leif the Elf, in a free to download eBook called 'Leif's Quest' by Maxwell Grantly available from Barnes & Noble, Blio, iBooks, Inktera, Kobo, Lulu and Smashwords. Sadly, the software at Amazon does not allow a zero pricing and so (if you use a Kindle) you may also download his stories – but at a very small charge. Simply type “Maxwell Grantly” into the search bar at any of these eight sites.)

.jpg  Screen Shot 2017-03-31 at 15.54.35.jpg (Size: 70.66 KB / Downloads: 52) ]]> <![CDATA[cat rescue videos and text stories of the cats]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=27728 Fri, 25 Nov 2016 21:22:32 -0800 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=27728
(11-25-2016 11:22 PM)deadlycreature1 Resident Wrote:  I found this sweet cat YouTube page the other day. It shows cats who are being rescued, and text story of the people who adopted them. it has pictures of the cats usually. I hope that you all enjoy the cat page. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnABUSuHZSy_guaYEbm_tvA/videos

good video of a boy with cancer saving the cat.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZmEFbkmEdg]]>
(11-25-2016 11:22 PM)deadlycreature1 Resident Wrote:  I found this sweet cat YouTube page the other day. It shows cats who are being rescued, and text story of the people who adopted them. it has pictures of the cats usually. I hope that you all enjoy the cat page. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnABUSuHZSy_guaYEbm_tvA/videos

good video of a boy with cancer saving the cat.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZmEFbkmEdg]]> <![CDATA[My new Kawaii kittens]]> https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=26911 Sat, 13 Aug 2016 02:42:10 -0700 https://kittycats.ws/forum/showthread.php?tid=26911
So now I have Rose an Ross my Kawaii kittens. I decided to put them in are bedroom in the house when i unpacked them because we keep all the mega cats out side in the yard. Which now we have a total of 9 megas.

After unpacking the new bundle of joy I set their range to 5 meters it perfectly fit the area of the bedroom and set their home in the middle of the bedroom. Everything seem fine. I log in one day come to the bedroom to hold them and found only Ross the male kitty in the bed room. I panic so I look ever were for Rose she was down stairs under the couch in the living room.

I felt this was odd but i pick her up an rez her back in the bed room reset home an range again. Held them for about five hours an log out. Day two the next day after walking the megas an playing ball with them out in the yard. I went to spend time with my Kawaii kitties. Rose was missing again so i had feeling to look down stairs under the couch. Yep there she was hidding under the couch again way out her range.

Now I do not have my cats on follow and i know i been told they can still wounder out there range. She have done this three times the third time she disapeared had to have her resent to me. But it seems we keep getting kitties that seem to break the rules of how they are program they seem to go were they want lol like a real cat.

So now we have lil jenny an rose that like to wounder off in the sims and do their own thing i think its kinda neat but scary at the same time because they have higher chance of getting lost.

Whats your thoughts about why they wounder off I know we been told that its normal an that there no way that jenny can tp her self but we have experience more then once lil jenny tp out of her range or tp to me when im on the other side of the sim out of her range. I been told it could be the follow feature but lil jenny not own by me she own by my lady and her follow is not on.

And now we have Rose who seems to have the same personality as lil jenny.]]>
So now I have Rose an Ross my Kawaii kittens. I decided to put them in are bedroom in the house when i unpacked them because we keep all the mega cats out side in the yard. Which now we have a total of 9 megas.

After unpacking the new bundle of joy I set their range to 5 meters it perfectly fit the area of the bedroom and set their home in the middle of the bedroom. Everything seem fine. I log in one day come to the bedroom to hold them and found only Ross the male kitty in the bed room. I panic so I look ever were for Rose she was down stairs under the couch in the living room.

I felt this was odd but i pick her up an rez her back in the bed room reset home an range again. Held them for about five hours an log out. Day two the next day after walking the megas an playing ball with them out in the yard. I went to spend time with my Kawaii kitties. Rose was missing again so i had feeling to look down stairs under the couch. Yep there she was hidding under the couch again way out her range.

Now I do not have my cats on follow and i know i been told they can still wounder out there range. She have done this three times the third time she disapeared had to have her resent to me. But it seems we keep getting kitties that seem to break the rules of how they are program they seem to go were they want lol like a real cat.

So now we have lil jenny an rose that like to wounder off in the sims and do their own thing i think its kinda neat but scary at the same time because they have higher chance of getting lost.

Whats your thoughts about why they wounder off I know we been told that its normal an that there no way that jenny can tp her self but we have experience more then once lil jenny tp out of her range or tp to me when im on the other side of the sim out of her range. I been told it could be the follow feature but lil jenny not own by me she own by my lady and her follow is not on.

And now we have Rose who seems to have the same personality as lil jenny.]]>