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Misty was two monthsold when she first spoke. She was in her makeshift bed beneath mine, blinking with sleepy eyes when I awoke her. I wanted to show her the new toy I had made—a handful of gray-blue pigeon feathers tied to one of my hair ribbons.
“Look Misty,” I said, dangling the contraption over my feet. “I brought you something to play with.”
My stockings were torn and dirty from scouring the garden for the nicest feathers, but luckily Mother was out. She would punish me if she saw them.
Your mother does not sound very nice,my kitten mewed.
I started, scrambling to the floor. “You’re speaking!Andyou can hear my thoughts,” I beamed as Misty meandered to my lap. “I thought it would take another week at least.”
Animals were very much like people. They said nothing decipherable until a certain age, but they were much faster learners.
Misty pawed at the feathers.Like I said, your mother doesn’t sound very nice.
I pouted. I needed to convince Mother to let me keep Misty as a proper house cat. That would only work if Misty was exceptionally well-behaved. And if she liked Mother.
“Of course she’s nice,” I said, stringing the feathers across the floor. Misty pounced. “She just wants me to be the best. That’s all.”
Misty gnawed on the feathers and spit them out. I couldn’t help but giggle at how silly she looked. I couldn’t imagine why the crown prince thought dusty old books were more interesting than kittens.
That doesn’t sound fun,Misty meowed, rolling onto her back. I rubbed her soft underbelly, moving the feathers aside. The movement only made her jump back onto her feet and fly at them at full speed.
I watched her wrestle with the toy for a minute until she tore it apart. The pigeon feathers were in shreds, the scarlet ribbon frayed. I frowned and tucked the mangled toy behind my back.
“Not everything is about fun,” I said in my best disciplinary voice I had adopted from Mother.
Misty tilted her head.It isn’t?
“No, it is not. We will have to behave occasionally too,” I said. I peered under my bed frame, wrinkling my nose at the smell wafting from Misty’s burrow. “Let’s start with house training.”
***
ITURNED THE KNOB TOmy room in the opera house, now cleared of everything besides Misty and Pippin who were both fast asleep on the mattress. Weak daylight streamed in through the balcony.
It had rained again last night, droplets drenching the streets and pitter pattering against the window in a comforting hum as I slept. We planned to leave at noon, as everyone had retired late.
I didn’t have a chance to try my magic again. The third floor of the opera was considerably vacant pest-wise, and the cats were already asleep by the time I went upstairs. They looked too precious to wake, as they did now.
Misty was curled against Pippin, both of them shaped like two furry crescent moons. I ran my fingers over Misty’s side, surprised at the weight she had put on the last time I had studied her.
She shifted.Morning already?
