Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

(14) -Ribbons For Three-

On the morning of Abby's thirteenth birthday, she found herself curled up under her covers, wishing she could sneak away to the grove and spend her day cloud-spotting and daydreaming. The many clamors and clanks and muffled swears that wafted up through the vent of her room, however, were quick to dash that wish.

Today would be filled with the tortures and horrors that came with a fancy to-do. There would be bathing and soaking until Abby looked like a dried up fig. She'd be slathered and spritzed with so many floral-scented lotions and perfumes that Abby would smell more like a garden than an actual garden.

Afterwards, she'd be laced into a corset so uncomfortable her own organs would rearrange themselves just to have some room. Finally, by the time Abby would be ready to pull out her own hair, rip off her dress, and turn feral, the actual party would commence and she would have to face a whole new set of tortures head-on.

Grimacing, Abby poked her head out from under her covers and found a dozing Lucy curled up on her pillow.

At least I'll have someone, she thought. And food. Thank the gods for that. 

"So," Abby said as she pinched the tip of Lucy's tail, coercing the sleeping cat to open his eyes. "You think they'll notice if I skipped my own party?" 

They most certainly would, Lucy meowed. Your kind may have poor eyesight, but it's not that poor.

Abby rolled her eyes and released a soft scream into her pillow. "Maybe I'll put a blonde wig on one of Mrs. Seviers' scarecrows," she said as she turned over, the painted forests of Royal Back greeting her."Use that ratty old thing as my stand-in. What do you think?"

Lucy took a moment and eyed his companion incredulously. They'd notice something amiss. The scarecrow would do no talking. And a no-talking you? Why I couldn't fathom such a thing.

Getting up, Lucy jumped onto Abby's chest and tapped her forehead with his own. His cat gesture, breaking the boundaries of their species, conveyed a message even Abby could understand: You'll be fine.

Abby smiled and ran a hand over Lucy's head, delighting in the way his purr grew loud like a little motor.

Even though Abby continued to satisfy the cat's desire for rub, her attention had been drawn to behind him, to the stone that lay on her bedside table. Ever since the ride home from Laos, it had stopped its song. The warm surface had cooled. It was almost as if its magick had fled and it'd become like the thousands of other stones found on the shores of Laos. Abby wondered why. Was it waiting for something to rouse it back to life?

It doesn't matter, she thought as she sat up. "Today I have bigger fish to fry and since I'm a year older, I'll start handling those fish like an older me."

You speak of fish, love, yet I see none. Do not cry fish to a cat. It's quite rude, Lucy meowed as he kneaded the bed's sheets under his paws.

Abby gave the cat one last pat before getting up and moving toward her balcony. Before she had a chance to open her curtains, a blur of disheveled brown locks, wrinkles and lumps whirred past her. Scabbed, sausage fingers flung the curtains wide without care, and flooded the room with the morning sun. 

"Morning, Miss!" Margo squeaked as she scuttled toward Abby's closet. "Happy birthday!"

Squinting from the room's sudden shift from dark to light, Abby watched the frantic maid plucking dresses from her closet and throwing them onto the bed. One dress, a gaudy gold chiffon, landed squarely on Lucy's head.