WEEK THREE
Fat Cat who'd been hoping it was the old lady making a rather melodramatic entrance, was disappointed but not particularly surprised to see that it was Puck. Puck always turned up just when he was at his lowest ebb.
"And what" asked Puck, gazing around the room in what Fat Cat thought was a rather supercilious manner "might be the cause of that? No Evil Sorcerers hiding under the table or dragons tucked behind the curtains here as far as I can see."
Fat Cat who'd searched for the old lady in all those places knew that was true.
"So." said Puck, "the old lady has gone. Well that was only to be expected."
"Not by me." Fat Cat said.
Puck gave him a searching look. "I suppose you just expected her to stay here cooking and cleaning and washing and mending, looking after the garden and, more to the point, you."
Put like that, Fat realized it was exactly what he had expected.
"Hmm." Puck said, "I suppose you thought you were some kind of pet."
Despite all the thoughts he had been having that one hadn't entered Fat Cat's mind.
However, now that Puck had put it there it gave him a rather uncomfortable feeling. It wasn't so long since he'd given up his life with Ollie and Tash and Maia in the other world, for him to forget what being a pet animal was like and now he saw that was exactly how he'd been behaving taking for granted the fact that there was always food on the table, a safe garden to laze about in when it was hot and a comfortable fire to doze in front of when it was cold. And really he shouldn't have needed Puck to point it out to him. The chubby looking cat who' d stared back at him when he'd had a quick peep into the magic mirror to see if it could tell him where the old lady had gone, had looked nothing like the sleekly muscled figure, wearing the green hat and the raven's feather, who'd returned with the old lady to Faerie-land but he'd recognised it all the same.
"Well it's easily done." said Puck, "Far easier to go backwards and revert to what you know than to move forwards into the unknown."
A bell rang in Fat Cat's mind. The old lady had said more or less the same thing.
"Then that no doubt is where she has gone." said Puck. "and where you will no doubt find her."
It made sense Fat Cat thought, in the strange way things did in this world. And in any case, he didn't really think he had any choice in the matter. There was no warm fire to sit in front of and nothing - apart from a pumpkin which he'd only just noticed- that looked anything like food, on the scrubbed wood table.
Fat Cat's heart sank. And to make matters worse, the steady drip which had accompanied Puck's entrance was getting louder and more persistent. Fat Cat hated rain. He hated the way it reminded him of the night Ollie threw him out - the start of all his adventures. He had a horrible feeling this was going to turn out to be another one and he wasn't at all sure he was ready for it.
"If you wait 'til your ready for it." said Puck, "You'll never be ready."
Fat Cat knew that was true. "I suppose you wouldn't like to come with me." he said.
Puck nodded. "You suppose right." He said, and in a sudden blur of hair and wings he was gone.
Fat Cat stared at the window ledge. Perhaps Puck hadn't been there at all. Perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination brought on by hunger and lack of food. But Fat Cat knew it wasn't. It never was. And actually, he was beginning to doubt he had an imagination. The things he'd seen and things that had happened to him were beyond the wildest possible imaginings of any cat.
Reluctantly Fat Cat padded over to the back door, where, next to the old lady's long grey cloak, on a peg just the right height for a cat to reach, a green hat with a raven's feather and a velvet cloak hung. Fat Cat put the hat on his head and slung the cloak around his shoulders. Something heavy banged against his left knee. Fat Cat put his paw into the pocket and pulled it out. He recognized it immediately. It was the faerie stone. One of the many magical things he'd treated so carelessly and lost so easily. He couldn't think how it had got there. It must be magic he thought.
The thought was comforting. It was a sign not only that the old lady must have been thinking about him - for if he didn't know where it had come from he knew without a shadow of doubt who it had - but also that she intended for him to set out on this journey. Fat Cat was about to do just that when he realised there was a problem. The back door was shut and the handle was too high up for him to reach. Fat Cat paused. Perhaps that was a sign too. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to go. Perhaps he was supposed to stay here and wait for the old lady to return. But when he saw the trickle of rain running down the wall beneath the open window Fat Cat knew that it wasn't
Pushing his hat firmly down over his eyes and clutching the cloak tightly together with his teeth, Fat Cat leapt onto the window ledge and jumped.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Monday, 19 October 2009
Week Two
Long into the night the old lady and Fat Cat sat, by the dying embers of the fire, discussing the things they had seen in the magic mirror. The veil between the worlds grew thinner at this time of year, the old lady said, which was why they could see the other world so clearly. Why the mirror had chosen to show them this particular part of it she didn't know. The mirror simply showed what it wantd you to see and it was up to you to work out what it meant - it was always a problem with visions," she added.
Fat Cat could see that it was. He had, he realized, seen the magic mirror as a kind of television screen. Now he saw it was more like a puzzle.
The old lady nodded approvingly. "And it is up to us to join the pieces." she said. "Hopefully, together we will be able to do so - two heads are always better than one.
Fat Cat wasn't sure that they were. Inside his head, which had been so filled with thoughts, there now seemed to be nothing but a big blank. And yet, maybe that wasn't altogether true. He remembered how his ears had pricked up when the old lady had pointed out the froth of white blossoms amongst the red berries of the hawthorn.
"You are right," the old lady said, "the mirror confirms what we had both noticed. However, what is more it shows us that not only are the flowers blooming out of season here in Faerie-land but that the same thing is happening in the other world also. It is a sign that the worlds are growing closer again - and for that," she said, almost to herself, "we have probably only ourselves to blame."
Fat Cat didn't think he did - but he could see how the old lady might. He knew just how magical and powerful she was.
The old lady looked at him sharply. "Do not underestimate yourself." she said. "The slightest thing - a flutter of a butterfly's wing or a drop of rain falling into the ocean - can affect the whole. How much greater then, the possible effects of a cat setting off into Faerie-land - or the faeries deciding to swap one of their children for the first time in goodness knows how many years, come to that. I suppose you hadn't thought of that."
At the time,Fat Cat knew he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking about anything very much - apart from the empty feeling in his tummy. And he didn't think Fey had been thinking about anything but herself either. But he had, he realized had a faint glimmer of it on the day he had all those very confusing and uncomfortable thoughts about what might have happened if he hadn't done any of the things he had.
The old lady nodded. "But do them you did. There's no going back as you should have learnt by now."
Fat Cat might not have learnt much - and the longer he spent here, the more he realized how little he did know - but he had learnt that.
"Then the only way to go is forwards." the old lady said. "It may be that the changes you have wrought in both worlds are for the better, only time will tell. But in the meantime - and that is the time we are now in - it would appear that we still have a part to play." And stroking Fat Cat gently on the head, she got up and busied herself at the stove.
Fat Cat watched, as into a pan of simmering milk, she added pinches of herbs and a generous dollop of honey. He sniffed appreciatively as she handed him a steaming mug but he hesitated before sticking his pink tongue into it. Underlying the creaminess of the milk, the sweetness of the honey and a faint, pleasant, lemony, kind of smell was a hint of bitterness.
The old lady took a long draught of her own drink. "Drink up." she said, "It will do you no harm. It contains honey and chamomile for things often appear clearer after a good nights rest and these things will help you sleep."
"And?" said Fat Cat, knowing there was more.
"Mugwort - for prophetic dreams," said the old lady, as she drained her cup, "For we need all the help we can get."
Fat Cat spent a restless night tossing and turning. It was hard to tell when he was awake and when he was asleep. In fact, it was only when he finally woke that he realized he'd been asleep at all. When he was asleep he'd dreamt of Bethany. Dressed in her green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, standing on the beach in that other world, before they set off to face the dragon. And when he was awake, he thought of Bethany. Dressed in a green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, walking past a small tree, growing from a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.
"Fat lot of use that was then." he thought, as he remembered lapping up the strange tasting drink. He definitely didn't feel rested and the dreams hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. He wondered if the old lady had had any better luck but when he padded down the stairs and into the kitchen she was nowhere to be seen. Fat Cat searched all the places she was likely to be found - the garden and her bedroom and the spare room where she kept her magical tools and her garden spade - but she wasn't there. Then he searched in other less likely places - under the bed and at the back of a dark cupboard full of paper bags and old jam jars - but she wasn't there either. It was only when he found himself peering rather despondently into the empty grey robe that hung on the back of the kitchen door, that he finally gave up and was forced to admit to himself that she had disappeared.
Fat Cat felt a sinking feeling in his tummy. It wasn't the first time it had happened. When he first knew her she seemed to make a habit of it. Disappearing and leaving him on his own, just when he needed her help most. It was most unfair he thought. It was the old lady who'd asked him to come to Faerie-land. He hadn't asked to come. And now she'd gone off and left him on his own, without a "Goodbye" or a "See you later" or even a note to say his dinner was on the stove - which was all the more worrying, when he suddenly realized that not only was the old lady missing, but so too were the delicious smells which always filled the kitchen.
Fat Cat sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his paws. Which was where he was, when the window blew open and a small figure appeared on the window ledge.
Fat Cat could see that it was. He had, he realized, seen the magic mirror as a kind of television screen. Now he saw it was more like a puzzle.
The old lady nodded approvingly. "And it is up to us to join the pieces." she said. "Hopefully, together we will be able to do so - two heads are always better than one.
Fat Cat wasn't sure that they were. Inside his head, which had been so filled with thoughts, there now seemed to be nothing but a big blank. And yet, maybe that wasn't altogether true. He remembered how his ears had pricked up when the old lady had pointed out the froth of white blossoms amongst the red berries of the hawthorn.
"You are right," the old lady said, "the mirror confirms what we had both noticed. However, what is more it shows us that not only are the flowers blooming out of season here in Faerie-land but that the same thing is happening in the other world also. It is a sign that the worlds are growing closer again - and for that," she said, almost to herself, "we have probably only ourselves to blame."
Fat Cat didn't think he did - but he could see how the old lady might. He knew just how magical and powerful she was.
The old lady looked at him sharply. "Do not underestimate yourself." she said. "The slightest thing - a flutter of a butterfly's wing or a drop of rain falling into the ocean - can affect the whole. How much greater then, the possible effects of a cat setting off into Faerie-land - or the faeries deciding to swap one of their children for the first time in goodness knows how many years, come to that. I suppose you hadn't thought of that."
At the time,Fat Cat knew he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking about anything very much - apart from the empty feeling in his tummy. And he didn't think Fey had been thinking about anything but herself either. But he had, he realized had a faint glimmer of it on the day he had all those very confusing and uncomfortable thoughts about what might have happened if he hadn't done any of the things he had.
The old lady nodded. "But do them you did. There's no going back as you should have learnt by now."
Fat Cat might not have learnt much - and the longer he spent here, the more he realized how little he did know - but he had learnt that.
"Then the only way to go is forwards." the old lady said. "It may be that the changes you have wrought in both worlds are for the better, only time will tell. But in the meantime - and that is the time we are now in - it would appear that we still have a part to play." And stroking Fat Cat gently on the head, she got up and busied herself at the stove.
Fat Cat watched, as into a pan of simmering milk, she added pinches of herbs and a generous dollop of honey. He sniffed appreciatively as she handed him a steaming mug but he hesitated before sticking his pink tongue into it. Underlying the creaminess of the milk, the sweetness of the honey and a faint, pleasant, lemony, kind of smell was a hint of bitterness.
The old lady took a long draught of her own drink. "Drink up." she said, "It will do you no harm. It contains honey and chamomile for things often appear clearer after a good nights rest and these things will help you sleep."
"And?" said Fat Cat, knowing there was more.
"Mugwort - for prophetic dreams," said the old lady, as she drained her cup, "For we need all the help we can get."
Fat Cat spent a restless night tossing and turning. It was hard to tell when he was awake and when he was asleep. In fact, it was only when he finally woke that he realized he'd been asleep at all. When he was asleep he'd dreamt of Bethany. Dressed in her green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, standing on the beach in that other world, before they set off to face the dragon. And when he was awake, he thought of Bethany. Dressed in a green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, walking past a small tree, growing from a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.
"Fat lot of use that was then." he thought, as he remembered lapping up the strange tasting drink. He definitely didn't feel rested and the dreams hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. He wondered if the old lady had had any better luck but when he padded down the stairs and into the kitchen she was nowhere to be seen. Fat Cat searched all the places she was likely to be found - the garden and her bedroom and the spare room where she kept her magical tools and her garden spade - but she wasn't there. Then he searched in other less likely places - under the bed and at the back of a dark cupboard full of paper bags and old jam jars - but she wasn't there either. It was only when he found himself peering rather despondently into the empty grey robe that hung on the back of the kitchen door, that he finally gave up and was forced to admit to himself that she had disappeared.
Fat Cat felt a sinking feeling in his tummy. It wasn't the first time it had happened. When he first knew her she seemed to make a habit of it. Disappearing and leaving him on his own, just when he needed her help most. It was most unfair he thought. It was the old lady who'd asked him to come to Faerie-land. He hadn't asked to come. And now she'd gone off and left him on his own, without a "Goodbye" or a "See you later" or even a note to say his dinner was on the stove - which was all the more worrying, when he suddenly realized that not only was the old lady missing, but so too were the delicious smells which always filled the kitchen.
Fat Cat sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his paws. Which was where he was, when the window blew open and a small figure appeared on the window ledge.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
THE BLOOD MOON
Light streaming through the kitchen window woke Fat Cat early. He jumped up onto the window ledge and looked out. It was another bright sunshiny day. Fat Cat surveyed the scene. A round yellow sun shone in a clear blue sky directly above the old lady's rose bushes. What was more surprising, however, was that at the opposite end of the garden, directly above the rosemary bush, a pale silvery moon also shone. Fat Cat didn't know if it was day or night. All the things he had always taken for granted seemed to be getting muddled up together - first of all the summer flowers growing as the leaves fell - and now this. Fat Cat decided to ask the old lady what was going on, she always seemed to know the answer to tricky questions.
He found her at the top of the stairs, gazing intently into a dark mirror and as she turned to face him he saw that the expression on her face was as puzzled as he knew his own must be. Fat Cat had never noticed the mirror before. Maybe, he thought, there were lots of things he'd never noticed before and the sun and moon both shining at the same time was just another of them.
"As regards the moon and sun," the old lady said, "you are right. The moon reflects the sun's rays, it does not shine of itself. At this time of year when the earth is growing closer to the sun, the angle at which the sun's rays hit means that more of the moon's surface is visible to us for a longer period of time. The fact that you have noticed this now, is a sign that you are growing more observant - which is a good thing. However, the other things that you have noticed are possibly not and I myself have no idea as to why they are happening now.
And turning back to the mirror she peered once more into it.
Fat Cat stood on tiptoe and looked over the old lady's shoulder. Framed liked a picture in the silver mirror, he saw a small tree growing on a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.
"It is a hawthorn." said the old lady. "A common hawthorn or monogyna praecox to give it its latin name - and I don't see why we shouldn't" she added almost to herself, "for there is nothing common about this tree. It is a magical tree that grows in a magical place, a place once surrounded by water and mists and known as the ancient Isle of Avalon. Many are the myths and legends that surround this place but it is only this one that concerns us for now."
And as a far away look came into her eyes, the old lady began her tale.
The legend of the Glastonbury thorn
Many, many years ago, so the story tells a traveller arrived on the shores of Avalon. His name was Joseph of Arimethea and it is said that he was the uncle of Jesus and that the staff that he carried once belonged to Christ himself. His journey had been long and after climbing Wearyall Hill, he lay down to rest, striking his staff into the soft ground to be ready when he awoke.
The staff sprouted and grew into a beautiful tree with beautiful blossoms. But this was not the last of its wonders for not only did it bloom in springtime but also on Christmas Day, the birthday of Christ.
Fat Cat pricked up his ears. There was something familiar about this story of flowers blooming at the wrong time.
The old lady nodded and carried on with her story.
"The place where the thorn grew became the site of a great Abbey and as news of the miraculous blossoming of the thorn spread, many came on pilgrimages to visit it. However, a time of trouble fell upon the land. There was a great war with families fighting one against the other and at this time, the tree was destroyed. But this was not the end of it. For secretly cuttings had been taken from it and it is said that the tree which we now see before us grew from a cutting of one of these plants."
The old lady's voice faded away. Fat Cat had enjoyed listening to the story. There was something about the place that she was describing that rang a kind of bell in his mind - a faint memory of damp mists and the scent of apples - but he couldn't see why she was telling it to him now. It was the kind of story that might have been better saved for later, he thought, a Christmas tale to be told around the fire on Christmas Day.
The old lady nodded. "And that is the whole point." she said. "Look closely into the mirror and tell me what you see."
Fat Cat looked closer. And now he saw. For amongst the red haws on the bare branches of the tree was a froth of delicate white flowers.
"And it is not yet Samhain." the old lady said. "Strange enough that the tree should flower when it does. Yet to flower now is strange beyond strange.
And Fat Cat thought that it was. However, as he glanced once more into the magic mirror, something even stranger caught his eye. Walking past the tree was a girl. She had her back to him but the tangle of red curls that hung over her shoulder and her confident stride - not to mention the green cloak she wore slung over her shoulder and the sun-bleached staff she held in her left hand - made her unmistakable. No Fat Cat had no doubt about who it was. He just wondered what she was doing there.
He found her at the top of the stairs, gazing intently into a dark mirror and as she turned to face him he saw that the expression on her face was as puzzled as he knew his own must be. Fat Cat had never noticed the mirror before. Maybe, he thought, there were lots of things he'd never noticed before and the sun and moon both shining at the same time was just another of them.
"As regards the moon and sun," the old lady said, "you are right. The moon reflects the sun's rays, it does not shine of itself. At this time of year when the earth is growing closer to the sun, the angle at which the sun's rays hit means that more of the moon's surface is visible to us for a longer period of time. The fact that you have noticed this now, is a sign that you are growing more observant - which is a good thing. However, the other things that you have noticed are possibly not and I myself have no idea as to why they are happening now.
And turning back to the mirror she peered once more into it.
Fat Cat stood on tiptoe and looked over the old lady's shoulder. Framed liked a picture in the silver mirror, he saw a small tree growing on a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.
"It is a hawthorn." said the old lady. "A common hawthorn or monogyna praecox to give it its latin name - and I don't see why we shouldn't" she added almost to herself, "for there is nothing common about this tree. It is a magical tree that grows in a magical place, a place once surrounded by water and mists and known as the ancient Isle of Avalon. Many are the myths and legends that surround this place but it is only this one that concerns us for now."
And as a far away look came into her eyes, the old lady began her tale.
The legend of the Glastonbury thorn
Many, many years ago, so the story tells a traveller arrived on the shores of Avalon. His name was Joseph of Arimethea and it is said that he was the uncle of Jesus and that the staff that he carried once belonged to Christ himself. His journey had been long and after climbing Wearyall Hill, he lay down to rest, striking his staff into the soft ground to be ready when he awoke.
The staff sprouted and grew into a beautiful tree with beautiful blossoms. But this was not the last of its wonders for not only did it bloom in springtime but also on Christmas Day, the birthday of Christ.
Fat Cat pricked up his ears. There was something familiar about this story of flowers blooming at the wrong time.
The old lady nodded and carried on with her story.
"The place where the thorn grew became the site of a great Abbey and as news of the miraculous blossoming of the thorn spread, many came on pilgrimages to visit it. However, a time of trouble fell upon the land. There was a great war with families fighting one against the other and at this time, the tree was destroyed. But this was not the end of it. For secretly cuttings had been taken from it and it is said that the tree which we now see before us grew from a cutting of one of these plants."
The old lady's voice faded away. Fat Cat had enjoyed listening to the story. There was something about the place that she was describing that rang a kind of bell in his mind - a faint memory of damp mists and the scent of apples - but he couldn't see why she was telling it to him now. It was the kind of story that might have been better saved for later, he thought, a Christmas tale to be told around the fire on Christmas Day.
The old lady nodded. "And that is the whole point." she said. "Look closely into the mirror and tell me what you see."
Fat Cat looked closer. And now he saw. For amongst the red haws on the bare branches of the tree was a froth of delicate white flowers.
"And it is not yet Samhain." the old lady said. "Strange enough that the tree should flower when it does. Yet to flower now is strange beyond strange.
And Fat Cat thought that it was. However, as he glanced once more into the magic mirror, something even stranger caught his eye. Walking past the tree was a girl. She had her back to him but the tangle of red curls that hung over her shoulder and her confident stride - not to mention the green cloak she wore slung over her shoulder and the sun-bleached staff she held in her left hand - made her unmistakable. No Fat Cat had no doubt about who it was. He just wondered what she was doing there.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
The month was coming to an end, the moon waxing bright in the sky, and instead of getting colder it was getting warmer. Fat Cat was confused. He'd been preparing for winter and now it felt like summer - and he wasn't the only one. It was Michaelmas Day and in the old lady's garden clumps of purple michaelmas daisies and red flowered clover bloomed together. Sweetly scented flowers grew amongst the bright red berries on the honeysuckle. Butterflies fluttered in the warm air. And a new crop of roses had appeared on the rose bushes. Scents of autumn and summer mingled together - the woody scent of the dead leaves under the trees mixing with the scent of grass and flowers in hot sun.
It was the kind of day that made you glad to be alive. The kind of day that made your whiskers tingle and your paws itch. So when the faint sound of music drifted on the breeze towards him, it felt only right for Fat Cat to follow where it was leading.
He hadn't gone far along the path that led from the old lady's garden towards the wild wood before he realized he wasn't the only one. In the blue sky above he saw the white horse, an assortment of passengers on his broad back, heading in the same direction. Before long he caught up with a group of faeries - dressed in their finery - hair glittering, wings sparkling and dresses floating in a rainbow cloud around them. Fat Cat gave himself a quick lick and brush up and followed behind. A cart, drawn by faerie horses and driven by pixies, laden with hempen bags, passed them by. A tired looking faerie woman, excited children clutching her skirts, popped out from under an elderberry bush. And always the music grew louder. Until the path wound down towards a grassy hollow, set out with brightly coloured tents and stalls.
Enticing smells filled the air. On a small stage the faerie fiddlers played. Stall holders cried their wares. Fat Cat didn't know where to look first. Everything he had ever dreamed of eating was there. Pictures of things he'd never dreamed of seeing were there. Jewellery, carved from gold and silver and set with precious stones. Fat Cat wandered around breathing in the sights and sounds. It would be nice to buy the old lady a gift, he thought. She'd been good to him and she worked hard. But what to choose.
It took him a long time. The old lady grew her own vegetables. Cooked the most delicious meals, Made potions from the herbs she grew in her garden. Wore only her warm grey cloak and her green gown. But when Fat Cat came across a tall man sitting on a stool, whittling a piece of wood with a bone handled knife, he knew he had found what he was looking for. In front of his eyes the wood was changing shape - a small face with whiskers, pointy ears and a slightly bemused expression emerging from it, swiftly followed by a body (slightly on the chubby side if Fat Cat was completely honest) four long legs and a proudly erect tail. It looked exactly like him when he first set off into Faerie-land and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the old lady would like that best of all.
The moon was full in the sky when Fat Cat made his weary way home. He'd danced to the faerie pipers. Ate his full of the delicious food. Found new friends and new ideas. Now he was ready to go home and share it all with the old lady - and give her the gift which hung in a soft pink pouch around his neck.
It was the kind of day that made you glad to be alive. The kind of day that made your whiskers tingle and your paws itch. So when the faint sound of music drifted on the breeze towards him, it felt only right for Fat Cat to follow where it was leading.
He hadn't gone far along the path that led from the old lady's garden towards the wild wood before he realized he wasn't the only one. In the blue sky above he saw the white horse, an assortment of passengers on his broad back, heading in the same direction. Before long he caught up with a group of faeries - dressed in their finery - hair glittering, wings sparkling and dresses floating in a rainbow cloud around them. Fat Cat gave himself a quick lick and brush up and followed behind. A cart, drawn by faerie horses and driven by pixies, laden with hempen bags, passed them by. A tired looking faerie woman, excited children clutching her skirts, popped out from under an elderberry bush. And always the music grew louder. Until the path wound down towards a grassy hollow, set out with brightly coloured tents and stalls.
Enticing smells filled the air. On a small stage the faerie fiddlers played. Stall holders cried their wares. Fat Cat didn't know where to look first. Everything he had ever dreamed of eating was there. Pictures of things he'd never dreamed of seeing were there. Jewellery, carved from gold and silver and set with precious stones. Fat Cat wandered around breathing in the sights and sounds. It would be nice to buy the old lady a gift, he thought. She'd been good to him and she worked hard. But what to choose.
It took him a long time. The old lady grew her own vegetables. Cooked the most delicious meals, Made potions from the herbs she grew in her garden. Wore only her warm grey cloak and her green gown. But when Fat Cat came across a tall man sitting on a stool, whittling a piece of wood with a bone handled knife, he knew he had found what he was looking for. In front of his eyes the wood was changing shape - a small face with whiskers, pointy ears and a slightly bemused expression emerging from it, swiftly followed by a body (slightly on the chubby side if Fat Cat was completely honest) four long legs and a proudly erect tail. It looked exactly like him when he first set off into Faerie-land and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the old lady would like that best of all.
The moon was full in the sky when Fat Cat made his weary way home. He'd danced to the faerie pipers. Ate his full of the delicious food. Found new friends and new ideas. Now he was ready to go home and share it all with the old lady - and give her the gift which hung in a soft pink pouch around his neck.
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