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.