The Vulpix who went to Heaven
By Mew3692002
Disclaimer: I do not OWN any of the Pokemon, but I do own these off-shoots of Pokemon that I made and my other OCs, or the original idea for the story of "The Cat who went to Heaven" by Elizabeth Coatsworth. I don't even own the copyright for the book by Scholastic Inc. and the Macmillan Company. So you can't sue me! Although you should really read the actual book!
I wanted to write this for so long, so I hope you enjoy it!
Once upon a time, far away in Kanto, a poor young artist sat alone in his little house, waiting for his housekeeper who went to the store to come back, and he sat sighing to think of all the things that she would bring back. This artist was very poor but also young enough so that he did suffer the effects of old age, his hair was yellow and he was more of a normal height (5 ft. 7). He dressed in clothes that were once nice blue robes, but from constant use turned into rags that just hung onto his body. His face was dirty from having to sit on the floor because he had no table in which to do his artistry.
He expected her to hurry in at any minute, arriving through the door and showing him what food she had brought with the last amount of money he had. He heard her step in and jumped up. He was very hungry! But the housekeeper just stood by the door, and the basket she usually put the food in stayed shut. "Come," he ordered, "what is in the basket?" The housekeeper shivered and held onto the basket tight in her arms. "It seems that we are very lonely in this house."
Her aged face looked humble and downcast. "Lonely!" said the artist. "I should think so! How can we have guests of any sort when we have nothing to offer them? It is so long since I have tasted any sweets that I have forgotten what they taste like!" And he sighed again, for he loved chocolate, cakes, and little cupcakes filled with jelly beans.
He loved tea served in expensive china cups, among friends, seated on the low seats he called his chairs, talking about the many types of Pokemon that inhabit the area around his house. But weeks and weeks had gone by since anyone had bought even the smallest painting. The poor artist was glad enough to have rice and some sort of Magikarp now and then. If he did not sell another picture soon, he would not have even that.
His eyes went back to the basket. Perhaps the old woman had managed to pick up a turnip or two, or even an apple, too ripe to haggle over. "Sir," said the housekeeper, seeing the direction of his look, "it has often seemed like I was kept awake by Rattata." At that the artist laughed out loud. "Rattata?" he repeated. "Rattata? My dear housekeeper, no Rattata come to such a poor house such as this, one where the smallest crumb is yet to be found."
Then he looked at the housekeeper and a look of suspicion crossed his dirty face. "You have brought us home nothing to eat!" he said. "Yes," said the housekeeper sorrowfully. "You have brought home a Meowth!" answered the artist. "No, I could not afford a Meowth, but I could afford a Vulpix." answered the housekeeper.
Then the artist jumped onto his feet, and strode up and down the room continuously, pulling his hair, and looked as if he would die of hunger and anger. "A Vulpix? A Vulpix?" he cried. "Have you lost your mind? Here we are starving and you must bring home a little fox demon, a demon to share what little we have, and perhaps to suck our blood at night? Yes! It will be just darling to wake up in the dark and feel little teeth at our throats and look into the eyes as big as lanterns! But maybe your are right! Maybe we are so miserable it would be a good thing to have us die at once, and be carried into the jaws of a demon!" "But master, master, there are many good Vulpix's too!" cried the old woman.
"Have you forgotten the little boy who drew all the pictures of Vulpix on the doors of the deserted temple and then went to sleep in his bed and heard a racket in the middle of the night? And when it was morning, he found a giant Rattata lying dead in front of him, the Rattata that attempted to kill him! Who destroyed the Rattata master, tell me that? It was his own Vulpix, there they sat on the doors as he drew them, but there was blood on their claws and muzzles! And he became a great artist like yourself. Surely, there are many good Vulpix out there!" Then the old woman began to cry. The artist stopped and looked on as her tears fell like shimmering diamonds from her bright brown eyes and ran down the wrinkles on her cheeks. Why should he be angry? He had gone hungry before.
"Well, well," he said, "sometimes it is good fortune to have even a devil in the household. It keeps other demons away. How I suppose this Vulpix of yours will wish to eat. Maybe it can be arranged for us to have some Poke chow in the house. Who knows? We can't be any worse than we are now." "There is not a more tender heart in the whole town than my master's," she said, and prepared to carry the covered basket into the kitchen. But the artist stopped her. Like all artists he was curious.
"Let us see this creature," he said, pretending he scarcely cared whether he saw it or not. So the old woman put down the basket and opened the lid. Nothing seemed to happen for the moment. Then a round, pretty, red head came slowly above the bamboo, and two big brown eyes looked around the room, and little black paws appeared above the rim.
Suddenly, without moving the basket at all, a little red Vulpix jumped out on the floor, and stood there as a person might who didn't know if they were welcome. Now that the Vulpix was out of the basket, the artist saw that she had six huge curled tails that were bright red as well its curled fur on the top of her head. Her fur was very smooth and luxurious as well and its eyes seemed to shed an air of innocence. "Oh, a six-tailed Vulpix," said the artist. "Why didn't you say so from the beginning? They are very lucky Pokemon, I understand. As soon as the Vulpix heard him speak so kindly, she walked over to him and bowed down on her head as though she was saluting him, while the old woman was overjoyed.
The artist forgot he was hungry. He had seen nothing so lovely as their Vulpix for a long time. "She will have to have a name," he declared, sitting down again on the floor while the cat stood sedately before him. "Let me see: she is like the morning sun rising in the morning; she is like a white flower two Beautifly have alighted on." But here he stopped. For a sound unlike what he has ever heard now filled the room.
"How cool!" sighed the artist. "This is better than rice." Then he said to the housekeeper, "We have been lonely, I see now." "May I suggest," said the housekeeper, "that we call this Vulpix Great Fortune?" Somehow the name reminded the artist of all his troubles.
"Anything will do," he said, getting up and tightening his belt over his empty stomach, "but take her to the kitchen now, out of the way." No sooner did the words escape his mouth than the little Vulpix rose and walked away, softly and meekly.
To be continued…
So what do you think so far, please review this if you like Vulpix!
