Just something a little different from me
Although she'd never found a way of proving it, Imogen Drill was of the opinion that Cackle's had its very own weather system. Whilst the day's paper seemed to be implying that the rest of the country was enjoying the benefits of an Indian summer, the walls around the castle were being relentlessly battered by high winds and chilling rain. As the evening had drawn in, the rain seemed to lash down harder and the temperature had definitely dropped a few more degrees.
She cast her eyes over the news report again. It was not her imagination; one of the villages not more than five miles away was reporting the warmest temperatures for October in recent years.
Imogen placed the paper down on her desk and shivered, pulling the sleeves of her jumper down further and blowing on her cold hands. When she had first accepted the job at Cackle's, the idea of living in a castle had seemed exciting. She'd fallen in love with the idea of living in a turret room and feeling the sense of history within the thick stone walls. What her mind had conveniently forgotten to tell her was that there would be no central heating, few windows and draughts in the corridors that were so strong you could fly kites on a bad day.
She pulled a face and looked at the way that the candle on the table was flickering; there was a draught coming from somewhere and it was making it nigh on impossible to read.
Her musings were halted by the sound of a scratching noise at her door.
"Come in," she called out, half expecting to see Mildred Hubble push open the door and poke her head around the gap. Although the teacher's quarters were out of bounds to all pupils, Imogen liked to think that her door was always open....figuratively of course.
She waited a few moments but the door didn't move, the scratching however continued unabated.
Finally deciding that the only way to find out what was going on, was to move, Imogen rose to her feet and made her way over to the door. She opened it and stared out into the empty corridor.
"What the…." she stepped back in alarm as, without warning, a sleek black object sped across the threshold and leapt upon the chair she had just vacated.
Her heart still racing, Imogen turned to see a black cat sitting primly on the chair, looking at her with bright yellow eyes, silently demanding to be fed.
"Oh no," she told the cat firmly. "This is not your room." She held the door open wider and motioned for the animal to leave. "I suggest you go back to whoever you belong to."
The cat looked unblinking at her.
"I mean it," Imogen insisted, beginning to feel slightly foolish. "I don't have the time to look after you. You already have an owner and I have a room that doesn't need a cat putting hairs over everything."
The cat simply stared at her for a few more seconds before stretching out and making itself more comfortable.
Imogen growled softly beneath her breath; it wasn't that she didn't like cats; it was just that she didn't want to spend half an hour every morning getting the cat hairs off her clothes. She approached the chair where the cat now lay and eyed it firmly.
"Oy you, off of there."
The cat merely opened a beady yellow eye and glared at her.
Imogen placed her hands on her hips and glared back at the cat. "I mean it."
The cat stretched its claws and dug them into the soft cover of the chair as if sending her a clear message that it wasn't about to go anywhere.
"I refuse to be bullied by a cat." Imogen reached forward, intending to lift the animal from its place on the chair.
Before she realised what was happening, the cat was suddenly transformed from a soft bundle of black fur into a multi-clawed whirlwind of activity. Imogen let out a yelp as a row of razor-sharp claws scratched at her hand and then again at her wrist.
Deciding that retreat was the prudent option, Imogen quickly turned on her heel and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her; moments later hearing a thud as the body of the cat connected with the door.
"I have a cat in my room," Imogen announced breathlessly to Amelia and Davina as she entered the staff room, hurriedly trying to hide the deep scratches on her hand.
"Oohh at last." Davina clapped her hands together, her knitting dropping into her lap. "I knew you'd finally see sense one day."
"It's not my cat," Imogen told her as she tried to regain her composure.
Davina's hand flew to her chest in horror. "You stole someone's cat?"
Imogen sighed. "I didn't steal the cat; it just appeared in my room."
Amelia raised her head from the letter she had been engrossed in and suddenly gave Imogen her full attention.
"When you say the cat appeared, do you mean 'appeared' in your room, or just appeared in your room?"
Imogen took what she hoped was a steadying breath.
"I mean I opened my door and this cat bolted in and took up residence."
"Ahh." Amelia returned her attention to the letters in front of her, disappointed that it hadn't been a visitation from an actual magical cat. "Well what's so unusual about that?" she grumbled.
"I don't want a cat in my room," Imogen pointed out. "It must belong to someone and I'd quite like that someone to take their cat back."
"What does it look like?" Davina asked in an innocent tone.
"Well it's black and…." Imogen broke off her explanation as she heard sniggering from the other two occupants of the room.
"Sorry, sorry," Davina apologised as she dabbed at her eyes with a hanky. "I couldn't resist."
"Surely someone must own this cat," Imogen pleaded, not really possessing the patience to deal with what passed for witches' humour. "Although from the look of it, I'm not sure that it isn't the cat that owns someone."
Amelia raised her head from her letter again and let out a gentle 'ahh.'
"You know whose cat it is?" Imogen wanted to know.
Amelia pulled a face. "It's a no nonsense cat, am I right? Not into fuss or play?"
Imogen nodded, clenching her hand and trying to ignore the pain from the scratches.
"Ahh." Amelia said again.
"What's with the 'ahh'ing?" Imogen asked and then a nasty thought struck her. "It's Constance's cat, isn't it?"
Amelia nodded slowly. "I very much think that it is. It would appear that Morgana's decided that you can look after her until Constance is back from her jury service."
"But what if I don't want to look after a cat?" Imogen protested, aware that she was beginning to sound petulant.
Amelia held out her hands in an apologetic manner.
"I'm sorry but if Morgana's chosen you as a temporary owner, there's not much you can do about it. She's as determined as her owner."
Imogen groaned and sank onto one of the chairs. "This is all I need." She picked at the loose thread on the arm of the chair. "Just how long do you imagine Constance is going to be away?"
Later in the evening, Imogen headed back to her own room, her mind trying to imagine what sort of an impact Constance was making during her jury service. She hadn't thought to ask if the case was a magical one or not, and her mind fleetingly imagined the sort of punishment her colleague would demand be meted out if the case was something like theft or arson.
She cautiously opened the door to her room, prepared to pull the door shut again at the first sign of a feline attack. After a few moments of nothing but silence, she pushed open the door to her room and looked longingly at her bed.
There was nothing so appealing at that moment than forty winks. The sight that greeted her however, caused her to halt in her tracks.
She stood with her hands on her hips and scowled at the cat that was now seated in the middle of her bed.
"Off of there this instant," she growled at Morgana. "You've a perfectly serviceable bed of your own. You may have decided that this is your temporary home but you are not going to push me out of my bed."
Morgana flicked an ear and then proceeded to begin washing herself.
"You are not going to get the better of me," Imogen declared firmly. "I've made 3rd years jump into cold rivers and then run for 2 miles across muddy fields. I am not going to let you win this." She pointed at the floor. "Get off the bed and down on the floor where you belong."
Morgana paused in the middle of licking her paws and regarded Imogen in an off-hand manner before continuing with her usual grooming regime.
"I mean it," Imogen told the cat firmly, her foot tapping on the floor with impatience. "I don't care what you think but you are not spending the night there."
Morgana pushed her left forepaw behind her ear and gave it a good clean.
Imogen approached the bed and flexed her fingers, preparing to physically remove the cat.
In response to the action, Morgana rose to her feet and arched her back, her ears flat against her head; her body language making it perfectly clear what she thought of Imogen's idea.
Imogen threw her hands in the air in exasperation and headed back out of the room. She didn't fancy going another three rounds with the cat's sharp claws and so she decided to seek help from someone a little more experienced with the feline temperament.
"She won't budge," Imogen explained to Davina as she pushed open the door to her room and shoved Davina inside, privately wishing that she'd been able to locate Amelia.
Davina looked down at the black cat that was now curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, snoring softly.
"Well cats don't tend to move much when they're asleep," Davina nodded, as though imparting some great pearl of wisdom.
"But I don't want her sleeping on my bed," Imogen pointed out, trying to keep a lid on her temper.
"Why ever not?"
"It's a cat," Imogen answered flatly. "Witches' cat or not, to my way of thinking, cats belong in their own baskets. They most certainly do not belong on other people's beds."
Davina's eyes widened.
"Ordinary cats may well belong in little baskets and be prepared to be bossed around by their owners, but witches' cats are independent. They won't stand for being told what to do."
Imogen shook her head.
"At the end of the day it's a cat," she told Davina. "And I, for one, am not prepared to be bossed around by this particular feline."
"Well I'm afraid that I can't help you," Davina told her. "You'll be telling me next that you don't intend on telling her an evening hunting tale."
Imogen let out an exclamation. "I most certainly will not be telling bedtime stories to a cat," she told her colleague firmly. "I just want Morgana out of here."
Davina shrugged her shoulders. "If that cat's made up her mind to sleep here, then there's nothing you can do about it."
"I beg to differ."
Davina smiled as she turned to leave the room. "Don't say that I didn't warn you."
"You're not going to help me?"
Davina shrugged her shoulders. "You appear to have your mind set on a course of action that I don't agree with."
"Davina!" Imogen protested as the elderly witch disappeared off down the corridor. "It's only a cat I was asking you to help me move."
She turned back and her gaze was met by two bright yellow eyes that were now regarding her with what looked like deep suspicion. Imogen shook the thought from her head; it was just a cat at the end of the day. There was no way that it could have understood a word that she'd just said.
She closed the door to her room and folded her arms.
"You are sleeping in your basket," she told the cat firmly. "And that's all there is to be said on the matter."
Moving over to the bed, Imogen grabbed hold of the top blanket and gave it a hefty tug. There was a yowl of protest as Morgana was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. She turned and hissed at Imogen, who simply glared back at her.
"I've found you a basket and made you up a perfectly serviceable bed," she told the cat firmly; acutely aware that she was backing away from the animal and not really demonstrating a position of dominance. "You are not sleeping on my bed and we are not going to have a debate about the matter."
The cat glared at her again through its narrowed yellow eyes and stalked across the room, leaping back up on the chair and swishing its tail angrily from side to side.
"Fine, throw a hissy fit if you like," Imogen remarked as she picked at the hairs on the blanket. "Just keep out of my way."
It was with a sense of trepidation that Imogen blew out the final candle and retired to bed.
She had made several journeys across the room, surprised each time that her ankles hadn't been attacked. Perhaps, she reasoned, Morgana had finally understood who was boss.
Imogen pulled up the blankets under her chin and closed her eyes. It had been a long, tiring day and she wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep.
She wasn't sure exactly what it was that caused her to wake in the early hours of the morning. There was just the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn't alone. Taking a deep breath she opened her eyes and jumped in shock as she saw two yellow eyes staring intently at her.
Morgana was sitting only a few inches away from her head and was watching her as though she were some kind of Zoo exhibit.
Imogen let out an inadvertent shriek of surprise.
"Go away," she told the cat, who just blinked at her slowly and continued with its staring.
"If you don't like it, I suggest that you find somewhere else to stay."
Imogen shook her head as she realised that she was having a conversation with a cat. She had never had much patience with adults who treated their cats as though they could understand every word that was said to them. She could excuse children for talking to their pets that way, but to her mind, adults should know better. She narrowed her eyes and rolled onto her side away from the cat, yanking at her bedclothes and smiling to herself as she heard Morgana's paws thump down onto the stone floor as the cat lost purchase on the bed.
Satisfied that she had dislodged the cat, she closed her eyes and tried to make herself comfortable.
A minute later, she opened her eyes again and found that her vision was completely obscured by black fur and two yellow eyes that were only centimetres away from her own.
Imogen groaned and pulled the blankets over her head. She had the feeling that it was going to be a very long night indeed.