Another year, another group of human kittens to train. Standing beside her own personal human, Mrs. Norris puffed out a sigh and watched the parade of first-years pass by. They looked much like any previous batch, so before long she lost interest and trotted off to investigate their luggage, where it was stacked awaiting a destination as provided by the Sorting Hat. In particular, she scanned the containers that held the new animal companions entering Hogwarts. Owl, owl, frog, owl, owl, cat, owl…
Wait – cat? Was it possible. Her ears perked up, and she trotted over for a closer look.
The feline in question was in a basket, allowing it a clear view of the goings-on, and in turn providing the curious observer a good look inside. It - he, she believed – was a handsome creature, and well worth her attention. She stalked up to the basket as if she owned the castle – close enough to the truth for her purposes. "Hello, there. I'm Mrs. Norris. And you are…?"
"My human calls me Crookshanks," the newcomer replied. Definitely male. "Are there any more of us here?" Cats, she presumed.
She shook her gray head sadly. "The last of the others graduated with their humans last summer. For some reason they" – meaning the students – "prefer birds and other… creatures." The last word was said with a disdainful curl of lip and glower toward the cage containing the frog.
Crookshanks rubbed his cheek against the side of his prison, as if offering her the exchange of scent, and rumbled, "Then we should become friends, shouldn't we?"
Mrs. Norris's heart leapt in her furry breast, though her voice remained calm. "Certainly! Once you get properly settled in, and figure out how to escape the dormitories, we can raid the kitchens together. There's always some kind of wonderful meat down there."
The other cat purred agreement. "But now, if my ears don't deceive me, the giant is coming back. They've probably figured out what to do with us."
A moment later, Hagrid rounded the corner, feet thudding like boulders. Mrs. Norris yowled a farewell and dashed off before the clumsy oaf could stomp on her tail or any other anatomical feature. Her whiskers perked up with joy at the idea of finally having a friend of her own kind. Filch was as good as a human got, but he was still not a cat.