Nepeta Cataria

Madeline Mooney peered eagerly through the grimy windows of her meat pie shop, searching the glowering London skyline for a hint of sunlight, wishing for a single ray that might fall on the plants that sprawled, pale and gangly, in their pot on the windowsill.

Maddie had chanced upon the seeds at St. Dunstan's Market, unable to believe her luck even as she haggled bitterly with the saleswoman. The old frump was obviously out of her mind if she hoped to sell seeds in this part of the city. It was hard enough for men to survive here, never mind tender little sprouts. If it wasn't for the baker's rather peculiar needs, she'd never have found a buyer.

On her way home from the market the same day, Mrs. Mooney had managed to find a badly rusted pail that would serve for a flower pot, and into it, carefully scooped some vaguely organic-looking matter from the mire in the streets. It was in this soil that she planted the seeds of her Nepeta Cataria.

Cautiously, she nudged the makeshift flower pot a bit to the left, moving its drooping stems and nodding leaves into a faintly brighter spot, before picking up her clean china teapot – a relic of kinder days – to water it. She was oddly proud of her little seedlings, reared in a leaky, cast-off bucket and in a bed of London's filth. They couldn't be said to thrive, but they thriftily, craftily strove up toward the watery grey sky, like offshoots of her own cunning. She smiled, almost motherly, as she tipped up the china spout under their leaves.

The bells hung above her door rang, and Mrs. Mooney looked up as, amid much sniffling, Mrs. Thurgood, who lived above her husband's grocery only three houses down, ushered into the shop her two children. Both the little urchins had red, puffy eyes, their cheeks pink and sticky from crying. The girl peered tearfully over the edge of her too-large scarf, while her older brother stared dejectedly at the piece of paper he clutched close to his chest. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Mooney," the mother said, shutting the door behind them. "Two pies, if you please, to cheer my poor dears up."

Maddie allowed herself to cluck matronly over the "poor dears" as she crossed to her counter and the little oven behind it. "Oh, look at them, now. I do hope nothing awful's happened."

Mrs. Thurgood sighed as she directed her little brood to one of the shop's rickety tables. "Only the tragedies of childhood, Madeline." There was a sniff, and the little girl looked ready to burst into fresh tears. "Joseph's gone missing."

"Joseph?"

"Their cat." The girl let out a whining cry like a hungry dog, and her mother patted her sympathetically on one little, scarf-shrouded shoulder.

"What a horrible shame." Mrs. Mooney glanced briefly across her counter, checking for any misplaced bones, a tuft of fur to betray her secret ingredient. The pies themselves were flawless. She set two on her tarnished, dented serving tray, and they sat there looking perfectly innocent, the flour she brushed over the toast having baked to the golden-brown of real pastry, marred only by a trickle of honest-looking gravy. "Poor duck."

As she turned and made for the table, the boy looked up at her with his broken heart right there in his pink, teary eyes. "You didn't see him, did you, ma'am?" He held out his crumpled page, a dirty sheet of newspaper with a crudely drawn striped cat scrawled over yesterday's headlines. "He's gray with stripes, and he's got green eyes."

Maddie set down the tray. "I'm sure he'll turn up, love."

The children reached dejectedly for their pies. Their mother, meanwhile, leaned casually against the back if her daughter's seat, letting her eyes turn idly toward the window, watching the passing crowds through the soot and filth that clung to the glass. "Yes, these things just happen, is all." Mrs. Thurgood laid an indifferent hand on her daughter's arm as she began to sniffle again. "Cats wander off all the time, you know. I was just telling them, Mrs. Miller lost one of hers just two weeks ago."

Mrs. Mooney turned back to the counter, her serving tray tucked under her arm. "That's the way with cats, I suppose."

"Yes. They used to be all over the place. Now it seems you hardly see them anymore."

Maddie picked up a rag and absently began to dust her counter. "Such a pity."

The baker scowled as her visitor rubbed at a particular grimy spot on the window, but Mrs. Thurgood continued, oblivious. "I think maybe they're the smart ones, getting out of this filthy old town." Her voice slowed as she eyed the street again, watching a group of working men, with their slumped shoulders and tired eyes, pass the little storefront. "More sense than the rest of us have got." Her eyes scanned the dusty windowsill, widening in surprise as they came to rest on the pail of seedlings. "Oh! Are those flowers, Maddie? Why, won't they just brighten this old shop right up? What are they?"

Mrs. Mooney paused, glancing between her customers and the tender little greens that lifted themselves bravely from their rusty pot of muck. "Nepeta Cataria." She licked her lips, her eyes fixed on the plants. "It's… for an experiment, of sorts."

Mrs. Thurgood stared, confused. "It's what?"

Mrs. Mooney met the mother's eyes, her face blank. "Catnip."

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Before any cat-loving flamers start to turn up the heat, I love cats. And not, as in, for lunch. I wuffses my three kitties. I would, however, greatly appreciate any constructive criticism, as I do feel that this is not quite up to scratch yet.

Anyway. I do not own Sweeney Todd. I do, however, own several pages of un-typed fanfiction, which I hope to post soon, including part of the next chapter of my long-neglected masterpiece, Kidney Pie. So, I hope you enjoyed this, and that you will enjoy what's still to come. Thanks for reading.