And he saw the Court. All fat-cats in their ruffs and furs, though that might have been just their skin's.
They would seem to melt and transfigure every couple of seconds, and sometimes they looked humanoid, and sometimes they were just cats.
But it was a Court, with a hall,and an aisle, and an elevated throne, where the King awaited for the audience. Crookshanks, The Messenger, attempted to come forward, but was stopped by two spears that crossed violently in front of him, denying him entry.
-Mehehehehe- The meowed, sing-song laughter of the King, though feeble, echoed through the halls of the Court. -Now, now, guards, 'don't shoot the Messenger' --and all the cats chuckled at this remark, in an equally meowed voice.
-Allow him to approach me, we have matters to settle, am I not right?- he asked directly looking at Crookshanks' face, at the dark spots, where his own eyes used to be.
But Crookshanks could see, nonetheless; he had the King's eyes in his mind now, and it was just time to give them back.
The King.
The cats.
And the screeching voiced echoed once again, be it on the hall's walls or in his mind, he couldn't really tell:
"Long live the Cat and long live the Cat-King King of all cats and king of all things"
Again and again, in a weird crescendo.
Crookshanks soon realized it was the chant of the hundreds of meowing cats in the court. Meowing that sounded
like the screeching voice, at times, and at times it was just meowing.
-Come hither- insisted the Cat-King.
Crookshanks did so, stepping on eggshells, like a tiger towards the prey; altive, but cautious.
-It's time you give me back my eyes, and maybe a deal or two.
And the King seemed content, once more.