The Red Reign Challenge: This Christmastime
The
Twelfth Night : A Faerie Tale
by I Got Tired of Waiting
January 1 : A New Year
An odd feeling of hope in his heart, he greeted the day with a stretch almost as decadent as that of the furry creature decorating his chest. The sun well on its way to afternoon, his stomach growled just as Ossie stood to start his morning begging, the large paws uncomfortably pressing his skin into the bone as he shifted from food to foot, his toes and claws kneading the duvet.
"Yes, yes. I think I'm glad to see you, too, but if you keep that up, I may let you starve," he growled, rubbing the sore spots on his chest when the cat fled the bed to sit by the door. Taking in the glare the cat levelled at him from afar, he chuckled. "If you've complaints about the service, I suggest you leave them in the litter box." His stomach rumbling louder than Ossie's best purr, he hastened through his ablutions, throwing on an old robe he found in the back of his closet; he would need to do laundry tomorrow.
After he consumed his ham with less delicacy than Ossie his fish, he cleaned the dishes while the cat groomed his paws and face. Once done, he grabbed the book he'd been reading about wild cats in one hand and his wild cat in the other. Moving to the sitting room, he settled with both in his chair, intending to read more about Ossie's culinary requirements; the articles about the grains he needed to eat had already proved enlightening, if perhaps not as palatable as the beast might have liked.
The pages turning, he soon lost track of the time measured only by how many times Ossie twisted into the most impossible positions either on his lap or burningly close to the fire, and how many times he rose to use the loo and get more tea. Before he knew it, he realised that squinting at the print fading before his eyes would be useless if he didn't get more light. He really didn't think much on Ossie's absence when he returned to the room with the candles for the lamps. Using a Muggle match, he lit three and had no more settled back in his chair when Ossie sauntered from under the tree, carrying a long, thin wooden box by its red ribbon. Curious, yet unconcerned, he picked up the box where it had been dropped at his feet and set it on the arm of the chair, the cat immediately following. However, instead of draping his furry self all over his lap, as was his usual wont, Ossie started nosing the box and rubbing his face over the light coloured wood.
Undoing the ribbon, he opened the box to find a stick of yew, the needles dark green and shiny, the berries bright red. He plucked it out of its nest of cotton, studying it from all sides, but he could see nothing much out of the ordinary except the branch itself was remarkably straight. Nor did it contain any magic. Confused by this latest gift, he shrugged and set it on the mantel out of harm's way.
"At least it's decorative," he said to Ossie, who'd commandeered his chair and dared him with wiggling whiskers to move him. Brow raised, he seated himself, albeit slower than his norm, satisfied when the cat budged over, leaving him sufficient room to the side. Belly up, his head hanging over the front of the chair, Ossie fell asleep, purring. Fingers buried in the thick fur, idly stroking, he turned the pages one-handed as he avidly read about, 'The Alimentary Benefits of Grasses and Insects in Your Cat's Diet', said creature blissfully unaware of the culinary 'treats' in store for him.
TBC