AN: More of the third-person narrative, in which royalty appears just when the Kitten of Doom was in need of a paw…
How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II
Chapter Twenty-Three: Satan's Little Helper
Priests and ministers and Father Dickinson (hypocrite!) may rant and rail all they want, but from the kitten's personal experience, an eternity in hell was not as unpleasant as one might believe. She personally had decided that she preferred hell to heaven (although she'd only briefly spent time in the latter), the main reason for this being that Satan was an all-round nice chap, even going so far as to convince Buddha (admittedly, with the aid of various life-threats) to speed up the reincarnation process and have her rejoin the human world in the form of a five-month-old kitten.
"It's only a temporary measure, of course," he had said, stroking her new kitten's head as she tottered unsteadily on four new paws. "Just hang on for long enough for Avie to finish… negotiating, as it were, with Chronos."
She had looked up at him then, her eyes wide and doleful.
"Mew mew-mew mew mew-mew-mew mew mew mew… mew mew?" (You're willing to prostitute your own wife… for me?)
"Well, yes," replied Satan, his brow knitting. "What else is a wife for?"
She had then made the big mistake of asking him exactly how she would return to the mortal world: the answer took three thousand light years. (In earth science, light years were simply a measure of length; but the Other World, however, exists in a dimension beyond the limits of reality, and as such, its inhabitants know not the difference between measurements of space, distance, time, weight, etc., and therefore use units interchangeably. Physics wasn't a very high priority in Other Worldly education.)
Someone not so very great or wise once said (and had been quoted on various profile pages ever since), that "if it takes longer than thirty seconds to explain, it's magic," or something along those lines. This is very possibly why His Infernal Majesty's explanation took three thousand light years.
The kitten had long decided that a transcript of his, mew-mew, noise-of-gagging-on-furball-times-two ("ahem, cough-cough") 'scientific' proposal would be impossible, not to mention impossibly long. Nevertheless, what follows is her informal synopsis:
Basically, there existed in the great multiverse several realities, and in each of the several realities existed many dimensions, and each of the many dimensions existed an infinite number of universes, some parallel, some strictly opposite, and all that they were going to do ('they' being His Infernal Majesty and whichever fellow deity he ropes in) was find and splice a parallel her with the 'real' her before returning her to the 'real' world in the 'real' universe. This action will of course cause major havoc in various lesser universes in the PoRN Dimensions (the Purveyors of Rampant Naughtiness Dimensions, which Satan swore to his wife that he had never visited), as the implacable Law of the Conservation of Energy (who, due to the cult following he had gained from those of a scientific inclination, was now a deity in his own right) had stated that in order for the Great Splicing to succeed, puff pastries must be produced at alarming and superhuman rates (for the Law had a sweet tooth) in at least one alternate universe.
In short, she was to be reincarnated.
And resurrected.
(…As they say, if it takes longer than thirty seconds to explain…)
An interesting fact about the kitten now trotting through the side streets of Kingston Town was that, though she gave off all the appearances of existing fully in this dimension, her body and soul were in fact still migrating from the Other World and the Mew Mew Mew Mew-mew-mew-mew Mew Mew Mew dimensions. (The One Where Everybody Is A Cat dimension, the politics of which are infinitely more interesting than our own, not least because the closest thing they have come to achieving nuclear warfare involves sitting on opposite sides of a fence, hurling toxic furballs. Incidentally, these brave and fearless soldiers were known as Die Kamikatzen.)
A slightly more interesting fact thing about the kitten now trotting through the side streets of Kingston Town was that, even when her body and soul had finished transferring from their respective dimensions (i.e. when she had finished reincarnating), a part of her would still physically reside in the Mew Mew Mew Mew-mew-mew-mew Mew Mew Mew dimension's statutory Mew Mew-mew-mew Mew Mew Mew Mew Mew-mew Mew Mew Mew Mew-mew-mew Mew-mew (The Universe Where Time Is Much Slower Than Can Be Considered Standard), as it is a known fact that cats age faster than humans and so, to preserve her 'real' human age in 'real' time, her reincarnated self would roam the 'real' world with one back paw in that particular reality until she had been resurrected.
And for that to happen, the kitten had to find her Mew-mew. ('Papa', although a more literal translation of the original Cat is, 'That Bastard Degenerate What Spawned Me, Ho'; due to the limited nature of the Cat language, both tone and gesture play significant parts in conveying the true meaning.)
It was at this point that the kitten became aware of the fact that her right forepaw had gone missing. She became aware of this because, when she had placed one nonexistent paw forward, she had suddenly found herself performing an involuntary series of acrobatics which would put a circus seal to shame, but which nevertheless ended with her lying flat on her black back, three white paws and a pathetic black stump waving madly in the air.
"MEEW!!" she squealed, and promptly dove into a doorway. She cowered there for several minutes, which was long enough for the white paw to return with an air of apology about it. The kitten glowered at it, her little heart beating rapidly in her furry chest.
"Mew mew mew-mew-mew mew mew mew?" she asked it testily. (And where exactly have you been?)
In reply, a claw slid out of the furry sheath to lightly trace the following in the dirt-caked doorway:
Apologies, most wise and infernal one, but it appears as if the molecular particles of which this shell is comprised are reluctant to leave the relative safety of the Mewmewverse. We are currently attempting to lure the shell away with catnip.
There was a pause in which the paw hesitated, its claw hovering uncertainly beneath its explanation. If it had breath, it would have held it.
The kitten stared a little longer before rolling her blue eyes.
"Mew?" she snarled; "Mew mew mew, mew!" ('…Well? Out with it, paw!', where 'paw' is spoken in much the same tone as 'slave' would be spat.)
These were the next words the claw wrote:
…Er, there is currently no catnip in sight; perchance Her Infernal Highness could find some?
"Mew mew," began the kitten testily, "mew mew-mew-mew mew-mew mew mew-mew mew mew mew-mew-mew mew-mew-mew-mew mew-mew mew mew-mew!" (I could, if somebody didn't keep bugg'ring off to alternate realities every five minutes!)
Well, sor-ree,
scrawled the claw sarcastically, and sulkily retracted, leaving the kitten cowering in the doorway for a little while longer, a ball of monochrome fur with piercing blue eyes.
"Well now, what's all this?" came a friendly, familiar voice. A figure—striking, feminine, elegant, almost regal—emerged from the shadows, her face shadowed by the scarlet-lined cowl, her dark cloak held protectively to her. (Even so, it still trailed along the ground.) The woman cocked her head, examining the whimpering kitten thoughtfully. The kitten turned her giant blue eyes upon her, and mewled.
"Oh, you poor dear," said the woman, swooping down and gathering the kitten up beneath the folds of her cape. The kitten sniffed the stroking fingers, deemed then trustworthy, and curled up in the woman's hands with a mew.
"Paw went wandering off by itself again?" guessed the woman.
"Mew! Mew…"
"My poor little Melusinë," hummed the lady, stroking the kitten's head and sweeping onto a set of steps, dropping the kitten onto her lap. "Demon possession isn't what it used to be anymore, I'm afraid. All part of this damn enlightenment movement; faith just isn't what it used to be anymore."
The kitten poked her head from out of the cloak's folds in order to mewl a query. The lady listened intently.
"What am I doing here? Well I can't very well just sit around Hell letting your father oversee your transition, can I? You're my ickle babykins! And besides, it's not fair that Hornie should have all the fun on Earth; he has complete control over the Infernal Gates, you know. I had to disguise myself as an office worker on her fag break just to get pass!"
There was a pause as the kitten looked at the elaborate silk dress, the fur-lined cloak, the jewels, glittering in her coiled hair. Had she an eyebrow, she would have raised it.
"Mew mew mew?" she queried doubtfully. (And it worked
"Oh yes! Naturally. Nobody looks twice at a woman in uniform. It was frightfully easy."
There was another silence in which the lady—who was either extremely demonic, or incredibly insane—tickled the kitten musingly behind the ears.
"…'Mew mew'?" ('Fag break'?)
"Oh, yes; Hell has a very strict no-smoking policy; the smoke tobacco compromises the purity of the sulphur fumes," hummed the lady, thus proving once and for all that nowhere in the universe was smoking not considered a social offence. The kitten nodded along, and nestled her head into the lady's lap, her eyes closing in content.
"Mew mew mew mew mew mew mew-mew?" the kitten asked hopefully between purrs. (Will you help me find my Papa?)
"Hmm? Oh yes, of course! Was that what you were doing? Poor little Melusinë. Come along!" And she picked the kitten up by the scruff of her neck and very gently lowered her into a pocket, patting her furry head fondly. Thus prepared, the Kitten of Doom hitchhiked in the surprisingly roomy pocket of the Empress of Hell, and considering the true nature of both cat and, er, succubus, the unusual couple disappeared into the hustle and bustle of Kingston town with admirable nonchalance.
-x!x-
AN: A short chappie, but the next one is a long 'un (ten pages in Word and counting). Please accept the usual apologies along with the nonexistent bribe-muffin.
Hmm… What oh what shall I shamelessly plug now? Ah yes: Would anybody care to find out what Sierra's been up to? (nothing but silence and crickets) …Okay, let's try this again: would anybody care to find out what Sierra thinks of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies? At all? No? Fine. But, just so you know, lost in the unfathomable jungles of Fictionpress lurks a tale entitled Mommy's on the Radio (Americanisms justified), in which Sierra is a film critic and… now that would be spoiling it, wouldn't it? Anyway; it's there. It's lonely. It wouldn't mind an itsy-bitsy reviewsie, just on the prologue (the link can be found on my profile)…