Cat-Florean

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Cat-Florean



"Well look at you - alive and such. Thought you was a goner the way your da was looking Sunday."

Minerva looked up to see Dougal McGregor climbing over the log that bridged their stream, leading to the other side, which they referred to as The Wild Wood because it was much thicker and darker than the patch of trees in which they had their "clubhouse". Minerva had crossed over to the Wild Wood because she'd seen a cat and she'd called it over to herself gently and coaxed it out of a hiding place to find it was ill and she'd ripped her skirt (her mum would be furious) to make a tiny cat-sized bandage. She sat now in the shade of a tree, holding the puddy and whispering little songs to it about milk and mice he would get to eat when he was well again and able to run about the manse and the barn.

"Was he sorrowed?" Minerva asked, pouting.

"Oh yes, very grieved." Dougal made it all the way across with minimal amount of slippage on the damp, mossy bark of the bridge-tree and jumped over the extended arms of the roots that stuck up into the air at the end. He landed hard on his feet in a crouch amongst the grasses. "Not so grieved that he didn't take the opportunity to tell me off for being a heathen, though."

"He could be on his deathbed and have time for that, Dou," Minnie replied, smirking.

"I know." Dougal smirked, "Will be a right shame when he's got me for a son-in-law, won't it?"

"He won't," Minnie answered. They'd been over this before, though it had been some time since Dougal had brought it up. "Unless you're planning on marrying Malcolm."

"Blimey," Dougal replied, making a face, "I'd rather marry Ham."

"'Tis what I thought," Minerva smirked, cradling her new friend closer and humming softly as she ran her fingertip against the soft velvety nose.

Dougal crouched beside her, looking down at him. "What's the matter with it?" he asked.

"Wounded leg. A big bird tried at snatching him up. But he's a fighter, he's fought the bird off." Minnie smiled at the puddy.

Dougal's eyes widened, "Whoa. Did you see it, then?"

"No, he told me," Minnie replied.

Dougal rolled his eye - assumed this was Minnie being her typical sassy self - and stood upright. He grabbed at a stick from a brush and swept it about, sparring with a tree whose branch hung low enough he could reach. "What do you want to play at today? Pirates, perhaps?"

"Nah," Minnie shook her head. "I'm not in the mood much for playing."

"C'mon Min, we only get so many days to play together!" Dougal complained. "You already sloshed up one of them and soon the snows will be comin' and we'll be hunkered inside and missing even more."

"Then come help me nurse my pud."

"Dougal made a face, but he sat on a rock not far away and started drawing in the sand, watching her coddle the little ball of fur in silence. He studied her. Then, "You look different."

"I do?"

He nodded. "I can't put my finger upon it, but there's something different 'bout you. I dunna - maybe it's just on account of having not seen you for two weeks. Does things to a man's mind, that does."

"It doesn't."

"Aye. Drives me mad."

"Not having me about is more of a bit of fresh air for yeh, don't be lyin, Dou!" Minnie said. "You could be playing pirates right now with all the school boys if you weren't stuck here in the woods watching after this pud with me."

Minnie [#Wattys2017]Where stories live. Discover now