La Maison et Le Chat
“Kate, I have to read this to you.”
Putting my book down, I looked up at Dawn, who sat reading at the other end of the couch. “Go for it.”
“I’m still reading the Julia Childs's memoir.” She held it up so I could see the cover. “There’s this quote that’s great, but it’s in French so I’m going to mangle it.”
The princess herself.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I didn’t want your ears to bleed or anything.”
“So…” I smiled encouragingly. “The quote?”
“Right.” Resettling her glasses on her nose, she read very carefully, “An may son sens chat set lavvy sens so lay.”
It took me a moment, but I got it. “Ah. Une maison sans chat, c'est la vie sans soleil. A house without a cat is like life without sun.”
“Exactly.” Dawn beamed at her cat, who was crouched on the floor in front of me. “I feel that way about Tinkerbell. She’s like a ray of light in my world.”
Tinkerbell lifted her head and hissed at me—the kind of hissing that makes you want to back away really slowly.
“Um. Yeah.” I pulled my feet up onto the couch, just in case. Because I’m sure they look better with all my toes in tact. “Tinkerbell’s something, all right.”
“I don’t know why she’s been so strange the past few days.”
“She doesn’t normally freak out and attack her own tail?”
“No, she does that. She just doesn’t usually lay in wait for guests and try to trip them. She’s been talking to you a lot and following you around all over. That’s not normal.” Dawn frowned at the wee beastie little princess. “I think she’s trying to tell you something.”
“Maybe she has a message from the fairies.” I glanced at the cat, who stared steadily at me, obviously waiting. I breathed a sigh of relief when she huffed, as though disgusted with my telepathic shortcomings, and sauntered away. "Next time I visit, I'll bring a cat-to-English translator."
The princess herself.