Ode to the Cat

Or, Why I'm Going To Have A Bare Tree This Christmas

My kitten, Merrill, is about seven months old, recently spayed and declawed. Now, my husband and I went to Wal-Mart and got a six foot plastic tree, since I'm badly allergic to real ones. We figured it would last a few seasons and that was great. We didn't get any ornaments or an angel to top it, which proved to be a good thing in any case.

I've had previous cats pee on trees, chew them and attempt to climb them. I have never had a cat climb the tree and sleep in its top branches until now. As a result, I wake up each morning to huge bare spots in my tree where the cat has squished the branches back down or broken them entirely. They are flatter than pancakes and each morning I gamely redo the entire tree because a plastic tree with huge bald spaces is uglier than a plastic tree that at least looks like I'm making an effort.

Right?

Well, now I've resorted to smacking the cat - a bit hard - with whatever object I can get my hands on whenever she climbs it. It's been a week and I can't even decorate my tree because there's no point to it. This is the first Christmas without my mom and having a tree is important to me. And thanks to this rotten little cat, I may have to just toss the tree, like my good mood, into the trash soon.

If I could lock her up overnight in the bathroom I would, except the acoustics in our apartment resemble an orchestra hall and you hear everything, all. The. Time. I'd go mad listening to her meow and howl all night - it's been attempted previously. And I'm certainly not taking the tree down every night, good god!

No, I'll just smack the shit of the cat and hope she learns. If not, I'll just be very, very depressed on Christmas.

Liška

Voss sighed. If the artifact was in the forest, she wasn't about to find it anytime soon. It was a neverending night, it seemed, in this place that not even the light dared to touch. She wondered if this was a scheme by the guild to dispose of several hunters at once. It would be the easiest way to explain so many deaths in one hunt, sending them into this place. Her ears twitched - she wasn't going to die in this horrid place. Not when her plains awaited her return. Sanam remained intangible, a mere wisp beside her until needed. The kitsune wished she had the power to sustain his physical form indefinitely, but she had no idea what lay ahead and - no, that was a lie. She had a very good idea what lay ahead and didn't want to waste precious energy for her own comfort when her very life might depend on his presence soon. And so her pet remained merely a thought in her mind and an occasional whirl of mist beside her.

That damn kitsune moved faster than he had thought her capable of. Either that or he was getting slow in his old age. It was obvious she wasn't following, Astarot wasn't that paranoid just yet. But she would interfere in his hunt and that was unacceptable. He slowed his pace and began to backtrack, slowly but surely, towards the little annoyance that would soon be removed.

"Someone's coming." Her head turned toward the imperceptible noise, a sound she was only able to hear thanks to her wind magic. There was a glow and she hit the ground, rolling to the side just in time to avoid a fireball the engulfed the spot she was on. Her eyes widened and she dared raise her head, only to get her ears singed by another spell. Yelping, she scooted backward ungracefully and cast a spell of her own, the wind shielding her from any further attack. Voss' attacked remained in the shadows and she swore - did she need Sanam? No, not yet, best to save him for a last resort.
"Get up, you little kitsune, and die fighting!" a voice growled. She froze, the voice instilling in her a deep primal fear. It was instinctual and cost her precious moments, during which Astarot pounced, knocking her on her back as he straddled her waist, a black dagger held to her throat.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she managed, her demand coming out as a squeak when she saw the color of his eyes. A Dragon, here. No one ever saw Dragons anymore and she got to be killed by one. She supposed she should be honored.
"You're after the artifact," he said, his voice a rough growl. "Which means you're competition. As such, I have to kill you to make my life that much easier."
"I can't just leave?" Voss swallowed nervously, the tip of the dagger piercing her skin. "I'm hardly a threat. I didn't have a choice."
Astarot paused, glaring down at her. "What does that mean?" he snarled.
"If I didn't take this mission, the guild would revoke my license," she replied. "They told anyone who didn't want to take it the same thing. There are plenty of hunters out here like you -" He snorted and she paused. "Who are out here because they want to be," she amended. "But there are plenty that are here under duress. We lose our licenses, we lose our livelihood. I think they're trying to get us all killed."
He made a noise in the back of his throat, pondering this new information. He seldom talked to other creatures, let alone other hunters, and had no way to tell if what she was saying was the truth or not. He stared down at her again after a moment and was surprised when she met his gaze this time. "Aren't you scared?" he asked.
"Of course. But I'm not lying, we were forced here and I want to know what this artifact is that our lives are all worth it," she told him. "Otherwise I'd be back in my plains."
"Your plains?" he repeated scornfully, but blinked when she growled.
"Yes, my plains."
Astarot looked back at the trees, the beginnings of a frown starting to appear. Only an old kitsune with plenty of power could have their own lands. And while she didn't appear to be a child, she didn't give off such a strong aura that he even noticed it. There was something going on and he didn't like being tricked. The dragon reluctantly rose, stepping over her and watching as she pushed herself to her feet.
"So I can live?"
"That's not for me to say. I won't kill you, however," he agreed. "My name is Astarot."
"Voss," she said curtly, in no mood to be friendly. "Are you going to go back in the shadows and kill someone else?" she demanded, when he merely stood there.
"You seem to know more about the guild's actions lately than I do. I haven't kept in touch with them and it seems that may have been a mistake on my part," he admitted grimly. "I intend to find out what this artifact is. And I plan to kill anyone who gets in my way."
"But..."
"You're hardly going to get in my way." He snorted again, as if amused she thought she could pose a challenge to him. Her ears flattened against her head in anger, a gesture he ignored. "But you are going to come with me. You'll serve as useful bait in case this thing requires a sacrifice of some sort."
Voss' jaw dropped and she glared at him. "What the hell makes you think I'm going to do as you say?" she began, but stopped when the tip of the dagger reappeared at her throat. She hadn't even seen him move this time and she barely breathed. A long moment passed before he slowly withdrew the deadly weapon, staring at her blankly.
"That's why."

Huh

The other day, I tried on an old jacket of mine from when I was sixteen. I know, six years ago. I knew I had gained weight, I've been working out and slowly losing it again, so I didn't expect it to fit. But when I tried it on, I had the shock of my life.

I had been small.

Not a tiny waif, mind you. But for years, ever since puberty, I've been self-conscious about my weight. It was never helped by my mom, who told me constantly that I was fat, overweight, dumpy, unattractive, too fat to wear this, that and the other thing, etc. My dad was pretty good about it, helping me eat right and trying to get me to exercise. He'd go walking with me. People I knew - not friends, but peers - only made it worse. I didn't have a boyfriend until I was 18 and I was convinced that part of the problem was my weight. All the other girls were so skinny and here I was, FAT.

I was a size 6. That's right. I could wear anything from a size 10 down to a 6 and fit.

And all I saw in the mirror was a tummy bulge, muffin top, jiggly thighs, overall FAT.

What the hell?! I'm a size 14 now, I have a curvy figure, and I have no illusions about being 'skinny'. I want a healthy weight, not an obsession with pant sizes when I currently can wear anything from an 8-18, depending on the brand. Which I think is ridiculous, not having a standardized pant sizing system. Men have one! Measure us by inches, dammit!

Moving on. A size 6. At most, a 10. The jacket that started this whole thing was a 6. It wasn't the fact that it couldn't fit that upset me, I knew it wouldn't. It was the fact that all these years I've been miserable, thinking I was fat, pudgy, etc, and there I was, a healthy, normal size for my age.

All I was told was that I was fat.

I hear a lot about body image and how other people perceive you is how you perceive yourself. My husband always tells me he loves me, loves how I look and how beautiful he thinks I am. I realized I'm slowly getting more confident about my appearance because of it. But I didn't realize how drastically my perception of my weight was skewed all these years by people, my mother especially.

I feel a bit betrayed, to be honest. By whom or what, I'm not sure. My mother, certainly. Society in general? Yeah, but I'm sure every girl that isn't below a size 0 feels betrayed by society. We might as well get over it, because society will never, ever change. Ever. I'm convinced of it.

Since that moment of pulling that jacket on, I've felt immensely better about myself. Now that I realize what size I was, how long I was at a healthy weight, I know I can do it again. I have no illusions about fitting into that jacket again. I want a healthy weight, not a perceived size. But knowing I wasn't even overweight all those years gives me new confidence, new incentive about my current weight loss. If I was such a good size, a healthy weight, all those years, I can do it again! It isn't me fighting years of being overweight - it's me fighting a few months of weight from stress and years of self-hate.

The self-hate I can handle, actually. Most of the negativity about my weight is gone from my life, I've had time to get a new look at me and I realize I like me. Even at the steady 14 I've become, I'm pretty happy. I still have days where all I see is the tummy, but even then it's more like, "Augh! Go away, already!" instead of despair and loathing at myself for being so fat. I can laugh at myself in a mirror!

Noční Směna

Rana was exhausted. She couldn't even have a job - widowed for only six months made many things inaccessible to her, including any sort of social event and holding a job of her own. Something to do with "grieving time" or some such nonsense. It was merely society's way of keeping her out of sight and out of mind. No one wanted to deal with a wealthy widow, a young woman at that, who posed a threat to their young, unmarried daughters. That was fine with her, it allowed her to retain her private life, her solitary existence that suited her best. Not that she sat around doing nothing all day. Far from it. There were several individuals who benefited from her visits, either the lonesome elderly in need of companionship or the high-strung youth who responded best to discipline from someone other than their neglectful parents. It made her feel useful, in a semi-permanent way. The elderly would die, the children would grow up and forget, and she would fade away once again.

The knock on the door was the last thing she wanted to hear as she started to braid her auburn hair, but when the rapping grew louder she huffed, flinging it open in annoyance.
"Milady, we need help," the man informed her, hawk-gold eyes staring into her own brown ones. His meaning was unmistakable and she sighed.
"All right, just let me change into something more appropriate," she replied, gesturing for him to enter and shutting the door behind him. The lack of servants, while creating yet another minor gossip scandal, was convenient for her in many ways. Rana flew to her bedroom, pushing past the many gowns and skirts in her closet until she dug out a dark pair of breeches, followed by a wide leather belt, a brown blouse and a heavy duster. Her heavy boots, with a thick heel, reached almost to her knees and had prevented many injuries she otherwise would have had scars to explain to a doctor. They were laced up quickly out of practice and the braid was done as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The man nodded in relief, his hunched posture not from age but worry. The door was locked and they were gone, hidden by the shadows in the alleys.

Noční Směna

She sat not with her family, nor with her husband's family, but in a pew between the two. She was separate, an oddity both in the community and the families. The look from her mother-in-law seared through her, sending its silent message to the young woman.
"You embarrass us. You disgrace us."
It didn't cause her much heartache. She had only been married a few months, the brief new matriarch of the family, as her husband was the eldest son. He had died, a disease that surprised the entire family. Refusing to marry his younger brother, the next heir, left the young woman adrift. She neither returned to her family nor married into her deceased husband's family, as was the norm. Instead, she insisted on living on her own, surviving on a salary that was a mystery to all who knew her and refusing any social engagements.
Rhen sat silently in her seat, outwardly composed and inwardly seething. The Minister was preaching yet another sermon on the importance of appearance, the need for men to care for woman - another pointed attack by her mother-in-law. The woman never let up. One would think she enjoyed being matriarch of the family again, but her odd sense of social propriety wouldn't let her leave the woman alone. She must be remarried - and to her brother-in-law, if one followed society's expectations, which Phylis Morgan always did. Unfortunately for everyone who had to deal with her.

The ordeal was over soon enough and Rana slipped away from both families without being spotted. Her own family was tolerable, but regrettably shared the same views on her life as her in-laws did. It was exhausting, dodging them all constantly. They all had their expectations of her, their designs on her future, all twenty-three combined, and she was determined to elude them all.
Only her husband had understood that. They had known one another for years and chance threw their marriage together through inspiration on his mother's part. He was friendly, competent and most importantly, could control his family. She had been happy, oddly enough. And then to be left alone with the vultures broke her heart even more.
At least she had her secret. Not even her husband had known, though he might have understood that too. It was hers to keep, to use when necessary.

Liška

Saying he was wearing nothing but black would be a dangerous falsehood. Pure black stood out in a forest like this one, shadows were never any solid color. This hunter wore shades of gray, olives, dusky purples and even some blue. He melded into the shadows like this, a mixture of colors like everything else around him. He spotted the bright white of the kitsune and shook his head. She wasn't worth the effort, but she might have thanked him later if he had put her out of her misery. Instead, he continued on by, his passing unnoticed by all. Even the forest ignored his presence, everything an offense to the mighty structures that towered over the rest of living creation since the end of time.

The artifact was too precious to fall into their hands. For that matter, it shouldn't fall into his hands either, but he couldn't help if he was simply more skilled than the children posing as hunters. They had stumbled into this deathtrap of a life of their own violition and he wasn't here to lend a helping hand. Perhaps a push in a dark night, but not a pull. Never that.

Instead, he slipped in between darkness and light, his hair bound at the nape of his neck, revealing long tapered ears. His eyes were a distinctive orange and any who knew what the color signified would keep a safe distance from him - perferably several miles.

Liška

If not for the night weighing down on her, the forest would have been a haven of beauty amidst the chaos of the wars and cities. Instead, she wrapped her cloak around her tightly, tail twitching at every whisper of wind in the tree branches above her. Boarding on swampland, but lacking enough moisture to make the inhabitants miserable, the forest was overgrown with thick trees and dense undergrowth to block any path previously made. The light of the moon could barely push past the foliage overhead, leaving the earth captive to shadows and flickers of light. Where the shadows faded, a hint of color shone through, a promise of the beauty currently hidden.

There were no paths to follow, barely space to crawl between some of the trees. The kitsune huddled close to the mist beside her. She avoided the light diligently, the white of her brown-tipped tail and ears serving as a beacon to any predators. Her ears were kept pressed back against her head, hidden by the auburn of her hair, while the tail was kept concealed beneath the cloak. It was a mistake to come into the place at night, she knew, but it was the only time she had been able to get away. The mist beside her flickered between existence, occasionally taking its material form for the briefest of seconds. It served more as a comfort than an aid for the moment, keeping close to it's kitsune mistress.

It had to be here somewhere. She could sense it, every hair on her head on end. The problem was the forest. It was cloaking it, keeping it hidden from anyone looking. And there were many on the hunt. She had already encountered several other seekers, leaving them behind in a trail of blood.