The Life of the Illustrious Crookshanks

Prologue

King of the Magical Menagerie

A large ginger cat was perched on top of the highest shelf in the shop, the only one that gave a perfect view of the entire premises and all its inhabitants. Two wise brown eyes glistened from his rather squashed-looking face as he looked down at the bustling shop keeper and her rather unhappy customer, the shop keeper looking frantically for a tiny bottle of blue liquid that had, in fact, rolled onto the floor only a moment before.

"It was right here, I know it was," the woman muttered, half to herself and half to the customer as she dropped to her hands and knees and scrabbled around on the floor in desperate pursuit. "I set it right there on the table..."
"Would you mind hurrying?" snapped the customer. "I have places to be."
"Yes, yes, I know, Mr. Blackwood," the distressed shopkeeper said, finally locating the bottle under the front desk. "I'm so sorry..." she stood up and handed the very angry customer the bottle of liquid. "N-now that will be two Galleons..."

"Two Galleons?" the customer shouted incredulously. "Two Galleons for some bloody tonic?"
"I'm sorry," the shopkeeper muttered quietly. "But that's the price, sir, and I can't..."

"What kind of business is this?" Blackwood exclaimed. "Two Galleons for some bird tonic?"

"I know it's a bit much, sir," stuttered the embarrassed shopkeeper as other curious customers began to look over at the source of the noise. "But, you see, the ingredients are very rare and the potion..."

"Forget it!" the customer shouted, slamming the bottle down onto the table. "I'm not paying that much for any stupid tonic, regardless of how rare the bloody ingredients are!"

"But sir," said the quivering shopkeeper as he whirled around and headed for the door. "Mr. Blackwood, I'll knock half the price off!"
"No thank you," Blackwood snapped. "I shall find some for a decent price elsewhere."

The cat glared down at Mr. Blackwood as the distressed shopkeeper attempted to strike a bargain with the unhappy customer. Mr. Blackwood, the cat decided, was not a very nice person.

The cat stood and stretched, flexing its legs and twitching its tail in ecstasy, marveling at the energy rushing through its body as it extended its back. And then, zeroing in on the head of Mr. Blackwood, leapt from the shelf and landed on the offending man's head.

Chaos ensued.

Mr. Blackwood yelped like a dog that had had its tail trodden on as the cat latched his claws into the man's thick brown hair. His hands flew around, trying to knock the persistent feline off his head and yelling very obscene words and phrases while he was at it. Scandalized customers rushed around screaming and running into one another and dropping their shopping bags as if it somehow helped the matter. The shopkeeper rushed forward immediately and got hit in the face by one of Mr. Blackwood's flailing arms.

"Get this thing off me!" Blackwood bellowed.

"I'm trying, Mr. Blackwood!" the shopkeeper shouted, grasping the cat by the scruff of his neck while avoiding the tangled mass of stampeding customers. "If you would only hold still! Crookshanks! Get..."
The cat, deciding that Mr. Blackwood and the terrified customers had had enough, leapt off his head and out of the shopkeeper's grasp onto a shelf near the door. It then jumped up more shelves, like it was ascending a staircase, up to the top shelf where it had been perched before.

"Are you alright, Mr. Blackwood?" asked the shopkeeper anxiously, casting the cat a very dirty glare as she swept long ginger cat hairs off the man's robe.

Mr. Blackwood swatted her hands away, straightened his cloak, and fixed the shopkeeper with an equally furious stare before turning to the cat. It arched its back and hissed menacingly, bottlebrush tail stiff and straight. "That cat is a menace," he snapped to the shopkeeper, whirling around and striding through the scandalized crowd toward the door. "What an establishment..." he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

The customers, each holding various purchases or creatures, swiveled to look at the blushing shopkeeper, who adjusted her reading glasses, then returned to her desk, picked up the bottle, and retreated into the backroom to put it away. Slowly, the hum of conversation and buzz of several animals returned to the tiny shop, and the shoppers went back to looking at the purple toads or happily cawing ravens or whatever they had been looking at before the storm of chaos.

The cat twitched its tail with an agitated satisfaction, leering at the man's back through the window as he wandered down Diagon Alley with a scowl on his face. The various creatures situated in cages or tanks around the room looked up at the cat with different expressions, some angry, some worried, some proud, and some nonchalant. However, the face of the shopkeeper as she reentered the room was very hard to qualify as any distinct emotion. She looked both furious and as though she was about to laugh, but glared very hard at the cat as she strode right up to the shelf upon which he was situated and folded her arms.

"Crookshanks," she snapped. "Get down here."

The cat merely twitched its tail and began to clean itself, licking its shoulder with a rough pink tongue.

"Crookshanks!" the witch said in a very loud warning voice. "Get down here or I'll pluck everyone of those hairs off your back!"
The cat ignored her and continued to wash itself.

"CROOKSHANKS!" The shop was again quiet as the customers pivoted on the spot to look at the shopkeeper. She smiled awkwardly. "Sorry; carry on." Then she turned back to look up at the greatly amused cat. "Crookshanks, don't make me..." She made a very agitated noise. "Look, just get down here. I know you can hear me, you big stupid cat"

Crookshanks gave her an affronted look and continued to twitch his tail, determined to teach the shopkeeper a lesson about respect.

"Crookshanks, please?" she sighed.

The cat, deciding she too had had enough of being punished, leapt gracefully down from the shelf onto the floor at her feet and walked around her, rubbing himself up against her legs. Her upset expression quivered for a moment, as though she was about to smile, but she didn't.

"You wicked little thing you," she muttered, kneeling down and stroking his back. "Why must you always attack the customers?" Crookshanks mewed, flicking the tip of his tail under her nose. "Oh, stop that," she said, swatting it away. The cat gave her a very feline-like smirk, then leapt onto her desk, scattering papers everywhere.

"Crookshanks, you stupid cat!" she exclaimed, dashing over to pick up the documents littering the floor and covering the cages. ""Why do you always act like this?"

Crookshanks lifted his paw and rested it on her nose, then jumped off gracefully to his perch. A little girl tugged on her mother's dress and pointed at him. "Look at the kitty, Mum!" The mother nodded patiently, examining the jewels on the back of an enormous tortoise. "I want that kitty, Mum!"

"You already have a cat, Katrina," the mother said.

"I want that one!" the little girl protested. "I don't like Sophie."

"No, sweetheart," the mother replied a little less patiently, eyes still affixed to the tortoise. "We can't get another cat."
"I want..."

"No, Katrina!" the mother snapped. Then she grabbed the distressed little girl's hand. "Come on; let's go meet Daddy." The two strode to the door.

"Can I get an ice cream?" asked the little girl as the door closed behind them.

Crookshanks twitched his tail again. It was always the same scenario. Nobody ever wanted that horrible, bandy-legged cat instead of a nice, glossy owl or something of the like. He had lost count of how many years it had been since he had been dropped off at the Magical Menagerie as a kitten with his brothers and sisters; now he was the only one left. His family had all been purchased by cat enthusiasts within the first few weeks of their lives, but no one had wanted that odd-looking little ginger one. So he had stayed, cared for by the shopkeeper and her family, watching as new animals were brought in and adopted within a month or two. He was certainly the longest inhabitant of the Magical Menagerie, but he didn't mind so much. He had a certain respect from all the other animals, a respect that he had come to command from any outsider. He was the only denizen allowed to wander the shop at ease, but he had never seen the crowded streets outside the shop save from his view through the window on his favorite shelf. Yet somehow, the pain of being kept inside away from the world and the hurt at living so long without a customer expressing interest in him had been numbed by his duty to the tiny shop; the duty to keep the others in line and the customers well-mannered. The duty which he enthusiastically performed.

Crookshanks looked down upon his smelly and noisy kingdom, watching the shoppers mill about, peeking at the glossy black rats on the front desk or the poisonous orange snails oozing about their tank. Though it was not the ideal life for a cat, it was comfortable, and he expressed no desire to leave.

Ever.