Midnight Rendezvous

Midnight Rendez-vous

A tale (tail?) of kitty love

Crookshanks crossed over the threshold, entering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time. He stopped short, a front paw extended in midair. His squashed-in nose twitched; his bushy tail bristled, almost imperceptibly.

He'd smelled her instantly. He started rubbing his chin against every statue, every suit of armour, every piece of furniture he could reach. Her scent was everywhere. It taunted him. Intoxicated him. It seemed to say, "Come and find me, big boy." Crookshanks took off at a trot down the hallway. The girl with the bushy brown hair who'd rescued him from that infernal noisy shop (she rather reminded him of his mum) was preoccupied with her friends and didn't notice his departure.

"Mrr-rrow-rrow?" he called out at various intervals. (This was the tomcat equivalent of cocking an eyebrow and saying, "How you doin'?")

The place was cavernous in size, but his nose told him she roamed it freely and often. Surely, it was only a matter of time.

He wandered the seemingly endless hallways for days - "Mrr-rrow-rrow?" "Mrr-rrow-rrow? - to no avail. Sometimes the staircases changed direction but he never lost his course. He would find her! And when he did, she would be glad, he thought, preening his bent whiskers a bit.

He never saw the lamplike eyes that shone down on him from above, then vanished with a flump! as their owner scurried off to her master. He instinctively avoided the unpleasant man who roamed the halls each night as he did. This man carried a glowing object and had a face marked with a permanent scowl. He seemed to be looking for something, too. Crookshanks thought it best to stay out of his way and let him get on with finding whatever it was. For this reason, he didn't notice the scent that clung to the man like perfume, almost masking his naturally foul odor.

Late one night the encounter came to pass, quite unexpectedly. She appeared suddenly in front of the watchful tom, her small grey body pressed lengthwise along the stone wall at the end of a corridor. Her back arched. Her eyes shone like large blazing moons.

Crookshanks closed one of his eyes halfway, giving rather the appearance of a cocked eyebrow. "Mrr-rrow-rrow?" he asked charmingly. I've still got it, he thought.

"Sssssssss!" replied the little grey cat.

Crookshanks blinked. She seemed unmoved by his undeniable masculinity. Confidence unswayed, he pressed on, swishing his tail in a manner that could not possibly be mistaken. "Mrr-gowr?" he inquired, the feline equivalent of, "Come here often?" (He was saving his best lines in case of dire emergency.)

"SSSSSSSSS!"

Ouch. Crookshanks stood back. He looked the female left to right. In truth, she did not look as nice as she smelled. Her fur was dull and a bit ratty, her eyes were, well, sort of creepy. But he'd been closed up in that shop for a Very Long Time, and he had urges that could not be denied. Besides, she was kind of cute. When she stopped hissing. Did she ever stop hissing?

Clearly, it was time to break out the good stuff. He let out a long, complicated yowl that translated roughly into, "If I said your fur was beautiful, would you hold it against me?"

The female sniffed disdainfully. Cats, she thought. They have no subtlety whatsoever. Crookshanks only noted that she had finally stopped hissing. His line must have worked! He sat down on his haunches and introduced himself.

"I'm Mrs. Norris," she replied, in a series of tinny mews and squeaks.

"No need to be so formal," said Crookshanks.

"That is my name. It is what my master calls me."

"I hope he doesn't call himself Mr. Norris," he retorted wittily.

"Ssssssss!"

She's a sensitive one, he thought. "Sorry."

"You will not mock my master, stranger."

"I said I was sorry. Come now, shall we be friends?"

"I don't think my master would like that," she stated primly.

"Just what sort of relationship do you have with this man?"

"None of your business!" she huffed.

"Okay, okay. Touchy."

"I told him you're here."

"Just now?" he asked, confused.

"No. The day you arrived. I saw you. I've been watching you ever since. I watch everything, you see. And I tell my master." She ruffled her fur proudly. "And he scratches my head and tells me what a good kitty I am."

"There's more to life than being a good kitty, you know."

"I help my master in his work. I tell him when the students are out of bed, so they won't hurt themselves. He takes so much pride in his work. I love him." Her face was a picture of devotion.

"No offense, but it sounds like you need a real man in your life." Swish, swish.

"I do not love my master... like that!" She mewed affrontedly.

"Have you ever loved anyone like that?" he asked, no longer merely trying to pick her up. He was genuinely curious. He intrigued her in a way that very few other females had.

"None of... well, no," she admitted. "But I am satisfied. I am well fed and have a comfortable bed to sleep on. And I live to serve..."

"Your master. I know, I know. But don't you ever wish...?" He let her imagination fill in the blank. He hoped she had an imagination.

She sat down gingerly beside a large grandfather clock. She eyed him warily, but seemed to have let down her guard a little. "Well..."

"Yes?"

"Sometimes it gets lonely." She averted her eyes.

Crookshanks made sympathetic noises. "The humans don't understand, do they?"

"My master treats me very well." She squirmed. "But... well..."

"I know. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to talk to another cat. It's nice," he added.

She looked up. "I must admit, I have enjoyed watching you. And I did not tell my master everything." She let out a little tinkly mew that sounded remarkably like a giggle.

"What didn't you tell him?"

"Well... I didn't tell him that your fur is such a divine shade of ginger. Or that your eyes look as though they have seen the world. Or that your tail..."

"My tail?"

"Has such a lovely swish," she finished softly.

A low, soft rumbling came from Crookshanks' direction. Mrs. Norris' ears perked up, recognising the sound. "You're welcome," she said in reply.

Crookshanks purred louder. "And have I mentioned the wonderful perkiness of your ears? The enchanting pinkness of your nose? And your fur..." He looked at her appraisingly. "I don't believe I've ever seen that beautiful colour before. But... it would look so much nicer if... someone groomed it for you."

"I am not that kind of girl!"

Crookshanks thought. "Would you like me to take you out first, then? Perhaps a stroll to the kitchens to nip some sardines?"

"Well... that is awfully romantic... but, oh!"

"What is it?"

"My master... he would not approve."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

"Yes, but..." Poor Mrs. Norris was facing a terrible dilemma. Betray her master's trust, or deny herself something she had secretly yearned for for years?

"Wouldn't your master want you to be happy?"

"I am not certain he knows what 'happy' means." Crookshanks said nothing. He just waited. "But... I think I would like to know," she said finally. Her eyes shone with a soft glow.

Crookshanks would have smiled, if his muscles worked that way. Instead he purred as Mrs. Norris walked tentatively toward him. She rubbed her chin against his in greeting. "And you can call me Priscilla," she murmured. The name came out as "Prrrscilla."

"Much better," said Crookshanks. "Really, what sort of a pervert calls his cat Mrs. Norris?"

Priscilla didn't respond. She would remain loyal to her master, but she had discovered a new calling as well. One that belonged to her alone.

The clock struck midnight. Crookshanks glanced up. "Let's meet here every night, when the bell sounds twelve times."

"I'll be here," Priscilla said.

They trotted off to the kitchens side by side, their tails swishing in the unmistakable language of love.

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