Scroll 6: Fat magic cat man!
Geneve Quinn de Lafayette had always been a happy, stout, and healthy child. She grew up to become a rather healthy, although some would say not as happy of an adult. This made her recent bout of illness all the more strange.
“I will be back in the office by Monday, I assure you,” said Geneve to the head of her lab, Dr. Bok, over the phone.
“It’s fine Dr. Quinn,” answered Dr. Bok, “your work is important, but so are you. Come back when you feel better.”
Geneve knew that she could access her work from her laptop and keep working. No need to tell Dr. Bok.
“Ok doctor, I’ll do that. Cheers,” she said, trying rather hard to sound convincing.
“I’m sure you will,” said Dr. Bok, “Before I go. There is an IT update coming. So I’ve asked them to start with your machine here.”
“He’s good,” thought Geneve.
“That won’t be a problem I hope?”
“Not at all Dr. Bok. See you in a couple of days then.”
“See you then. Watch some movies, read some books, but rest. For my sake if not yours.”
“Ok doctor. I will.”
Geneve exchanged some more pleasantries with the doctor and then hung up. For the first time in her 36 years she had caught a proper flu and it was playing havoc with her body.
Over the past 7 days she had suffered from every single symptom that had terrified her from her mum’s “Dr. Pinbottom’s Guide to Child and Adolescent Health”. High fever, shivers, her teeth ached, her gums bled, her hands and feet felt like they were too big for their size which made her clumsy.
The clumsiness was the worst part. She had always been a rather agile person, not magnificent at any particular sport, but she could become quite competent in a very short time. The teams at her boarding school used to fight over who would get to keep her. The occasional hike, and her weekly judo classes were more than enough to keep her healthy. Until now.
A powerful skeleton racking cough assaulted her, and possibly mugged her too.
“Bloody hell,” she said out-loud, “that was a rough one.”
In the distance, a persistent meow sounded through the fog. Her saviour had finally come. Her cat, Bustopher, came trotting into her bedroom. Bustopher, like his namesake from the musical, was a rather large cat. Unlike his namesake however, this Bustopher was big rather than just fat.
He was the kind of big that would make dogs re-evaluate their life choices. Except chihuahuas of course, but that is because the anger inside a chihuahua goes beyond any logic, and makes them rather immune to fear. If you have ever wondered, Chihuahuas don’t quake with fear, or cold, but rather with barely contained battle lust.
Bustopher gracefully, or as gracefully as such a big cat could, jumped unto Geneve’s bed. He walked over to her head and rested his paw on her forehead with a look of deep concentration on his face. Bustopher had been checking on her every day, and whenever he “tended” to her, Geneve could swear she felt quite better. Although recently it had become less effective.
“I could swear you’re taking my temperature,” said Geneve as she scratched Bustopher’s favourite spot.
Bustopher tried to not squirm from pleasure and remain as dignified as possible while performing this new daily ritual.
Bustopher took his paw off of Geneve’s forehead, and offered her a grin. At least to Geneve it looked like a grin, but of course it was a smile from Bustopher’s perspective.
Unfortunately, cats are not capable of smiling, grinning is as close as they get. After that, there is not-as-malicious grinning, followed of course by malicious grinning.
Geneve looked closely at Bustopher, and could swear he looked relieved. Which once again is ridiculous, since cats are incapable of revealing their intentions cleanly. They fancy twists.
Finally, Bustopher settled at the feet of Geneve’s bed, and although it was only 6:30 pm, Geneve felt exhausted. She tried to fight it by reading some more. When the book fell on her face twice in 10 minutes. she finally gave up.
Geneve put on her favourite podcast, pulled the covers up to her nose, and finally squirmed until she felt comfortable enough to sleep. She hoped not to sleep until too late the next day.
When Geneve woke up, she threw her arm towards her night table. She fumbled around for her mobile until she finally felt the brushed metal on her fingertips.
She picked up the phone and looked at the time.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck me,” said Geneve, quite loud and applying extra feeling to each “u”.
It was 6:00. At night. Of the next day.
“That is quite a mouth you’ve got on you young lady,” said a voice that Geneve didn’t recognise.
Geneve jumped from her bed and hit her head on the roof. The same roof which was about 10 meters from the ground.
The list of expletives that followed was long and in at least 4 languages.
“And tabernak!” Geneve finally exclaimed.
“Are you ok ma petite?” said the same voice, sounding sincerely worried.
Geneve looked up and saw a massive man with a rather nice looking wool suit sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed.
Without taking any time to think, Geneve went into attack mode. She jumped up from her bed unto the intruder. She scrambled all over him like a weasel until she managed to get behind him. Geneve swung her arm to put the intruder in a choke hold when her arm was stopped by something.
Geneve manoeuvred herself to look over the massive man’s shoulder. He smelled like peppermint oil, chamomile, and a hint of vanilla. But she had no time to wonder why this man smelled like a massage shop. She needed to put him down. Geneve looked at what was blocking her arm from crushing the man’s larynx.
A finger. The man’s finger was holding her full arm. The same arm that trashed catholic girls in high school, the same arm that her sensei had called “as terrifying as an actual bear trap”.
This peppermint-y man had stopped it.
“Please Geneve, stop. I’m not here to harm you,” the man said in a reconciliatory tone.
Geneve jumped off of the man’s back and he turned around.
“Geneve,” the man said, “look at me. You must recognise me.”
Geneve looked at the man. His salt and pepper beard, the kind green eyes, and his grin, which was not quite a smile.
“Bustopher?”
“That’s correct,” Bustopher said with another cheeky grin, “although my actual name is Olivier.”
“That is a really cute sounding name,” Geneve thought. Then she passed out.
When Geneve woke up again, she was tucked into her bed and couldn’t move. When she looked around her, she noticed that cats pinned her down by sitting on top of the covers. At least twenty of them were doing this.
A group of people were standing at the foot of her bed. Some young, some old, men, women, lean, fat, tall and short. Some attributed were shared however. The black hair, a peculiar grin, and the green eyes.
Green eyes with flecks of silver.
“How can I see the flecks of silver in your eyes?” she demanded, except that by this point she was rather upset, so it sounded a lot more mewling that she intended it too.
“Because your sight is quite good, ma petit,” answered Olivier.
“What is happening?” she asked, tears forming up in her eyes.
“Well darling,” said a voice coming from the door, “it’s actually more simple than you think.”
Her mother, wearing her usual doctor’s coat stood at the door frame.
“Mum?” whined Geneve, losing what little composure she had left.
Her mum sat down on her bed, the cats making way for her. She stroked Geneve’s forehead.
“Listen pet,” said her mother, “this man.” She pointed at Olivier.
“This man is Olivier de Lafayette,” continued her mum, “he’s an old friend.”
“How old?”
“Before you were born.”
“Mum… He has my last name.”
“Hmm”
“Of course… I’m dumb. I have his, right Mum?”
“Yes flower?”
“Care to explain?”
“If you don’t mind?” interjected Olivier, “that is not all. So we might as well get it all out of the way.”
Geneve lost her composure a little bit. Which to be fair, in these set of circumstances. Is understandable.
“Oh! That’s not all? Fan-fucking-tastic! Tell me fat magic cat man! What else is there?” the abuse had left Geneve’s mouth before she could do anything about it.
“You’re also half-mandagot, like myself. A mandagot is a type of cat-spirit. Actually everyone in this room is also part of your family. Including the ones that can’t transform,” Olivier answered in a calming, paced, and rational voice.
He hoped this would lessen the impact of his words.
It did not and Geneve passed out again.
Scroll 6: Fat magic cat man!
Voice over done by Harry Frost(https://www.facebook.com/bellowsaudio)
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