#fem!catwin

When the two cross paths again, it is Edith who catches The Cat Queen by surprise.

The Edwardian marches down the street, dark boots clacking against the pavement beneath her as she heads back to the butcher shop, when a patch of fur peeks into her peripheral vision.

This feline doesn’t bite or scratch at her to get her attention. This one doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her at all, far too busy rubbing against a hedge near a barber shop.

Edith course-corrects at once, veering toward it. Her footsteps thread lighter and lighter the closer she gets.

The cat looks up as Edith stops beside her, taking the ghost in with impossibly wide eyes. It pulls away from the shrub with a tilt of the head and soft, questioning mrrow- still showing no signs of aggression, just plain confusion. Curiosity.

Edith takes it as a good sign.

Gently, affecting much more certainty than she actually feels, Edith starts to hold a hand out.

The feline hisses suddenly; the ghost flinches.

The cat eyes her gloves with distasteful sniff. The Edwardian understands at once.

Maintaining eye contact, the detective removes one glove and hesitantly reaches out again. 

It is only a glove, she reasons inwardly. It never granted a real protection of any sort.

But something about this unwanted exposure to the elements sends an immediate unease zipping through the ghost of her veins. The sensation is thankfully replaced by the touch of fur against her fingertips.

The feline sniffs at her hand again before all at once, relaxing into it, drawing a gasp from the detective. The cat closes its eyes, nuzzling into her palm with a contented purr, like Edith still retains any warmth.

Slowly, Edith scratches just below the chin- the gesture more to ease any remaining discomfort in herself than as an expression of affection. Still, she smiles despite herself when the feline’s purrs only grow louder.

Eventually, the cat’s eyes crack open, gazing at Edith through thick lashes.

“Well, aren’t you a dapper young gentleman? You might be... what, the seventy-eighth cat I’ve encountered so far?”

Edith’s expression sobers at once, tone forceful as she looks through the cat’s eyes.

“Do you hear me, your highness? Seventy-eight. There are seventy-eight cats in Port Townsend and counting.”

She pulls away, brisk and abrupt, turning to continue stomping down the street, heading back to the butcher shop.

Somewhere behind her, Edith hears a faint, dejected whine; she bats aside a twang in her chest and continues her march across town.

Far on the other side of town and gazing through the feline’s eyes, The Cat Queen lounges on her throne, processing Edith’s words.

Her actions.

The air is tense as her subjects hold their breath, fearing their queen’s reaction when what Edith had just done finally sinks in.

Eventually, Whiskey risks a peek up at the monarch, voice hoarse with fear. “Uh. Your highness...?”

“Well,” The Cat Queen says into echoing silence. Her gold eyes glimmering with interest as she goes over the scene in her head, stretching it out and dissecting every detail.

Reassessing the very idea of Edith as she speaks.