A home for me, that is? My name is Pringle, because I'm not as orange as my foster brother Cheeto. But I'm bigger. We're flame points! Gorgeous gold Siamese!
My first name was Shelter #33. I don't know how I ended up in a shelter, but I've got this pet thing down cold. I run up to you when you come in the door. I like being picked up and held, and I sleep right next to you at night. And I like to play. Play, play, play. I especially like to play fetch. Lots. Don't worry about forgetting to play with me. I'll bring my toys right up to you when I'm ready, say, 3 or 4 or a million times a day. Life's great, but it would be better at your house.
Harry Pawter and the Sorceror's Home
Chapter 1 http://www.austinsiameserescue.org/animals/detail?AnimalID=5264652
Chapter 2 http://www.austinsiameserescue.org/animals/detail?AnimalID=5264660
Harry and Draco hunkered down in the laundry. There was indeed a big cat who liked to stand outside the laundry room door and sing of her prowess and size. Draco and Harry dug deeper in the laundry when that happened until most of the clothes were on top of them. They heard the dog gambol by, woofing, “Hi! Come out and play!” Draco hissed,”It's a trap. Don't go out,” and on the whole, Harry thought it a wise path to take.
Sometimes they were permitted out. Harry hid behind a ficus plant, and Draco scouted the room. Even though the other animals weren't in the same room, Harry could smell them and hear Flannel singing her threats.
One day, there was another cat in the room. They all jumped back in surprise. The new cat was a flame point Siamese like Draco, but lean and rangy and a bit younger. He puffed himself up and yowled in a deep voice, “I live here. Well, I'm going to live here. I'm getting adopted. This is my space.”
Harry went behind his ficus plant.
“I'm bigger than you,” Draco sang in his unfortunately high voice.
“So? I eat beagles for breakfast. Nobody messes with Pringle.”
“I eat Buicks for breakfast,” Draco responded. “With gravy.”
They danced around the room in stately kitty kabuki, each pretending the other wasn't there, but upping the ante with each new threat. Harry sighed and edged back towards the laundry room. Draco managed to beat him to the best place on the dryer—it was warm, and the washer was known to bounce alarmingly--all the while singing his veiled challenges that he obviously hoped no one would accept.
Suddenly a new human was standing in front of them. Something about her made Harry stand on his hind legs and put his head on her shoulder. Draco did the same with the other shoulder. Harry knew how pointless it was to talk to humans, but he found himself purring in a low rumble, “Can you help us? We don't know where our home is.”
The person hugged them back before whisking them into a crate. “Not again,” moaned Draco, over and over.
Pringle watched with interest. “What are you crying for? You're going to the Sorcerer's Home.”
“What's that?” asked Harry.
“Oh, it's a magical place where the food dishes are never empty, and if you get sick, they make you well, and there's always a clean box to use.” Pringle licked a paw.
“That sounds like a regular home,” said Harry, hoping that Pringle could hear him over Draco's screams. “Like our home, anyway.”
“The really magical part is they conjure up new homes for cats who don't have any. Now that I'm moving out, they've got room for you guys. Hey! What is this? I don't belong in a carrier. I'm getting adopted! That's why we came here, so I could get my new home!”
Sure enough, Pringle was folded into a carrier, though he twisted like a snake. The crate and carrier went outside to a car. Pringle threw himself down and cried, “What did I do wrong? I did everything Master Split said to do. I was cute. I was playful. Why does this happen to me? How come Cheeto and Dorito have their homes but not me?”
“Why are you crying?” asked Harry. “If you're going to the Sorcerer's Home?”
“Because you're not supposed to stay there. You're supposed to get a new home. Did I say the spells wrong? What's Master Split going to say? I've muffed it again. I just—freeze—when I get to new places. Nobody's ever going to love me. Can't you shut him up?” It was hard for Pringle to throw a good tantrum when Draco was already louder.
“No,” said Harry. “But you won't shut up either.”
“We might as well sing. I sang all the way here and I'm a bit hoarse, but I've still got a voice. Come on, you big lummox, let's sing.” And Pringle and Cheeto sang “Cheeseburger in Paradise” in separate keys and tempos, as cats will, before starting into “Elebenty-seven Bags of Food in Box.” Pringle's voice gave out quickly, and he flopped down in his carrier, depressed, but Draco kept the song going as he flung himself around the crate he shared with Harry. Only he didn't know how to count backwards, or even forwards; so he never made any progress in the song. He didn't know how to share either, and Harry frequently ended up squished underneath him as Draco rolled around in terror and despair.
Finally, when Harry had begun to think that his new home would be the moving crate forever, they arrived at a large house. “It's a castle,” said Pringle, but Harry didn't know what a castle was.
At the door sat a midnight black cat with gleaming yellow eyes. “Welcome to the Sorcerer's Home. So says the script anyway.” She managed to make it sound threatening.
“Um, thank you?” said Harry.
“I'm bigger than you,” said Draco. He jumped back as Shadow fluffed herself out. Harry noticed that she was still smaller than Draco, but he decided not to mention it.
“I am Princess Shadow,” she said. “I live here. I run this place for my mother, Queen Claire de Lune. She is very sick and you will not disturb her. You are a foster. You will follow my rules. I do not understand why more and more fosters keep appearing. We do not need them at all. Maybe this place needs some new spells. Now get out of my sight, and don't stamp your feet around my mother. New cats go into quarantine until we know you don't have cat cooties. And what are you doing back, Pringle? I thought you were getting adopted.”
“Make me!” roared Pringle, not very coherently.
“I wish I could!” She stalked away, lashing her tail.
“So who put the sharp-edged litter in her box?” asked Harry.
“She was born that way,” said Pringle gloomily. “Just let her and her mother eat first.”
“That's fine for you puddy tats, but Draco Meowfoy eats first.” He tried to swagger, but it had been a long trip, and he stumbed instead.
Pringle gave him a pitying look. “Here's your room.I guess that's your stuff.”
“Our bed!” cried Harry. “Look, Draco!”
“That bed barely fits my bum,” said Draco. “I don't see why you're so attached to it.”
“Because pets have their own beds,” said Harry. “It means somebody loves us and feeds us and cares about us.” He scrunched himself up and wiggled into the bed. He looked up in time to see Pringle's pitying look transfer to him as the other young flame point slid out of the room without making a sound.