house ghost and lonely old souls, kept quick about my
business and only went in and out of the basement when
necessary. No, I wouldn’t be taking up residence there,
and off I went to build myself a bonny home. The rats,
I knew, would keep her company. Ghosts have no
affect on rats. I guess, as some people say, this is because
rats have no souls.
I sang and whistled, “My own home I am a
building’” as I went. I’d found a place not too far from the sisters’, on the same property, actually, near the edge
of a pond. I used 2 pieces of tin I’d pulled off of the
flap of a radiator vent for a roof. The walls were built
from wooden matchboxes that I’d saved up using a
broken off tip of a handsaw found on the floor of the
old tool shed. The back side of my house read, “Close
cover to strike” and “Always a flame in one light!”
Inside, I’d built a second story loft where I had
my bed and an upside-down ring box where I kept the
contents of my knapsack and some neatly folded clothes.
My front door opened out to the eastern view of the
pond and although it took me a month and a half to
build - getting it right, the way I wanted - I sat out
front the day I’d completed construction, deeming it
paradise while I watched trout snap at fireflies as the sun
went down behind ’my’ pond.
I moved the piece of wheatgrass I was chewing
over with my tongue and said, like I mentioned, “This is
paradise!” and then in gaelic, I whispered, “Home.” On one of the excursions back to the sisters’ for
things like my suitcase, I saw the Rat King and his wife
with her tightly held bundle venturing back into the
basement of the ladies’ home. I felt a bit of relief to see
that she’d found him, alive too, although a-hobblin’ he
was. One leg and one arm in bandages, he lumped along
on crutches, with her fussing over him, helping as much
as she could. I almost called out to them, as happy to
see them together, again, I was, but then thought better
of it, and lowered my hand back down, as I caught
myself about to wave to them and say, “Hello!” With
that, I realized it might be time for me to introduce
myself to some other species and make a few friends. I
waited until I’d guessed the rats were safely in the
basement, and then I snuck into the sisters’ house.
Honor McGillicutty had decided, I’d assumed
from the conversation, to get herself a job. She’d been
making curtains and cushions - all kinds of lovely things
- for inside the home and had been approached
by a man at the fabric store. He would be visiting the
sisters at their house next week. Honor told Blithe who
sounded skeptical, at first.
It was true that Honor rarely caused a fuss - did
as Blithe advised her, almost each and every time, but
when Blithe’s untrusting advice turned almost to an
“Absolutely not!” well, Honor flew into a full fit
defending her rights with a final high pitched shriek,
“You’re NOT my mother! I can do whatever I want!!”
Then, with a slam of a door - which made me jump
behind the ice box - she was out of the kitchen, her tea
at the table untouched.
Blithe looked out of the window and sighed, “O,
dear.” Then she took a sip of tea, and said “I do hope
this doesn’t turn into a thing.” I stepped out from the
ice box and looked at her. She was looking right at me.
I shivered with fright, “Are you talking to me?” I
asked. “Well, yes, Mr. Twinks, I don’t often talk to
myself, now, do I?” Blithe said, more as a statement
than as a question. So, I climbed and sort of flew up
onto the table and stood next to Honor’s tea cup. I took
a long, good look at the sister, turning my head a bit to
the right - I held her gaze - a bit to the left - her
eyes followed mine. Then I rubbed my chin and saidto
her, matter-of-factly, and as a friend, “You mustn’t feat
that she’ll meet someone, run off and leave you. She’s a
loyal sister and a very dear friend. What you mustdo is
give her her freedom. You’re good at that,” I winked.
“I am?” she gasped.
“I must say it’s done wonders for me,” I shared,
then, with her the good new of my home and my desire
to meet some new friends. She concurred that the
settling in time had probably more than come to an end
and decided it was time that not just Honor ventured out
and bring visitors home. She and I vowed to do the
same. Then, she poured me a thimble of tea, offered up cookie crumbs, which I of course enjoyed, and thanked
me profusely for sharing my time, advising her so
splendidly. Then, Honor burst open the swinging,
kitchen door, threw a scarf round her neck and
exclaimed, “I’m going out!”
Blithe adapted to her new plan, asking curtly
and without protest, “When will you be coming back,
dear?” to which she received a high-pitched, miffed
sounding, “I don’t know,” in response. I had my eyes
fixed - like saucers - on the thing in the doorway that
rubbed and swished its long, furry tail against Honor’s
laced boots and proper ladies stockings.
“A cat?!” I gulped in the sip of my tea, inching
closer to Blithe as I did so. No one heard me amid the
ladies’ exchanges of stifled, hurt feelings which wound to
a final, “Adieu,” and then a “Ta t-a!” The kitchen door
swished again. Honor was gone, but the house cat
stayed inside the kitchen. Sat right down on its
haunches and smiled at me. I looked at Blithe, but she’d thrown down her
napkin, got up from the table muttering, quickly, all
sorts of exclamations like, “Honestly!” and “Sometimes!”
and then without turning around, she’d swished through
the kitchen swinger with an impolite, “I’m sorry Mr.
Twinks,” and then she was gone. The house cat was
not. It smirked - so pleased with itself was it’s
expression - watching Blithe’s heels disappear through
the swing, swing, swing of the door. It looked, once
again, right at me. I set down my tea. My palms had
begun to sweat, so I wiped them against my new
elderberry leaf shorts that I’d made.
“Hunh!” I smiled and kind of laughed. The cat
swished its tail - one quick, sharp back and forth move,
and then it held still. Unlike rats, there ain’t no talking
to a cat. Can’t reason your way out because with cats its
all about the game of chase and catch. They love it.
They love you. I could say whatever I liked, but I still
had to move, this way, or that. Just my size and my movement - game on! It meant the cat would not just
want to chase me, but catch me, also. As far as chase
and catch games go - cats are the best at it. Case in
point, ever try to catch a housefly in your hands?
Almost impossible. Ever watch a cat catch one? Almost
two, three
jumps plus a swat. One. Ah! There goes the
fly.
“No,” I thought to myself as I gulped again, “I
definitely won’t be using my wings.” I backed up astep.
The cat’s tail swished, quickly, one back and forthswipe
across the floor.
Each tiny move of mine, its tail swished once,
until I yelled, “O, come on!” Complaining sometimes
worked with a cat. They don’t mean to be bullies. I
mean, half their catches are just for fun; but then, they
play with their claws out, and then the thing they’ve
caught - their well-loved play toy - winds up dead.
Sort of like the concept of crocodile tears, I’d guess. A
crocodile actually cries as it eats its prey. Cats are kind of like that - but cuddly and fluffly and unnervingly
good at “chase”. It did not take its eyes off me, neither.
“I’m practically human!” I yelled. The more a cat
likes you, the more it wants to catch you and love you to
death!
I think I actually whimpered at this point, then,
Blithe swished back in, forgetting that she had forgotten
her manners, earlier, and said some polite things like,
“Congratulations on your new home, Mr. Twinks. I
hope you’ll drop in another day and tell me more about
it. Pleasure to have tea with you today. I’ve decided to
go to town, perhaps you will drop by tomorrow or
Wednesday for tea? Hmmm. Yes. Wednesday will be
much better - more time - you see? You see, Mr.
Twinks?” She looked inquisitively at me, wondering, I
suppose when I would ‘get the hint’ and why I was not
seeing myself out, so I just pointed to the cat seated
between the ice box and the kitchen swinger, smiling
smugly, still swishing its tail in anticipation of a chase, no doubt, at its keen attention to my every, tiny move.
“O, feathers!” Blithe suddenly realized the gravity
of my situation, the dangers and social debauchery of the
tea party to her guest, which I think she thought me as
rather than a regular break and enterer searching for
cast-off bits to gather and steal away from her house in
order to furnish my own.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed. Then she picked the
cat up in her arms, rubbing its neck. She suddenlyspoke
in a voice without reason, in some way I’d
never imagined Blithe McGillicutty would speak. She
rubbed her cheek against the cat’s cheek.
“Therwe, therwe, our wuvwee kitty. This is Mr.
Twinks.” The cat smiled even more smugly from its
perch, now above me, looking down. “He is our friend,”
she said slowly. The cat’s tail swished quick and sharp.
She put the cat down and then talked in her normal, not
so oddly nauseating voice.
“We found her outside, hungry and cold. She’s a house cat, really. She must have been left, here, anyway,
she’s ours now. I’ll see you out, Mr. Twinks,” she
lowered her hand, flat and palm up, onto which I
stepped with a sigh of relief.
“I don’t think she’ll hurt. She’s very tame and
affectionate.”
“No, she won’t mean to,” I said, and, “that’s
what I thought,” after she quipped, “Loving, really!”
The cat bent down and licked its paws as we exitedthe
kitchen, its tail lying in a limp half circle out front of it,
game off and disappointed.
Now I felt like saying, “Ta t-a!” so I did. Blithe
laughed and told me how much she’d enjoyed my visit.
“See you this time, Wednesday!” she said. As
soon as she’d shut the house door tight, I ran for the
pond as fast as I could. I thought of the cat several
times before Wednesday; and, I remember how my mum
had said more than just a few housecats could be trusted,
but never the wild or feral types. “A great form of transportation,” she’d said; so, I
thought up a plan to give that a try. I wanted to see
more of Old Soul’s Hollow. Blithe and Honor had
bought a horse and carriage off the coachman which I
hadn’t yet ventured into so as not to remind us all of
that hurtful day where the ladies shrieked and swatted
and the coachman searched and cursed me as some kind
of intruder. I liked the ladies and judging
by their first reactions toward me, I wasn’t aboutto jump
into capturing the attention of human publicity like I’d
once dreamt about, especially for the ladies’
sakes.
On Wednesday, I dressed for tea and for the
acceptance of my first real invitation by humans into one
of their homes - homes I had been bumping into (and
off) mischievously messing about for most of the years of
my existence. No, this was a day - a milestone - to be
revered, and so I wore my best clothes, as one does on
such occasions and acted as mannerly as my rather unconventional upbringing would allow. I thought to
bring a bouquet of wildflowers - buttercups - since they
are smaller than
I am and carrying them over would not cause a risk as to
be cumbersome or dirty my clothes by stumbling. I’d
seen a thicket of bright, yellow buttercups while enjoying
quick strolls near my pond and for this occasion, I
ventured out into the field for a bunch of them.
I remember the next moment just like it was
yesterday. The sun was warm upon my skin and the
scent of sweet grass and fresh dew drifted through the
air amid vibrant, yellow splashes of low-lying buttercups.
I was sifting through wet grass and picking some out
among the clover when I sensed that I was being looked
at - maybe even ‘watched’. My neck grew warm, or
perhaps that was just the sun; either way, I looked up.
Quick as a wink, a figure - not larger than I - jumped
from the meadow, in behind a tree. I could not make
out what I had just glimpsed, completely. “Did I see… wings?” I wondered, “faerie girl
wings?” Now, this pleasant mystery gave me almost
the giggles and a bit of the tingles of butterflies in my
stomach. Normally, the feeling of ‘watched’ in a
meadow for a kind my size signals many kinds of danger
like hawks, owls, or crows. But this, I thought was one
of two things: either, I was seeing things (too much
wishin’ and a-hopin’ for a friend), or I had just
witnessed a girl butterfly winking at me. Butterflies, if
they like you enough to let you get close, can be so much
fun.
I jumped to my feet and yelled, “Wait!
Don’t go!” I ran toward the tree, but stopped still when
I heard giggles.
“Well, this is new,” I said, “butterflies back
where I come from don’t giggle.” Then, all at once two
girls, my same size, poked their heads out from a clump
of wild candytuft for a look at me. What I’d thought
was a butterfly flitted back out from behind the tree. It’s wings were attached to a girl! I fell right back, my
feet went up. I dropped all of my buttercups, grabbed
my head with both hands and laughed until tears welled
up in my eyes. The girls approached a bit closer.
“You’re so strange,” one said, but that only made
me laugh harder.
“What?!” another said, and then, “he’s rude!” I
sat up.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “its just, back in Ireland girls
don’t look like butterflies and butterflies don’t look like
girls.”
“Ireland?”
“It’s a country, where I’m from.”
“Who are you?” the girl I’d first seen asked.
“What are you?!” I asked.
“Hmm!” she said, “he is rude. I’m a flower fairy,
an Old Soul’s, of course. Let’s go,” she said to the other
two, and then they fluttered away.
“Bye!” said the last to drift out of sight. She had smaller wings than the butter-girl, but larger than my
own.
“Bye!” I said, smiling, “Come back some time,”
I said.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Tomorrow!” I called, and then, pop, pop, pop,
they were gone.
I hurried to pick up my buttercups, then off to
the sisters’ I went. I have to admit, though, I couldn’t
sit still.
During the entire conversation I thought of
‘tomorrow’ and kept answering Blithe’s questions with,
“What? Could you say that again please?” Finally
she crooned, “O, dear! Maybe your mind is elsewhere
today, Mr. Twinks? Mr. Twinks! Maybe you’d rather
come for tea another day when your mind is on
conversation and not so far off in your own thoughts,
hmmm? If its just tea and biscuits you’re in need of, then
I’ll make you a parcel, some to take home. Whatever it is,” she said as she crumbled three cookies and packed
them in tissue, then wrapped them with string, “it must
be of most enjoyable thought. I don’t think you’ve any
less than beamed with smiles since you entered our house
today.”
“What?” I said and then, “O, yes.”
“Here you are,” she handed me two tissue
bundles, then scooted me out of the door with her hand.
“We’ll see you next week,” she said.
“Wednesday?” I asked her.
“Yes, Mr. Twinks,” she sighed and then she shut the door.
The Faerie Ring Dance
Chapter Six * Blossom
IIII spent most of the next two and a half days
thinking up a need for buttercups and then trotting off
to the meadow to search for the best ones, while I also
The Faerie Ring Dance Page 5