Bringing back this fun little short that celebrates my favorite writing buddies. Join me for a visit with Lady Catherine and her cat!

This month I’ll be celebrating my feline writing buddies with cat stories, writerly cats, cat histories and a tatzelwurm or two thrown in for the fun of it.

Part 1

Elizabeth staggered from the book room, cradling a stack of books in her arms. Two steps into the cramped, dimly lit hallway, she opened the uppermost volume just to demonstrate that she was indeed utilizing the resource to seek  answer.

She had asked a simple question of Mr. Collins—why could he not have simply answered? Instead he piled six separate volumes on the art of flower gardens plus two additional ones on the cultivation of roses in her arms, assuring her they would surely answer all her questions most effectively. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from such a response. He had absolutely no idea which variety of roses produced the most fragrant rosewater.

And now she hardly cared. Not that it had ever really been that important. It was really more about having a bit of polite conversation than seeking the information. Nothing more. But now—

“Oof!” She stumbled and dropped several books. Hopefully Mr. Collins had not seen that or he would lecture her fiercely for abusing Lady Catherine’s property for he considered everything in the parsonage that he and Charlotte had not brought themselves as property of his patroness.

“Mrow.” A large ginger cat with huge green eyes blinked up at her with a look of recrimination.

“Gracious, Ginger! You should know better than to be so underfoot!” She set the books carefully on the nearest hall table—which really did not fit properly into the space, but since Lady Catherine had declared its placement, they dare not move it—and scooped up the cat. “You darling creature, you have just spared me an afternoon trapped studying what I have very little interest in.” She whispered into the cat’s ear.

He pushed his head under her hand and purred. For a creature belonging to Lady Catherine, he was remarkably personable and content, in addition to being very large and handsome which one might assume was why she approved of him.

“Charlotte!” Elizabeth called, hurrying toward Charlotte’s parlor at the opposite side of the house. “Where is the basket? I have found Lady Catherine’s cat.”

Mr. Collins trundled up behind her. “Her ladyship’s cat? He must be returned immediately! She has been beside herself with worry!” He reached for the cat.

Ginger pressed back into Elizabeth’s chest, hissing and swiping at Mr. Collins. She turned so the cat could not see him. Ginger settled in her arms, merely growling in Mr. Collins’ direction.

Mr. Collins slipped back two steps. “Spiteful creature. Does he not desire to be returned? He lives in luxury many people cannot fathom.” His upper lip curled back. Everyone, including the cat, knew he had little fondness for felines.

“I am sure he does, but perhaps not by you. Pardon me for suggesting this, but it does not seem as though he has a very great preference for you.” She scratched under Ginger’s chin and he stopped growling.

Mr. Collins muttered something very sour indeed.

Charlotte hurried up, a large basket lined with an old blanket in her arms. “Here, you can use this to carry him back to Rosings. He seemed to like this basket very well the last time.”

Just to prove her correct, Ginger leapt form Elizabeth’s arms into Charlotte’s basket, nearly causing Charlotte to drop it.

Elizabeth helped her catch it before it fell, and then took the burden from her. “I will take him directly to Rosings lest her Ladyship suffer another moment’s anxiety for his welfare.”

Soon the sunshine warmed both her face and the basket she carried as she strode across Rosings’ ample green lawns. Within, Ginger purred deep contentment as though there could be no finer thing in life than to be a cat in a basket in the sun. She might purr too if she had the ability. In truth the errand might not have been nearly so urgent—and pleasant— had a sojourn from Mr. Collins’ company not been so welcome.

Ginger was a very substantial cat though and soon her arms ached. But if she sat to rest, Ginger might well jump out and run off simply because he could. He had a bit of a perverse streak and a great deal of mischief behind those green eyes. Somehow, he always seemed to be planning something. Perhaps that was why Elizabeth liked him so.

She trudged up the steps of Rosings’ front door. It would have been far simpler just to take the cat to the kitchen and allow a maid to bring him to Lady Catherine. But that would violate any number of Lady Catherine’s rules of propriety. So, she would have to endure an audience with Lady Catherine.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain at the parsonage.

The housekeeper squealed with glee at the sight of Ginger in his basket. She did not even check to see if Lady Catherine was “in” this morning, but ushered Elizabeth directly to the small parlor Lady Catherine favored in the mornings.

The room was light and bright, and might even have been considered happy but for its principle occupant. Sunshine poured through windows that took up the better part of one wall. Elegant modern furniture with dark wood and light upholstery populated the room—several comfortable chairs, a fainting couch and a settee. Vases of white roses stood on each of the three small tables, lending a subtle fragrance to the space. Blue floral paper hanging contrasted with yellow drapes, resulting in a very sunshiny, garden-feeling sort of room. For all her other eccentricities, Lady Catherine’s tastes were difficult to fault.

“Madam, madam! Your Ladyship!” The housekeeper exclaimed, losing all propriety in the excitement of the moment. “Miss Bennet has found him. She has brought him to you!”

“What is this commotion?” Lady Catherine rose from her seat near the center of the room, imposing and stern.

Ginger leapt from the basket to the floor to the arm of Lady Catherine’s chair, bumping his head under her elbow. “Mrow?”

Lady Catherine swept the creature into her arms. “You naught, willful creature! How could you sneak out without my approval? How did you come to find him, Miss Bennet?”

Ginger sprang from her arms toward a dark figure in a large wingchair near the window.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“You know my nephew?”

Mr. Darcy stern and somber as ever, rose, scooping the cat up in a well-practiced hold. One could not deny he was a well-looking man, if one could ignore his prideful disposition long enough to notice. Ginger purred loudly. Odd, the cat usually had better taste than that.

“Miss Bennet and I became acquainted in Meryton last winter.”

“How interesting.” The way Lady Catherine’s green eyes narrowed suggested she did not quite approve of an unauthorized acquaintance between them. “How did you find my cat?”

“He wandered into the parsonage, your Ladyship, through an open window I expect, and all but asked me to take him back to Rosings.”

Mr. Darcy smirked.

Smirked? Was that possible for a man who never seemed to even smile?

“Well, he is a very sensible creature.” Lady Catherine glared just a bit as Mr. Darcy scratched under his chin and Ginger rumbled even more loudly.

“I supposed you will stay a few moments to rest yourself before your return.” It hardly sounded like an invitation.

“Charlotte is awaiting my return, so I should not delay, your Ladyship.” She curtsied and hurried out. Mr. Collins would be ever so put out to know she had refused an invitation to spend a few more moments in the presence of the great lady. But hopefully he would not find out.

What was Mr. Darcy doing here? Of all people, why him? And why ever did Ginger seem so fond of him, it had seemed the cat possessed better judgement than that.

So what do you think of Ginger? Will he be a helpful feline, or made a muddle of things?

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