SAMHAIN

WEEK FOUR
Fat Cat's four paws landed on wet ground and he opened his eyes. Impenetrable darkness met them. Pushing back his hat - which he realized was still too big for him - he tried again. It wasn't much better. The torrential rain fell in sheets, not only blocking out all view of the way ahead but stinging like bees on his delicate pink nose. There was only one thing to do. Fat Cat pulled the hat firmly back down and ran for it.

The squishy sound of paws sinking into wet mud gave way to a gentle kind of rustling sound. The ground was firmer beneath his feet. Rain no longer drummed on the broad brim of his hat, and this time when Fat pushed it back he found he could see quite clearly the path that stretched before him. He was in the Wild Wood, although not a part he had ever visited before. A long straight track, covered in a thick coating of leaves, led through a kind of tunnel made of interwoven branches to which a few stray leaves still clung

It was just the right size for a cat to walk through. Not a magical fairy story kind of cat - for when Fat Cat stood erect on his two back legs his hat scraped the top of it - but high enough and wide enough for an ordinary everyday kind of cat to scamper through quite easily. Leaves blew up as Fat Cat swished through them and leaves blew down from the branches above him. Swirling and twirling in a cloud of red and brown, yellow and green, drying his sodden fur and whisking away the droplets that clung to his whiskers so that, by the time Fat Cat emerged from the tunnel into a sunlit clearing, he felt as if he had been rinsed clean and spun dry.

Which was just as well, he thought, because it looked as if he'd landed in the middle of a party. Fat Cat recognised the signs. Wooden platters were laid out on the bright green grass. A cauldron steamed over an open fire. Goblets were placed around a rocky mound from which a bright stream of water sprang crystal clear. But if these things were familiar others were not. Stirring the cauldron, carrying baskets of nuts and berries, dried mushrooms and ears of corn, were creatures unlike any Fat Cat had ever seen before.

They were faeries he supposed - he was still in Faerie-land after all - but nothing like the faeries who made up Titania's Court. Black inquisitive eyes peeped from faces that shone as bright and brown as a newly skinned conker. Twigs and feathers were woven into the tangled locks of their hair. Necklaces made of berries hung around their necks and tattered skirts or jerkins made of leaves over thick fur boots laced with woven grass. In the grassy clearing, Fat Cat could see them easily. In the forest that surrounded it he realized they would look like nothing so much as a moving part of it.

"Which is what we are." said a voice.
Fat Cat jumped. He'd been so engrossed in what he saw before him he hadn't noticed the figure standing behind him.
"A fact that is not surprising. For there are few who see us, and even fewer who know us. The same, however, cannot be said of you. None in Faerie-land can forget that fateful night when the Evil Sorcerer was defeated nor the part you played in it - and fate it may be" he murmured, "that has brought you here on such a night."
Fat Cat pricked up his ears but the faerie seemed to have forgotten he was there. When he spoke again, it was in a different kind of voice altogether.
"Come. Join our celebrations." he said. "You are a welcome guest indeed."

It was only when Fat Cat had eaten and drunk his full that he realised just how hungry he had been. He also realised that although, when he had first seen the faerie he thought they all looked the same, in fact this wasn't true. He had seen them as someone who had never seen a cat before might see him. Noticing only the things cats had in common - such as four legs and a tail and pointy ears and whiskers - rather than the things that marked them out as individuals.

They were sitting in a circle around the fire. Listening to tales told by an old woman, smoking a long clay pipe and wearing a battered hat rather like his own. The faeries' eyes were all intently fixed on her, so Fat was able to stare at them without feeling rude. There were old and young. Male and female Some wore red berries around their necks, some white. The leaves that formed their clothes were different too. Some pointed and long like a spear, others round like a shield. Some had jagged edges and some smooth. With a sudden jolt of excitement, Fat Cat realised there were some he recognised - apple and oak, blackberry and hawthorn - and as he noticed the black berries around the neck of one and the red around the neck of the other, the pieces began to fall into place and he got it.

He had no time to dwell on it, however. Fat Cat began to be aware that he was not the only one who wasn't listening to the storyteller. Gaps were beginning to appear in the circle. As yet another of the younger faeries crept off into the dark forest, Fat Cat decided to follow. Not for the first time his cat skills stood him in good stead. Eyes narrowed to see in the dark, claws withdrawn into thick pads, he crept stealthily along.

The sight that met his eyes was stranger than anything he'd seen that day. Something Fat Cat would never have believed possible. Because, if the faeries had looked as they did now when he had first seen them, he would have recognised them immediately. Dressed in an assortment of short skirts and long jumpers, long skirts and short jumpers, trainers and T-shirts, the faeries looked exactly like human teenagers on a night out. The odd twig or feather that still clung in their hair simply adding to the effect. If Fat Cat hadn't known better he would have wondered how they got there. No he wondered what they were doing.

He crept closer. Keeping to the shadows. Although, as he got near enough to see what was going on, he realised it was totally unnecessary. He could have crashed through the bushes. Yowled and howled and the faeries wouldn't have noticed he was there. Gazing into a pool of water they were totally transfixed. Held spellbound by the vision they saw there.

WEEK THREE

Fat Cat who'd been hoping it was the old lady making a rather melodramatic entrance, was disappointed but not particularly surprised to see that it was Puck. Puck always turned up just when he was at his lowest ebb.
"And what" asked Puck, gazing around the room in what Fat Cat thought was a rather supercilious manner "might be the cause of that? No Evil Sorcerers hiding under the table or dragons tucked behind the curtains here as far as I can see."
Fat Cat who'd searched for the old lady in all those places knew that was true.
"So." said Puck, "the old lady has gone. Well that was only to be expected."
"Not by me." Fat Cat said.
Puck gave him a searching look. "I suppose you just expected her to stay here cooking and cleaning and washing and mending, looking after the garden and, more to the point, you."
Put like that, Fat realized it was exactly what he had expected.
"Hmm." Puck said, "I suppose you thought you were some kind of pet."
Despite all the thoughts he had been having that one hadn't entered Fat Cat's mind.
However, now that Puck had put it there it gave him a rather uncomfortable feeling. It wasn't so long since he'd given up his life with Ollie and Tash and Maia in the other world, for him to forget what being a pet animal was like and now he saw that was exactly how he'd been behaving taking for granted the fact that there was always food on the table, a safe garden to laze about in when it was hot and a comfortable fire to doze in front of when it was cold. And really he shouldn't have needed Puck to point it out to him. The chubby looking cat who' d stared back at him when he'd had a quick peep into the magic mirror to see if it could tell him where the old lady had gone, had looked nothing like the sleekly muscled figure, wearing the green hat and the raven's feather, who'd returned with the old lady to Faerie-land but he'd recognised it all the same.

"Well it's easily done." said Puck, "Far easier to go backwards and revert to what you know than to move forwards into the unknown."
A bell rang in Fat Cat's mind. The old lady had said more or less the same thing.
"Then that no doubt is where she has gone." said Puck. "and where you will no doubt find her."
It made sense Fat Cat thought, in the strange way things did in this world. And in any case, he didn't really think he had any choice in the matter. There was no warm fire to sit in front of and nothing - apart from a pumpkin which he'd only just noticed- that looked anything like food, on the scrubbed wood table.

Fat Cat's heart sank. And to make matters worse, the steady drip which had accompanied Puck's entrance was getting louder and more persistent. Fat Cat hated rain. He hated the way it reminded him of the night Ollie threw him out - the start of all his adventures. He had a horrible feeling this was going to turn out to be another one and he wasn't at all sure he was ready for it.
"If you wait 'til your ready for it." said Puck, "You'll never be ready."
Fat Cat knew that was true. "I suppose you wouldn't like to come with me." he said.
Puck nodded. "You suppose right." He said, and in a sudden blur of hair and wings he was gone.

Fat Cat stared at the window ledge. Perhaps Puck hadn't been there at all. Perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination brought on by hunger and lack of food. But Fat Cat knew it wasn't. It never was. And actually, he was beginning to doubt he had an imagination. The things he'd seen and things that had happened to him were beyond the wildest possible imaginings of any cat.

Reluctantly Fat Cat padded over to the back door, where, next to the old lady's long grey cloak, on a peg just the right height for a cat to reach, a green hat with a raven's feather and a velvet cloak hung. Fat Cat put the hat on his head and slung the cloak around his shoulders. Something heavy banged against his left knee. Fat Cat put his paw into the pocket and pulled it out. He recognized it immediately. It was the faerie stone. One of the many magical things he'd treated so carelessly and lost so easily. He couldn't think how it had got there. It must be magic he thought.

The thought was comforting. It was a sign not only that the old lady must have been thinking about him - for if he didn't know where it had come from he knew without a shadow of doubt who it had - but also that she intended for him to set out on this journey. Fat Cat was about to do just that when he realised there was a problem. The back door was shut and the handle was too high up for him to reach. Fat Cat paused. Perhaps that was a sign too. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to go. Perhaps he was supposed to stay here and wait for the old lady to return. But when he saw the trickle of rain running down the wall beneath the open window Fat Cat knew that it wasn't

Pushing his hat firmly down over his eyes and clutching the cloak tightly together with his teeth, Fat Cat leapt onto the window ledge and jumped.

Week Two

Long into the night the old lady and Fat Cat sat, by the dying embers of the fire, discussing the things they had seen in the magic mirror. The veil between the worlds grew thinner at this time of year, the old lady said, which was why they could see the other world so clearly. Why the mirror had chosen to show them this particular part of it she didn't know. The mirror simply showed what it wantd you to see and it was up to you to work out what it meant - it was always a problem with visions," she added.

Fat Cat could see that it was. He had, he realized, seen the magic mirror as a kind of television screen. Now he saw it was more like a puzzle.
The old lady nodded approvingly. "And it is up to us to join the pieces." she said. "Hopefully, together we will be able to do so - two heads are always better than one.
Fat Cat wasn't sure that they were. Inside his head, which had been so filled with thoughts, there now seemed to be nothing but a big blank. And yet, maybe that wasn't altogether true. He remembered how his ears had pricked up when the old lady had pointed out the froth of white blossoms amongst the red berries of the hawthorn.
"You are right," the old lady said, "the mirror confirms what we had both noticed. However, what is more it shows us that not only are the flowers blooming out of season here in Faerie-land but that the same thing is happening in the other world also. It is a sign that the worlds are growing closer again - and for that," she said, almost to herself, "we have probably only ourselves to blame."
Fat Cat didn't think he did - but he could see how the old lady might. He knew just how magical and powerful she was.
The old lady looked at him sharply. "Do not underestimate yourself." she said. "The slightest thing - a flutter of a butterfly's wing or a drop of rain falling into the ocean - can affect the whole. How much greater then, the possible effects of a cat setting off into Faerie-land - or the faeries deciding to swap one of their children for the first time in goodness knows how many years, come to that. I suppose you hadn't thought of that."
At the time,Fat Cat knew he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking about anything very much - apart from the empty feeling in his tummy. And he didn't think Fey had been thinking about anything but herself either. But he had, he realized had a faint glimmer of it on the day he had all those very confusing and uncomfortable thoughts about what might have happened if he hadn't done any of the things he had.
The old lady nodded. "But do them you did. There's no going back as you should have learnt by now."
Fat Cat might not have learnt much - and the longer he spent here, the more he realized how little he did know - but he had learnt that.
"Then the only way to go is forwards." the old lady said. "It may be that the changes you have wrought in both worlds are for the better, only time will tell. But in the meantime - and that is the time we are now in - it would appear that we still have a part to play." And stroking Fat Cat gently on the head, she got up and busied herself at the stove.

Fat Cat watched, as into a pan of simmering milk, she added pinches of herbs and a generous dollop of honey. He sniffed appreciatively as she handed him a steaming mug but he hesitated before sticking his pink tongue into it. Underlying the creaminess of the milk, the sweetness of the honey and a faint, pleasant, lemony, kind of smell was a hint of bitterness.
The old lady took a long draught of her own drink. "Drink up." she said, "It will do you no harm. It contains honey and chamomile for things often appear clearer after a good nights rest and these things will help you sleep."
"And?" said Fat Cat, knowing there was more.
"Mugwort - for prophetic dreams," said the old lady, as she drained her cup, "For we need all the help we can get."

Fat Cat spent a restless night tossing and turning. It was hard to tell when he was awake and when he was asleep. In fact, it was only when he finally woke that he realized he'd been asleep at all. When he was asleep he'd dreamt of Bethany. Dressed in her green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, standing on the beach in that other world, before they set off to face the dragon. And when he was awake, he thought of Bethany. Dressed in a green cloak, her red curls blowing in the breeze and her sun-bleached staff in her left hand, walking past a small tree, growing from a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.

"Fat lot of use that was then." he thought, as he remembered lapping up the strange tasting drink. He definitely didn't feel rested and the dreams hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. He wondered if the old lady had had any better luck but when he padded down the stairs and into the kitchen she was nowhere to be seen. Fat Cat searched all the places she was likely to be found - the garden and her bedroom and the spare room where she kept her magical tools and her garden spade - but she wasn't there. Then he searched in other less likely places - under the bed and at the back of a dark cupboard full of paper bags and old jam jars - but she wasn't there either. It was only when he found himself peering rather despondently into the empty grey robe that hung on the back of the kitchen door, that he finally gave up and was forced to admit to himself that she had disappeared.

Fat Cat felt a sinking feeling in his tummy. It wasn't the first time it had happened. When he first knew her she seemed to make a habit of it. Disappearing and leaving him on his own, just when he needed her help most. It was most unfair he thought. It was the old lady who'd asked him to come to Faerie-land. He hadn't asked to come. And now she'd gone off and left him on his own, without a "Goodbye" or a "See you later" or even a note to say his dinner was on the stove - which was all the more worrying, when he suddenly realized that not only was the old lady missing, but so too were the delicious smells which always filled the kitchen.

Fat Cat sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his paws. Which was where he was, when the window blew open and a small figure appeared on the window ledge.

THE BLOOD MOON

Light streaming through the kitchen window woke Fat Cat early. He jumped up onto the window ledge and looked out. It was another bright sunshiny day. Fat Cat surveyed the scene. A round yellow sun shone in a clear blue sky directly above the old lady's rose bushes. What was more surprising, however, was that at the opposite end of the garden, directly above the rosemary bush, a pale silvery moon also shone. Fat Cat didn't know if it was day or night. All the things he had always taken for granted seemed to be getting muddled up together - first of all the summer flowers growing as the leaves fell - and now this. Fat Cat decided to ask the old lady what was going on, she always seemed to know the answer to tricky questions.

He found her at the top of the stairs, gazing intently into a dark mirror and as she turned to face him he saw that the expression on her face was as puzzled as he knew his own must be. Fat Cat had never noticed the mirror before. Maybe, he thought, there were lots of things he'd never noticed before and the sun and moon both shining at the same time was just another of them.
"As regards the moon and sun," the old lady said, "you are right. The moon reflects the sun's rays, it does not shine of itself. At this time of year when the earth is growing closer to the sun, the angle at which the sun's rays hit means that more of the moon's surface is visible to us for a longer period of time. The fact that you have noticed this now, is a sign that you are growing more observant - which is a good thing. However, the other things that you have noticed are possibly not and I myself have no idea as to why they are happening now.
And turning back to the mirror she peered once more into it.

Fat Cat stood on tiptoe and looked over the old lady's shoulder. Framed liked a picture in the silver mirror, he saw a small tree growing on a grassy lawn in front of a small grey chapel.
"It is a hawthorn." said the old lady. "A common hawthorn or monogyna praecox to give it its latin name - and I don't see why we shouldn't" she added almost to herself, "for there is nothing common about this tree. It is a magical tree that grows in a magical place, a place once surrounded by water and mists and known as the ancient Isle of Avalon. Many are the myths and legends that surround this place but it is only this one that concerns us for now."
And as a far away look came into her eyes, the old lady began her tale.

The legend of the Glastonbury thorn
Many, many years ago, so the story tells a traveller arrived on the shores of Avalon. His name was Joseph of Arimethea and it is said that he was the uncle of Jesus and that the staff that he carried once belonged to Christ himself. His journey had been long and after climbing Wearyall Hill, he lay down to rest, striking his staff into the soft ground to be ready when he awoke.
The staff sprouted and grew into a beautiful tree with beautiful blossoms. But this was not the last of its wonders for not only did it bloom in springtime but also on Christmas Day, the birthday of Christ.

Fat Cat pricked up his ears. There was something familiar about this story of flowers blooming at the wrong time.
The old lady nodded and carried on with her story.

"The place where the thorn grew became the site of a great Abbey and as news of the miraculous blossoming of the thorn spread, many came on pilgrimages to visit it. However, a time of trouble fell upon the land. There was a great war with families fighting one against the other and at this time, the tree was destroyed. But this was not the end of it. For secretly cuttings had been taken from it and it is said that the tree which we now see before us grew from a cutting of one of these plants."

The old lady's voice faded away. Fat Cat had enjoyed listening to the story. There was something about the place that she was describing that rang a kind of bell in his mind - a faint memory of damp mists and the scent of apples - but he couldn't see why she was telling it to him now. It was the kind of story that might have been better saved for later, he thought, a Christmas tale to be told around the fire on Christmas Day.
The old lady nodded. "And that is the whole point." she said. "Look closely into the mirror and tell me what you see."
Fat Cat looked closer. And now he saw. For amongst the red haws on the bare branches of the tree was a froth of delicate white flowers.
"And it is not yet Samhain." the old lady said. "Strange enough that the tree should flower when it does. Yet to flower now is strange beyond strange.

And Fat Cat thought that it was. However, as he glanced once more into the magic mirror, something even stranger caught his eye. Walking past the tree was a girl. She had her back to him but the tangle of red curls that hung over her shoulder and her confident stride - not to mention the green cloak she wore slung over her shoulder and the sun-bleached staff she held in her left hand - made her unmistakable. No Fat Cat had no doubt about who it was. He just wondered what she was doing there.

The month was coming to an end, the moon waxing bright in the sky, and instead of getting colder it was getting warmer. Fat Cat was confused. He'd been preparing for winter and now it felt like summer - and he wasn't the only one. It was Michaelmas Day and in the old lady's garden clumps of purple michaelmas daisies and red flowered clover bloomed together. Sweetly scented flowers grew amongst the bright red berries on the honeysuckle. Butterflies fluttered in the warm air. And a new crop of roses had appeared on the rose bushes. Scents of autumn and summer mingled together - the woody scent of the dead leaves under the trees mixing with the scent of grass and flowers in hot sun.

It was the kind of day that made you glad to be alive. The kind of day that made your whiskers tingle and your paws itch. So when the faint sound of music drifted on the breeze towards him, it felt only right for Fat Cat to follow where it was leading.

He hadn't gone far along the path that led from the old lady's garden towards the wild wood before he realized he wasn't the only one. In the blue sky above he saw the white horse, an assortment of passengers on his broad back, heading in the same direction. Before long he caught up with a group of faeries - dressed in their finery - hair glittering, wings sparkling and dresses floating in a rainbow cloud around them. Fat Cat gave himself a quick lick and brush up and followed behind. A cart, drawn by faerie horses and driven by pixies, laden with hempen bags, passed them by. A tired looking faerie woman, excited children clutching her skirts, popped out from under an elderberry bush. And always the music grew louder. Until the path wound down towards a grassy hollow, set out with brightly coloured tents and stalls.

Enticing smells filled the air. On a small stage the faerie fiddlers played. Stall holders cried their wares. Fat Cat didn't know where to look first. Everything he had ever dreamed of eating was there. Pictures of things he'd never dreamed of seeing were there. Jewellery, carved from gold and silver and set with precious stones. Fat Cat wandered around breathing in the sights and sounds. It would be nice to buy the old lady a gift, he thought. She'd been good to him and she worked hard. But what to choose.

It took him a long time. The old lady grew her own vegetables. Cooked the most delicious meals, Made potions from the herbs she grew in her garden. Wore only her warm grey cloak and her green gown. But when Fat Cat came across a tall man sitting on a stool, whittling a piece of wood with a bone handled knife, he knew he had found what he was looking for. In front of his eyes the wood was changing shape - a small face with whiskers, pointy ears and a slightly bemused expression emerging from it, swiftly followed by a body (slightly on the chubby side if Fat Cat was completely honest) four long legs and a proudly erect tail. It looked exactly like him when he first set off into Faerie-land and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the old lady would like that best of all.

The moon was full in the sky when Fat Cat made his weary way home. He'd danced to the faerie pipers. Ate his full of the delicious food. Found new friends and new ideas. Now he was ready to go home and share it all with the old lady - and give her the gift which hung in a soft pink pouch around his neck.

Week Three: Autumn Equinox

The devil had spat on the blackberries. There was a faint chill in the air The days were growing longer and the nights shorter and the sleepy lethargy Fat Cat had felt all summer had disappeared. There was a tingling in his whiskers. An empty feeling in his tummy, a hunger, that had nothing to do with food. A feeling that he should be doing something. He just didn't know what.

All around him others were busy. Bushy tailed squirrels, gathering hazel nuts, acorns and horse chestnuts, that carpeted the grass under the trees, scuttling away to store them for the winter. Birds gathering in flocks to fly off to warmer lands. Hedgehogs guzzling slugs and snails, growing fat for their long winter sleep. And spiders busy spining the webs that glistened like a thousand tiny moons with the early morning dew.

In the old lady's kitchen, bunches of herbs hung upside down from the rafters, paper bags tied around them to collect the seeds that fell from their ripe pods. Dried out husks of peas lay on paper on the kitchen table, ready to plant in spring for the next year's crop.

Wrapped in her warm, grey cloak, the old lady chopped wood. Stacking it in neat piles inside the kitchen porch.. Pausing every now and then to watch the leaves that fell in a flurry of red and gold and orange and brown around her.

There was a new smell in the air. A hint of woodsmoke. Of newly turned soil. Freshly chopped wood. The over-sweet odour of apples rotting and the musky scent of mushrooms growing. It was a smell that said summer was over. A smell that made Fat Cat feel a bit sad. Because although it was a familiar smell, there were familiar notes missing. A dash of tarmac. Of ozone and frying onions mixed together. The scent of Tash's perfume. The smoke that always clung to Ollie's jumper and the smell of new leather, clean cotton and un-opened books that always signalled Maia's return to school. Smells that belonged to a different time. A different world. A world Fat Cat could no longer return to.

This time Fat Cat knew there was no going back. The old lady had given him a choice and he'd made his decision. He'd known then that he would miss Tash and Ollie and Maia and all his other friends in the other world but he'd known too there was no place there for him anymore. He'd changed too much. Learned too much. He'd become a different kind of cat. A cat, he'd thought, no longer content to spend his days eating and sleeping, sleeping and eating - and yet that was exactly what he'd spent the last few months doing.

And now, as he realised this, Fat Cat also realised what it was he was supposed to be doing. For all around him, the others were preparing for the long, dark, winter months that stretched ahead. All summer, like the old lady, they'd been busy. Now the harvesting and preparations were almost finished. The seeds curled in their dark shells and the small creatures curled in their warm burrows would wait for the returning light to burst into new life. Well, that was what he would do too.

He'd sit with the old lady by the side of the fire and he'd learn all it was she had to teach him. And by the time the sun returned, he'd be ready to become a new kind of cat. A proper fairy tale kind of cat. A cat ready for the new adventures that we was sure were waiting for him.

The Harvest Mooon

Week One

It was the first day of September. Three days before the Harvest Moon. In the old lady’s garden, at the edge of the wild wood, Fat Cat sat under the old apple tree thinking, as he had everyday since he arrived back in Faerie-land. Now that he’d started he’d discovered there was no stopping it. One thought following another in a constant procession.

He thought of the life he’d led with Ollie and Tash in the tall house at the edge of the sea in Brighton in the days when he was just an everyday kind of kitchen cat. And of newborn baby with her long lashes curled against her soft cheeks, her plump dimpled arms and her smell of milk and honey as he snuggled against her and purred her off to sleep. And most of all, he thought about the time when everything changed. The night when a wild wind blew in a faerie changeling and newborn baby was stolen away to Faerie-land.

Of course, Fat Cat thought, he hadn’t known that at the time. All he’d known was that newborn baby had disappeared and a strange new creature had taken her place. A creature who might have looked the same – and Tash and Ollie didn’t seem to see the difference – but who smelt nothing like her. The scent was in his nostrils now. Salt and air and wild thyme and moss and something older and wilder – the smell he now knew was the scent of Faerie-land.

This was one of the problems with thinking Fat Cat was beginning to discover. You couldn’t think about things that had happened in the past without knowing the things you knew were going to happen in the Future. And of course, the things that were going to happen in the future then were things that had happened in the past now. And maybe, he thought, that was just as well. Because if he had known all the things that were going to happen in the future he probably wouldn’t have done the things he did at the beginning and in that case they wouldn’t have happened anyway.

Fat Cat thought about that. He thought about Ollie not blaming him for the havoc the faerie baby was causing and not throwing him out into the dark night. He thought about not finding the open door at the bottom of the garden. Not following the delicious smell that led him to the old lady’s cottage. Not setting off on the journey to rescue newborn baby and not fighting the Evil Sorcerer and saving the world.

And the more he thought about that – and the infinite numbers of possible causes and effects of not doing those things – the more confused he became.

There was something to be said, he thought, for the kind of cat he had once been. A cat interested only in sleeping and eating, eating and sleeping. Easily led by the smell of food and an empty stomach. And maybe, Fat Cat thought,, as his nose twitched and his tummy rumbled, maybe he hadn’t changed as much as he thought he had. Because from the open kitchen window delicious smells were wafting. The tang of sharp green apples mingling with the sweetness of blackberries. Cinnamon, nutmeg and a hint of cloves, mixed with the sugary smell of biscuits baking and the yeasty smell of dough rising, as the old lady made her preparations for the Harvest Feast.

And now, Fat Cat’s thoughts turned to saucers smeared with bramble jelly just waiting to be tasted. To broken biscuits and knobs of left over sugared pastry. And with these thoughts in mind, Fat Cat stretched his back and padded across the green grass towards the open door and the cosy kitchen where the old lady was waiting for him.

THE OLD LADY’S BRAMBLE AND APPLE JELLY

4 lb apples, 2lb blackberries, water to cover

1 lb sugar to every pint of juice
Wash the apples and cut them up. Put in a pan with
blackberries that have been soaked in clean water.
Cover with water and boil to a pulp. Strain through a
muslin cloth. Measure liquid and put back into pan with
1lb of sugar to every pint of juice. Boil for about 15 minutes
or until you hear a kind of plopping sound. You can
test if it is ready by dripping a small amount onto a saucer to
see if it has reached a jelly-like consistency. Put into clean
jars and seal.

Week two

Curled up on the pile of cushions in the sagging armchair by the side of the fire the old lady always kept burning, Fat Cat watched through half-closed eyes as the old lady bustled about. Selecting jars from the rows that gleamed with a purple light on the open shelves. Wrapping loaves, shaped like sheaths of corn, in white cloths. Piling crescent biscuits into round tins and packing them all into the willow basket that hung from the peg on the kitchen door.

It was the night of the full moon, the Harvest Moon, and the old lady’s harvest was safely gathered in and ready to eat. Fat Cat yawned. For days now the old lady had been busy. Chopping and peeling. Stirring and simmering. Kneading dough and rolling out pastry. Just thinking about it made Fat Cat tired.
He’d trotted at her heels a she picked apples from the old tree and blackberries from the hedgerows – gathering a few of the leaves to put on the scratches she’d explained were an inevitable part of such a task.

Fat Cat’s mouth watered as he remembered the delicious smell of blackberries and apples simmering together in the cauldron on top of the old stove. The steady drip, drip of the purple juice that ran from the muslin bag tied to the legs of an upside down stool, slowly filling the earthenware bowl. The plopping sound as the juice – mixed with sugar – boiled in the cauldron. And the delicious taste of the rapidly cooling jelly the old lady dripped onto saucers to test that it was set.

Fat Cat was so busy thinking about all these things that it was a while before he realized that not only was the jelly ready but the old lady was too. Dressed in her long grey cloak, with her basket over her arm and gazing at him with a quizzical look. His tiredness disappearing in an instance, Fat Cat bounded to his feet. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. And giving himself a quick lick and brush up, head up and tail high, he followed the old lady out into the dark night.

Except that it wasn’t. A round orange moon shone in the dark sky. Lighting the scene with a strange light that changed the familiar garden into a magical place of shifting shapes and wavering shadows. And magic was in the air. Because the faeries were on the move. Led by Titania on her white mare and Oberon on his black stallion, in a clatter of tiny hooves and tinkling bells. Trooping along winding pathways edged by dense hedges where small birds fluttered and small creatures scuttled. Swooping through the dark forest. Whirling through the starry sky in a dance that grew ever wilder, so that Fat Cat was forced to grip with his teeth onto the old lady’s cloak in order to keep up. Until a grassy clearing appeared beneath them and they dropped as one into a circle of red and white spotted mushrooms.

There were certain advantages in being a cat, Fat Cat thought, as he landed safely on his four paws on the mossy grass. But as the old lady opened her basket all other thoughts faded from his mind. The warm bread thickly spread with butter and bramble jelly; the smoky brown honey that filled his mouth as he crunched into the crisp sugary mooncakes and the fizzy bubbles of elderflower champagne popping on his rough tongue, occupying his mind completely until his tummy was as round and tight as a drum and he couldn’t manage another mouthful.

Only then, did he hear the haunting sound of the faerie pipers as the faeries began to dance. Slowly at first with a graceful, hypnotic motion, like a wheel, turning almost imperceptibly, into a twirling, whirling dance. As the beat quickened the energy built. A cone of power rose into the sky, exploding on the first stroke of midnight into a thousand fragments of glittering stars.

The old lady smiled at Fat Cat and Fat smiled back at her. For the time being all was well with the world.


Read more about the adventures of Fat Cat in The Faerie Baby Trilogy - Faerie Baby, Moon Magic and The Stone Dragon. Available from Amazon and other online stores. Or visit http://www.faeriebaby.com/