Curiositas autem occidit cattus.

Curiosity killed the cat. A common axiom, warning against poking one's nose in places where it should not be. Well, Cel thought that was a pile of faex, of course, but most didn't know the second part of the phrase. As long as she knew it herself, she could be satisfied... though that didn't stop her from preaching this knowledge to whomever had the patience to pay attention for more than three seconds.

Parker had seemingly taken it upon himself to see the distraught girl to some warmth. She was great at disguising her weariness, as good as Svana was at whitewashing their arguments, but even she could not veil her struggles from the best father she'd known in her twelve and some years of life. Not that she consciously decided to, it was just—hard. He wasn't her legal guardian any longer, but Svana had, with Rasmus and Dorian's convincing persuasion and maybe slight guilt trip, allowed for a weekend to visit her old home of four years. It was, perhaps, the happiest she'd been since she'd stepped off the train from the Hogwarts Express.

"Maybe an Owl?" prompted Parker, disturbing her train of thought, though not unwanted. "They're very useful, even if you'll have to keep it up in the Owlery most of the time. Toads and rats don't suit my taste, but if you'd like one, rats are extraordinarily intelligent, but you already know that." Cel shook her head firmly before letting Parker continue. She'd come in the store with a goal, something that she rarely did—normally her finish lines were vague mirages, set as she came closer to them, usually pushed back a little. But not today. Today she was certain. "I," she stated firmly, "want a cat."

All Parker did in response was smile and gesture toward the far side of the store. He didn't try to convince her otherwise, or judge her choice, or try to find any fault in it at all, all reactions that she was quickly becoming accustomed to. Cel smiled back. This was something she missed, even if the dormitory that she'd lived in before wasn't as luxurious as the manor in Leicester. Maybe today would add something to the gigantic, empty bedroom that made the massive space a little less frightening at night.

"Celynne?" Another man's voice rang out from behind her, deflating her happiness a little. Of course, her family had insisted on paying for the pet, though neither side had any trouble with money. And of course, that meant Rasmus had come along. She admitted that it was difficult thinking of him as a father yet, considering their awkwardness around each other, but at least he was trying. She ought to try as well, to accept him as a father. It would just take some time. "This is Mrs. Witticker and Mr. Witticker, the shopkeepers." Cel turned her attention to the elderly couple, offering a smile and a handshake to each. One smelled of delicious cookies and wore a quaintly patterned dress, while the other, quite a stretch taller, creased long-worn wrinkles on the edges of his eyes as he smiled.

"Taking a liking to the cats?" Mrs. Witticker asked, gently guiding her over to the cat trees and cages full of kittens and other felines. Upon seeing the wonder than indecisiveness in her face, the elderly woman smiled, reassuring her, "It's quite all right if you don't know what you want, dear; most children come in here without a clue. We've got some Siameses here, very popular with their coloring, Tabbies if you want to be a little simpler, Siberians, Maus, Bengals for something exotic, popular for a lot of the Purebloods—" She ceased walking, noticing that the young Ravenclaw had halted. "See something you like?"

"Those are beautiful," Cel replied, eyes flicking to her parents following behind at a leisurely pace, but lingering on a litter of silver kittens with dark, smoky markings. "Did you say... Maus, or...?" Normally Cel would be terrified at this point, would be sweating bullets at the eyes she felt on her back and turning red under the attention she was being given, but the couple was welcoming, and the cats—well, something about them entranced her.

Besides, Mrs. Witticker was anything but scary, and even if Mr. Witticker was tall, his twinkling eyes displayed no danger. "Egyptian Maus," he confirmed. "Have a look if you'd like. They're on the younger side, though; most people go for cats at least a year old." Cel shrugged and stepped forward, crouching down to reach a hand toward the litter. The first one to break away from the tussle did so within the first three seconds, tottering over unsteadily to nose at the smooth, pale skin in curiosity, then rub its head under her fingers.

Cel obliged, running a hand along the silky silver fur along the kitten's back. A purr rumbled under her touch, and she sat down, not lifting her hand. "How old are they?" she queried without looking up. The little kitten stumbled closer to her, and she cradled it in her arms, careful not to raise it very far from her lap in case it accidentally slipped—she'd never handled a kitten before; you couldn't be too careful, right?

"They would be a few weeks under six months old, as of today," Mr. Witticker responded. "Is that—? Ah, it is. Our curious little one. He seems to have taken a liking to you; he never lets anyone touch his belly. Unfortunately, his exploration sometimes has, ah, not-so-wondrous consequences, if you'll take a closer look. We were expecting a bit of trouble getting him adopted in the future, actually."

"How do you mean?" the girl asked, brow furrowing in confusion, then gasped as the kitten squirmed in her arms. Its front legs came into view—where the left was healthy and slender, complete with tiny toebeans, the right ended a couple inches too early with a stump disguised by thick fur. Still the kitten shifted, as lively as any other. Her mind was set; she'd chosen far before she made her discovery, and she wasn't about to change it because the kitten was missing a front leg. "What's his name?"

Mrs. Witticker smiled in approval, a twinkle in her eye. "This young'un hasn't been named yet, actually. Not old enough yet. We name them at ten months. It'll be up to you, I think." Cel took her eyes off the kitten for a moment to consider the words, then twisted back toward the two men lingering a few feet away, giving her the space that she was glad for, careful not to jostle the cat. Parker met her gaze, questioning, and she nodded, prompting him to step forward and crouch down besides her. Rasmus followed at a distance, and the kitten stretched toward the newcomers, sniffing them curiously.

"Million dollar question here," Parker began as the kitten tickled his hand with its whiskers. "What do you want to name him?" Cel grinned, the most evil and awesome idea forming in her mind. "Are you sure you don't want a more expensive cat, like a Bengal, or a Siberian, or at least a cat with—" Rasmus was cut off by a glance from Parker.

"His name is Yardstick."

Rasmus choked on a laugh, already bringing out the galleons. Parker hid a confused smile, as did the two storekeepers, politely, but it did not escape her observation. "Because he has three feet," Cel elaborated, grinning, and then they all laughed, now openly. The girl lifted the kitten to eye level. "Hello, Yardstick," she greeted. Yardstick mewed back.

ANIMAL Egyptian Mau
NAME Yardstick
GENDER Male
BIRTHDAY October 26th, 2018
WC 1,280

Congratulations!
Take good care of your pet!