Sour Puss and Grey Fur Meet Bob

Note: This is a continuation of a previous story, found here, though my intention is that they can stand alone. I am writing this series as both a tribute to my favorite children's story, The Owl and the Pussycat by Jan Brett and in the manner of telling it to my son - who's four at the time of writing this. 

After escaping from the castle and her very irate family, Sour Puss and Grey Fur take to the road.
"So, what's in the purse?" Grey Fur asks, unable to contain his curiosity.
"Some money, and some honey. It was my mother's."
He nods solemnly. "Your mother is a wise kitty. Honey and money always travel well together."
Just then, a scrawny cat wearing boots that are far too large for him and a wide-rimmed hat bursts from the bushes, pointing a sword at Sour Puss. "Did someone say... honey?"
Grey Fur moves to protect Sour Puss, but she moves even quicker, going down on all fours for extra speed and pouncing on this intruder. "No one threatens my honey." She hisses.
Grey Fur whistles (quite a feat when you have such large canines). "Whoa, milady, I did not expect such a fierce attack from someone who can't even catch a mouse!"
"You can't catch a mouse?" The scrawny cat croaks, considering laughing, but then remembers that Sour Puss is on top of him and has her claws out.
"I may have gotten a little carried away. But I do mean it, this honey is mine." She stands up, then, smoothing down her dress and playing with her hair. She points to Grey Fur. "You can take over, now."
"Right." He puts his paws on his hips, one foot on Bob's chest. "Who are you?" He draws his own sword.
"I am... Puss... IN BOOTS!" The scrawny cat announces entirely too dramatically.
"Oh, no." Grey Fur mutters.
"Oh, yes! So you'd better let me go, or I'll tear you from limb to limb!"
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. I meant, oh no you are not!" Grey Fur's grey fur is standing up, prickly as a porcupine. "Though those boots might be his, you are not he. I knew Puss in Boots. He was a good friend, a mentor. We sailed the seas together. He would NEVER attack a lady for her honey." His shoulders relax ever so slightly. "He would ask her kindly for it, and rogue that he was, they would share it with some tea and biscuits." He tenses his shoulders again, his voice stern. "So I will ask one more time. Who are you?"
The cat puts his paws up, finally dropping his sword. "Ok, ok, I'm not! I'm Bob. But he WAS my grandfather, and these ARE his boots... Wait, if he was my grandpa, and you sailed the seas together, that would make you super old!"
Grey Fur folds his arms across his chest. "I am NOT super old, I am only- Well, that's not your business. You must be super young, if he was your grandpa."
Bob whines, " I happen to be 6 months old, I'll have you know. I'm almost an adult."
"Oh, dear you are just a baby." Grey Fur picks up Bob's sword, inspects it for damage, then takes his foot off Bob's chest and stands back.
Bob stands up, brushing off unseen dirt from his fur. "I am not!" He pouts. "Did you really know Grandpa Puss?"
"I really did. He was a brave and noble cat, excellent with a sword but even more impressive at bocce ball. He really knew how to throw."
"You really DID know him. Only his true friends knew how much he loved that game."
"And you really must be his grandson. Well met, Bob in Boots. Now, why did you accost my friend for her honey?"
Bob nervously cleans his paw. "Well, um... I... I wanted to find adventure, yeah. And, you know, um, live up to my grandfather's name. But I have no money, or food, and, um... I heard your friend say honey, and well, I ... I need it! I need that honey!"
Sour Pus steps forward. "Then you should have learnt better from your grandfather, and asked me kindly for it. But I will forgive it this time. Come, it's getting dark, why don't you two make camp and I'll, um, you know, watch?"
Grey Fur nods. "Yes, yes, excellent plan. Come, Bob in Boots, let us make a fire. I imagine we may even be able to rustle up some forest mice for dinner, and then for dessert, I have some biscuits that would go splendidly with that honey."

Over a dinner of roasted forest mice, our three young newly-made friends try to get to know each other better - though, it would seem from an outside observer's point of view that only two of them are actually interested in that, and maybe too interested, as it does cause them to miss valuable clues.
"Hmmm. " Grey Fur purrs. "This is delicious, Sour Puss. What made you think to wrap the mice in the bong tree leaves before roasting them? They have come out so tender, so juicy, but just the right amount of crispy!"
If cats could blush, Sour Puss would be bright red. But everyone knows cats don't blush - not only because of their fur, it's just so... undignified. "Well, um, there was this chef in the castle when I was a little kitten, and she'd always roast fish and mice and birds wrapped up in leaves. Bong tree leaves are the best, luckily, but when she couldn't get a hold of those, a few others worked almost as well... I just remembered, you know, nothing special..."
"Well, I would never have thought... And what is that flavor? There's something extra..."
She shrugs. "Just a few herbs I found while you two made camp. I used to help her, before... Well, before. You know."
"Well, it's amazing, thank you." Grey Fur licks his paws clean, then finally turns to Bob - who has been rather lost in his own world, sad, morose even; and maybe a bit jumpy, too. But Grey Fur and Sour Puss have been too caught up in each other to notice - and still are, Grey Fur's eyes on Sour Puss even while talking to Bob. "Don't you think so, Bob in Boots?"
"Hm? Yes, yes, it's delicious..." And again, if only our two heroes had been able to notice anything but each other, they would notice that for someone so reportedly hungry as to attempt robbery, young Bob barely touched his mice and so would have no idea their level of deliciousness.
"So, Bob, tell us about your family. Is your mother ok with you adventuring?" Sour Puss asks, her eyes on Grey Fur.
"My mother?" Bob sounds scared at the mention of her, which should leave anyone to question if there's something else going on, if only they were listening. "Oh, um, yes, yes, she's fine with it, of course she is, why wouldn't she be fine? She's totally fine..."
"That's wonderful, Bob, must be nice to have a mother who supports you, not one that would rather stay behind with your brothers and father who fight all the time, but one that really wants to be involved in your life, right? That must be wonderful."
"Um, sure?" Bob is broken out of his reverie by her rambling outburst. "So, um, Grey Fur... what about you? Do you have family?" But instead of looking at Grey Fur, he goes back to staring at the firelight, again caught in his own world.
"Oh, well, they're all wonderful. We all love to be on the water, just like my great-great-great grandparents. Well, except for Leroy, he prefers to be flying off on his own, rarely ever lands. Which is for the better, you know, we've tried involving him in our adventures and he always flies in too soon and botches things."
Sour Puss puts her paw on top of Grey Fur's. "That sounds tough, like you miss him."
He nods. "Well, yes, I suppose I do. He is my big brother, you know, he took me under his wing for awhile when we were kittens. But then..."
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. I think I'm going to turn in, getting a bit tired, and if we want to make it to my ship tomorrow we really should get some rest."
"Yes, that sounds good, I think I'll join you... Good night, Bob, nice getting to know you..." And together, Sour Puss and Grey Fur wander off together, to the beds that Bob and Grey Fur made. If things had stayed quiet, anyone observing them would not be surprised if they woke up cuddled together. But things don't stay quiet for long...

The moon is high, it's filtered light shining brightly through the forest canopy,  the only sounds the screeching of owls as they catch mice, crickets chirping, rustling leaves as something larger stalks something small... Then, an ear-splitting yowl, followed by a whimper, and another yowl, then some rustling as cats wake up.
"What's going on?" Grey Fur whispers.
Sour Puss is already sitting up, her right ear cocked forward to hear better. "I think someone is not who they say they are..."
"What do you mean?"
"We might as well go confirm..." She crawls on all fours, sneaking quietly back to the fireside, back to where her belongings were stored. To her purse with the honey they forgot to eat. Grey Fur follows suit, the two cats creeping like their wild counterparts, their large paws padding through the thick leafy carpet.
They find Bob curled up  next to their belongings, whimpering and pawing at the purse stuck to his right paw.  Sour Puss crouches down next to him.
"You didn't want the honey because you were hungry, did you?"
He growls low and shakes his head, his eyes pleading with her to remove the purse.
"It's a simple trap, really, but very effective. It was my mother's purse, and she always put this trap on all her purses, to keep my father out. He never did have self control... After the first couple of times, he stopped trying to get to her honey without asking. I forgot about it, honestly, until I heard you yowl."  As she talks, she pushes on various buttons, in random order, each push seeming to relieve the pressure on Bob's paw. "There's a needle, and it injects just a tiny bit of poison, to incapacitate the robber in case the pain isn't enough. It'll wear off in about an hour." The purse falls off and she picks it up, closing it, then attaching it to her hip belt.
"So, Bob in Boots, you are a liar."
Bob nods, continuing to whimper.
"Why?"
"My mother..."
Sour Puss, still sitting next to him, gets angry. "Don't make this about her! You chose to lie, and to try to steal - twice! So why?"
He shakes his head, pawing again at his injury. "She's been catnapped. A bear... A bear named Noir. He catnapped her, and is holding her ransom..."
"Why would he do that?" Grey Fur demands.
"You don't remember why Grandpa Puss left the rogue business, do you?"
"Um... Oh! Bees!"
Bob nods. "Yes. He took over a beekeeping business... Nunya's  Beeswax."
"I didn't truly understand why... He said being a rogue no longer held the thrill of danger anymore, that it became too easy. He wanted something that could truly challenge him... I guess working with bees was it."
Bob shrugs. "It can be intimidating, walking in for the first time, the bees swarming around you, trying to protect their honey... Anyway, the Bear Noir catnapped my Uncle Pete and sent us a ransom note for two gallons of honey."
Sour Puss scratches her head. "Ok, but if your family runs The Puss's Honey, why would you need to steal mine?"
"Because we're all out of honey. The bees have all flown away, it's been months. We ran out of honey just last week, we didn't want to tell anyone... And then Pete got taken, and I have no way to fulfill the ransom..."
"Why didn't you just tell us?" Sour Puss starts massaging Bob's paw, trying to work the poison through faster.
"Because the note said not to! If I told anyone, Noir said I'd never see him again... He's my only family. I couldn't risk that..."
"Right. Well, Bob, how long do we have?"
"One week now. He gave me ten days, it's been three. But I don't know what to do..." Bob sits up, seeming to feel better. "Wait, you said we?"
"Of course. Grey Fur and I will help you anyway we can. Won't we?" She turns back to look at Grey Fur.
"Oh, of course, of course... But if you're lying again... Well, Bob in Boots, it won't be pleasant."
"I'm not! I'm not! I'm really telling the truth this time. Please..." He cries.
"Chill out, Grey Fur. It was my honey he tried to steal, not yours."
"I know, but, well, you're... You're my... I mean, we had...?"
"We'll deal with that later. Right now, we need to save Bob's uncle. Any ideas on where the bees went?"
Bob shakes his head. "I mean, maybe? There was a cockerel who came by a month ago, wanting to buy our business. Uncle Pete said no, business has been great lately so why would we want to sell?"
"What was the cockerel's name?" Grey Fur asks, his voice thoughtful.
"Kevin."
"Hm... Well, I think I have an idea... We need to go see the turkey on the hill."
"I thought... I thought that was just a legend."
"Oh, he is very real, but only comes out for the right people... I am the right people. Come, we don't have much time."

They pack up and leave within an hour, no one able to sleep with the recent outpouring of knowledge.
"Where to, then?" Sour Puss asks.
"The nearest hill."
"Any hill? He'll come to any hill?" Bob asks, doubtful.
"Yes, that's why he's known only as the Turkey on the Hill. There's no hill specified because he'll come to any. If you know the right way to call him... But, we might need a ring."
"A ring? Why?" Sour Puss sounds concerned.
"It is part of the ritual..." He looks thoughtfully at her. "We may need to figure out 'us' sooner than you'd like..."
Bob chimes in. "Look, I may still be... a kitten, but it's clear you two have something special. And if you two getting married helps me save my uncle, then that's what you need to do. You can always get it annulled later. But right now, I need your help. Please, SP."
"SP?" Sour Puss questions.
Bob shrugs. "Well, you don't seem very sour to me. So I'm not sure what to call you..."
Grey Fur nods. "You do seem to have lost your sourness..."
"Hmph." She huffs. "I can still hold my own, if needed. I took you down, twice, I'll have you know."
"Yes, but not because you were sour..."
She tosses her hair back. "Well, my name will be a discussion for later. For now, just call me Sour Puss. If it will save your uncle, I shall marry Grey Fur." She turns to him. "But we'll still need to talk about 'us' later. Now, I do know a good jeweler... He's in town, in the market district."
Grey Fur gets down on one knee.
"Oh Sour Puss, Sour Puss,
 I am truly falling for you
You used to be a sour puss
But now you're truly sweet
I promise I'll be true.
It may be to save Uncle Pete
But I'll hold onto you like an octopus."
Bob paws at his ear. "I'm not sure about the octopus part, but it's something."
Sour Puss nods. "Yes, it might need some work... Um, you go ahead and think about that while we find a ring..."
"Adventure, then." Grey Fur smiles, and the three cats walk through the woods toward the market, two paws trying to touch and not touch at the same time.

How Sour Puss and Grey Fur Meet

Note: I wrote this with my son in mind - I wrote it as though I was telling it to him. It's intended to be read to, and I hope enjoyed by, children. I don't know the age that's appropriate - my son is 4 and I think he'd love it. It's meant to be somewhat morphic, so feel free to change little details to fit your child better. I did write it as a homage to one of my favorite children's stories growing up, The Owl and the Pussycat. I've read that so many times to my son that I still have it mostly memorized. 

This story starts in a castle; one that is large and full of rooms and winding staircases, but one that is also full of silence, its only inhabitants a particularly sour kitty and her servants. Well, at least, those are the only ones we know about for now.

This sour kitty is known by all as Princess Sour Puss, and she is a real... Well, sour puss. She might be pretty - her fur is soft and orange, her eyes golden, her dresses are always beautiful and full of twirl. Yes, I did say she wears dresses. She is a cat that wears dresses, she's anthropomorphic; she looks somewhat like a human, like you and me; she walks on two legs and uses her front paws like hands, and she has hair on her head in addition to the normal fur... No, there are no humans in this world, it's filled with other anthropomorphic animals like Sour Puss. Yes, there are regular animals, too, they are known as 'civilized' and 'wild' animals. She wears very pretty clothes all the time, frilly dresses with skirts made of tulle, in all variety of colors, and she ties ribbons in her hair and bows... And she changes her clothes constantly, they're never good enough. She always seems to be on a quest to find the perfect outfit. I'm not sure what she'd do if she found it... Anyway, about every five minutes she orders her mouse servants to prepare a new outfit for her. Yes, she does take breaks to eat on occasion, but even then, it's never right. The mice bring her dry food when she asked for wet, or a bird when she asked for a fish. And oh, boy, when she gets angry, it's a sight to behold. Her fur puffs up, her ears flatten, and then what she says... Well, she usually threatens to eat her servants. She never does, partially because it's frowned upon to eat another talking creature and even a princess can get in some serious trouble for that, and partially because she's not a very good huntress, as her food has always been handed to her already killed. She's never even caught herself a wild mouse, and they run rampant throughout the castle. Not that she'd want to, they tend to be rather stringy and not very good. Yes, I suppose one could cover them in ketchup, that does tend to make many things taste better, but why bother when she can just make one of her servants catch her a tasty fish?

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, Princess Sour Puss. Well, eventually she scared off all her servants - wouldn't you be scared, if someone about six times your size and thousands of times your weight threatened to eat you? So, they all left, and she couldn't find anyone else willing to serve her, so she woke up on the day that our story starts with no one to help her get dressed. She spent hours dressing, and only stopped because she got hungry. Of course, all the food was gone - during the night, the wild mice came and took it away, leaving them all plump and happy. With them being so full of food you'd think that even a lazy cat like Sour Puss could catch one, but they were still too fast for her. Kept scuttling out of her reach. She tried for quite some time before giving up; she curled into a ball and mewed pitifully. The mice would have laughed if they could. Wait. Someone IS laughing. She raises her head, looks around. She mews louder, more pitifully; someone is laughing at her and she doesn't know who! Poor Sour Puss!

A voice calls out from above her, singing in a jolly tone,
"Sour Puss, Sour Puss
What a nasty kitty you are
You may be pretty with your soft orange fur
but over everything, you make such a fuss
Inside you must be rotten to the core."

Sour Puss looks up to find a handsome cat perched on her chandelier - how dare he! - and he's laughing.
"Oh, you inconsiderate cat,
How dare you stand on my chandelier
You may be handsome but you are no gentlecat
I'll call my guards and they'll drag you out of here!"

He swings himself down by his tail - a rather impressive feat, most cats don't have prehensile tails. "What guards?" As he swoops, he grabs two of the plumpest, juiciest of the wild mice, and pops one in his mouth then, landing next to her, gives Sour Puss the other.
"Those are my mice!" She shouts as she eats the one given to her. "Go catch me another."
"Ah, but Princess, I've come to catnap you." He grabs a hold of her waist and leaps onto the windowsill. "And now that I've stolen you, all that's yours is mine, and you have to follow MY orders!" He grins, showing off his pointy teeth.
"No one catnaps me!" She struggles to get out of his paws; he lets go and she starts to fall out the window. She quickly grabs at his leg. "Help me!" She screams.
He lifts her up. "Now, then, can we agree I've catnapped you?"
She sniffs. "A catnap is something I take in the afternoon, after tea and biscuits. NO ONE catnaps ME." She puts her nose in the air. "I will give you all these mice in exchange for your taking me away from this dreadful castle. I was starting to hate it here, anyway, it's far too drafty."
He laughs. "Well, ok, Princess, where do you want to go?"
"Well, you're a pirate, aren't you?" She wrinkles her nose. "You certainly smell like one."
"Oh, Princess, I am THE Captain Grey Fur, owner of the beautiful Green Legume, and that smell you refer to is the wonderful smell of freedom and adventure."
"Well, freedom and adventure stink. But no matter, let's get going."
"As you wish." He then swings himself out the window, onto the exterior castle wall, and proceeds to climb down.
"We COULD have just used the front door, like civilized cats."
"Ah, but where's the adventure? The danger? It's not worth it if there's no thrill!"
"I don't think getting eaten by those wild crocodiles down there would be much fun."
"Do not worry, little Sour Puss, I have my faithful saber." He pats the sword on his hip. "I would cut open the belly of any crocodile that dared to eat you, my golden Princess."
"Hmph."
He continues to crawl down the wall until he gets about halfway down, then he whispers in her ear, "Now hold tight!" He barely gives her time to respond before he launches himself off the wall, literally flying across the crocodile-infested moat below them, landing on the other side gracefully and tucking his wings back under his thick fur. Yes, I did say wings!
"What are those? Do you have wings? I've never met a Chimera before. To be honest, I've never really met anyone before, that wasn't my family or my servants..."
"Yes, my great-great-grandfather was an owl. Wings have been in my family ever since."
Sour Puss scratches her head. "So, um, how did that work out, between... I mean... Um... Well... ANATOMY!" She finally screams.
He shakes his head. "You don't want to know. But no matter... Let's have a picnic then be on our way, shall we?"
She perks up. "You have food?"
"Yes, of course." He pulls a pouch out from his fur - she can't help but wonder what else he has in there, and he opens it up to reveal slices of a green fruit that looks like an apple and little pies. "Quince and mince pies, milady."
She takes a bite of a pie. "Well, I suppose it'll do..." Then she finishes the pie and licks her fingers and the plate, and looks around for more.
"So, tell me, Princess, why are you always so grumpy?"
"I'm not always grumpy!" She pounces on an unsuspecting quince and eats it up.
"You scared off all your servants and guards... I didn't actually come to catnap you, I came to find out why hundreds of civilized mice were looking for work in the pirate bars. They all told me about you."
"Well, I... Hmph." She folds her arms and looks forlornly at the castle.
"Where is your family?"
She points at the castle. "In the dungeons."
"WHAT? Why is your family in the dungeons?"
"Well, you see, it started with my oldest brother, Tom. He was next in line for the throne, but he didn't want to wait for my father to give it to him, so he orchestrated a coup and sent my father and mother down to the dungeons. He only lasted a few months before the mice helped my next oldest brother, Alley, to overthrow him... Next came Garfield, then Simon, then Cheshire, and finally me. I'm the youngest of six and the only girl..."
"Did you overthrow someone, too, then?"
"Well, not really. I mean, Cheshire was always disappearing at random times. So it was easy to take the throne, then when he tried to come back, the guards locked him up. But someone had to tell the mice what to do or they'd run rampant!"
"And what, you couldn't think of anything better to tell them than to constantly fit you into new outfits?"
"No, OK? I couldn't..." Sour Puss starts to cry. "I just wanted my family to be happy but they were always fighting. I thought... Well, I thought that if I looked pretty enough, they'd be nicer and we could be happy again..."
"That didn't happen?"
She shakes her head. "No, nothing worked. I'd go visit them, late at night, when the mice were asleep, and they were still so mean, all of them except my mother. Always fighting through the bars. I stopped going after a while, it was too sad..." She curls herself up and mews sadly.
Grey Fur started to sing, "Oh, dear Sour Puss.
No wonder you are so sour
You have surely had some hard hours
I have a wonderful solution
We'll set them free to choose their own actions,
then together we'll sail the sea on a world tour."
She lifts her head up and looks at him. "Really? You'd help me do that? Why?" She sounds very suspicious. I'd imagine you would, too, if you had such a nasty family as she.
He stands up, one paw in the air, the other on his hip, and shouts, "Adventure!"
"Oh, bother."
"Besides, I couldn't leave them there, even if they are as rotten as you've described. They'd starve with no food!"
"There are wild mice down there..."

Together they walk back to the castle - yes, this time they went through the front door, I suppose Grey Fur had enough adventure coming his way already.
"Which way to the dungeons?"
"Well, behind the throne, of course."
"Of course, of course..."
She leads him to the throne - which was really just a large cardboard box with a pillow and catnip toy inside - and then paws aside the tapestry behind it, revealing a winding, dark, drafty staircase, the only light from flickering candles on the walls, and an infinite chasm to the left. "It's easier if you crawl," she whispers.
"Why are you whispering?" He whispers back.
"Well... There might be ghosts?"
"Ghosts don't scare me!" He announces rather too loudly, and a strong gust blows through, several candles losing their flames, and an eerie noise comes up from the chasm.
Sour Puss glares at him. "Now look what you've done..."
He drops his voice. "Ok, maybe they do a little bit. But just a little. Just enough that I'll whisper from now on..."
"Good. Now follow close behind, with the lights out I don't want you to trip -"
And of course he didn't follow, he wanted to lead, so he rushed ahead and landed on a trap, and the stair opened up to reveal the chasm beneath. Luckily he was able to grab a hold of the stair in front of him, and Sour Puss was able to pull him up.
"I told you to follow me... There are traps and I know where they are... Now we have to cross that!"
"It's just one step, milady. Easily done. Here, I'll hold your paw while you cross, then I'll cross next. And I'll let you lead from now on, I promise." He puts one paw over his heart in promise.

It takes them an hour to make it down another ten steps. Yes, an hour! Grey Fur grumbles the whole way about it taking so long, he really does hate to go slow.
Sour Puss sings,
"Oh, poor pirate captain,
now, who's the grumpy one?
Just take the steps like this,
Jump here and then there without a hiss
And soon enough we'll be done."
Finally, they do make it, just when Grey Fur is about to give up. They can see a long hallway ahead of them, with locked doors on either side and meowing come from them all.
"Is that them?" Whispers Grey Fur.
"Yes, that's them... What now?"
"Well, how do we open the doors?"
"The key, of course. But once we open the doors, what's to stop them from imprisoning me?"
"Hm... That's a trick... What's your father's name?"
"Felix. And my mother is Fluffy."
"Ok." He clears his throat. "Which one of you is Felix and Fluffy?"
"We're in here!" A male voice calls out from the farthest door. "Please let us out, we are so hungry and tired of eating wild mice!"
Grey Fur walks to their door and starts singing.
"Now listen up, you two,
You have a litter of truly mean felines
You need to work out something to do
before we will let you out,
Something to keep your children in line,
To bring them in sync and not in rout."
"Yes, yes, of course, we will," Felix responded. "But please, can't you let us out first? It's so hard to think in here."
"I will, but I will warn you that I have a saber, and I'm quite good with it, should you want to try anything tricky."
"Of course, of course!"
Grey Fur looks to Sour Puss, who nods reluctantly, and he unlocks the door, one hand on his saber. Felix bounds out, a bright orange ball of fluff, almost instantly attacking. "Hah! Thought you could fool me, huh?" He shouts.
While Grey Fur easily parries the attack, Felix's fur weighing him down, Fluffy and Sour Puss hug.
"Oh Mother, I've missed you. I'm sorry I didn't let you out, I just didn't want to end up down here, too!"
"I understand, dear, your father and brothers are rather aggressive. I actually enjoyed it down here, I knitted some mittens with your father's shed fur - you know how much he sheds." She holds up a basket full of orange mittens. "It was nice not having the fighting like before..."
"If only Tom hadn't locked you both up together, I would have let you out... I was up there all alone, I didn't know what to do!"
Fluffy pats Sour Puss on the back then scratches behind her ears. Sour Puss purrs. "I know, honey. Now, who's this dashing young cat you have with you?"
"Well, um, that's the pirate captain Grey Fur. After we let you all out, we were going to go on an adventure together, I'm tired of being a princess."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. You know, I almost ran away with a pirate, too, once..."
"What happened?"
"Well, I met your father, and he was rather dashing in his youth... He swept me off my feet. Anyway, I have a plan... If we let your brothers out, your father will be so busy dealing with them that you and your pirate captain can run away together. I have a pouch hidden in my dresser, it has some honey in it and a whole stack of five-pound notes, that should help you out..."
"What about you, Mother?"
"Oh, don't worry about me, I know more than one way to use these." She holds up her knitting needles. "I can handle myself. But I think our time down here may have been good for them all, even though it doesn't seem like it now."
"Ok, then, if you think so... Here's the key." Sour Puss kisses her mother on the cheek, then turns to Grey Fur and Felix, still both in a battle of swords. "Why did Father even have a saber down here?"
Fluffy starts opening doors. "Oh, that's not a saber, dear, it's about twenty mouse femurs knitted together. Any minute now it'll fall apart..." And as if on cue, the pieces clatter to the floor.
"Hah!" Shouts Grey Fur. "No one can best me!"
Sour Puss rushes over. "Quick, time to go!" And as more cats leave their dungeons, she and Grey Fur run to the stairs together. They look back to see fur flying and cats yowling and claws shining in what little light is left.
"Do we have to worry about traps on the way back up?" Grey Fur asks.
"Well, unless you want to fall to your doom..."
"No, I'd rather not... But I have a better idea." He grabs onto Sour Puss, unfolds his wings, and together they fly back to the throne room.

A day's labor

I'm sitting in a coffee shop, a cup of tea on my left, music through my ears, people all around me, but I'm alone. No one is asking anything of me. No one is wanting water or food, or to nurse; no one wants to sit on my lap, or to build train tracks or a marble run, or to sit down and watch a video. No one is telling me a story. It's my turn, my time. I don't deny that I adore my children, and would do anything for them. But day in, day out, being on call for their every whim and desire gets exhausting. I get to the point of being done, needing some quiet time where I can sit and watch the rain drop into puddles outside, the ripples expanding outward until they disappear. And yet, I feel guilty for this, for enjoying this time. For not always wanting to be climbed on and hugged and hit (yes, one of my children often shows affection through hitting me. We're working on that one.).

I remember bringing both of them into this world. Not clearly, a lot of things blend together; but I remember it. I remember the pain, and the excitement of who is this person going to be, the fear - especially with my daughter. Giving birth to my daughter ranks as one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, and one that I've been wanting to record for some time; perhaps the act of writing it out will help me cleanse it from my system, and not need to constantly be reliving it.

I'd been awake for a while, in and out of sleep, as the contractions got more intense. Finally, around 8 am, we called my doula to let her know this was finally happening. There'd been some false starts, but this was really it. We called my parents at some point, though I don't remember exactly when. At some point during the day, they would show up and take my almost 2-year-old son off on adventures, and they would keep him until about 4 am the next morning, when he would crawl into my hospital bed, filling the void where my daughter should have been.

When we got to the hospital, they wanted to check my cervix - I was already about 7 inches if I recall correctly. All of this story hinges on me remembering correctly, as memories are known to be fallible and constantly morphing; my husband's story would be far different from mine, I imagine. We remember so differently from everyone else. I remember that I threw up, which is highly unusual for me; my doula told me that was a sign I was going through the 'transition' phase of labor. It didn't happen with the birthing of my son (though my husband claims I didn't birth my son, he was surgically extracted from me. I honestly find that sentiment hurtful; I went through almost 24 hours of labor with him, and I pushed for three, and despite all that effort - all that labor - he still was declared 'stuck' and I had to be cut open. So yes, he was surgically extracted, but I also gave birth. There.). Either way, labor with my daughter was almost instantly different. Perhaps because I'd already been through it - my doula said that the nerve endings were more sensitive and that's why it hurt more. I don't know. I do know it hurt, more and more as labor progressed. In the beginning, it was more intensely uncomfortable.

At some point, they declared that I was needing help. They said they wanted to do an IV drip. My doula said it seemed like a good idea because I wasn't getting enough water and food to keep me going; it might give me strength. I don't know if they gave me the IV before or after they broke my water - again, another difference from my son, where my water broke and then labor started. Either way, I was given an IV drip, and they manually broke my water, thinking that the force of the water breaking might help push my daughter out (I will insert here that we didn't know she was a girl yet; I wouldn't find that out until much later, when my husband called her name in fear, his voice thick with emotion).

I got in and out of the shower, the heat helping. Again, different from my son, where the shower is what seemed to stall the labor; I think, though, rather than the shower, it was the doubt and pressure coming off the nurses and doctors. The nurses present for my daughter's birth were significantly more supportive and respectful. I wonder often, if I'd had the same birthing team, would I have been successful in giving birth to my son? Or would he have almost died, like my daughter? Or worse? I'll never know that, and it haunts me sometimes, that my desire for a natural birth could have killed my children.

I don't remember how long I pushed. Time blended into one; I tried a variety of pain relief options, though not an epidural; I did try nitrous oxide, and didn't like it - I felt like I couldn't get enough air; I tried a TENS unit and didn't like it - I felt like it added to the pain and discomfort. I remember at many times wondering if I should just get an epidural, but the knowledge that it would slow everything down always stopped me. I did ask, during the pushing phase, for them to just pull her out with forceps. I couldn't make the muscles work right. I couldn't push like they wanted me to push. I tried, but my body just didn't know what to do. They had me laying down on the bed, my legs up, and there was a mirror so I could see her head trying to come out - full head of dark brown hair, one of the few things the same as her brother. They kept telling me I could do it; I just didn't know how. My husband told me later that he knew things were going downhill when my doula stepped back, and the nurses got quiet. They knew, I didn't see any of that; I just wanted to get her out. She did come out, eventually, and I think the only way it happened was the midwife literally ripped me open to do it. She had her hands inside of me and she just pulled, tearing me open. I'd find out later it was only a third-degree tear. 11:30 pm and my daughter was born, about 15 hours after labor 'officially' started, only two days after her 'due date,' and she came out blue and not crying. A code blue was even called on her, which I actually don't remember hearing but someone told me about later (in a weird episode of synchronicity, a mom I didn't know at the time but that ended up moving to PA and was living there at the same time that I was, and we met through an online group shared with me that she'd always wondered what happened to the baby that got the code called on her while she was giving birth).

Anyway, tangent aside... I remember them handing my daughter to me. My husband says that didn't happen. I don't know who's right. I remember them handing her to me and then almost instantly taking her away, my dreams of a natural birth with a natural post birth, baby and mom cuddled up, baby learning to nurse, instant bonding and happy little hearts floating up around us as we cuddled, totally destroyed; my heart ached, my soul literally cried out 'bring me my baby' and I just couldn't understand why they were taking her away. It sounds melodramatic when I write that; but it's the best way to say it. My soul cried, and my stomach dropped; I could hear my husband talking to her. 'Come on, Zemyna, breathe, Zemyna, you can do it'. I couldn't see what was happening. They were on the other side of the room, he was with her, or as close as they'd let him, talking to her, trying not to cry. I don't remember who was with me. Eventually, they got her to breathe; it took far longer than it should have. Eventually, the nurse told me that I hadn't birthed the placenta yet, and I was losing blood from the tear so they were going to need to pull it out manually and then sew me up. They took me away; my husband stayed with my daughter while they tried to thread an IV through her belly button, after stabilizing her; in the Intermediate Care Unit.

While they sewed me up, one of the nurses had brought my Sheela - a little statue modeled after the ancient Irish sheela-na-gigs I'd had made by a friend, to hold and help support me through the process; I held onto her the whole time. I still have her, on our family altar, and intend to give her to my daughter when she gets pregnant, or perhaps when she gets her menstrual cycle, or maybe when she gets married... I'll give it to her when the time seems right. I held onto my Sheela, and one of the nurses came in with pictures of my daughter. I don't know what happened to those pictures; I don't think I ever got them. But at the time, they meant everything; she was alive, breathing, moving, looking healthy now. My unexpectedly huge baby, alive and breathing. She had to go to the NICU (Intermedia Care Unity, technically), instead of with me. After they sewed me up, they brought me in to see her. I remember being exhausted, completely worn out, and all I wanted was to hold her but all I could do was let her hold my finger. She had tubes running through her, and she was in one of those little baby beds with the high sides, and I couldn't hold her. I look back on that moment and I wish I'd stayed with her. Even though I couldn't hold her, even though I couldn't nurse her or do anything, I wish with all of my being that I hadn't left her alone, without any family, without anyone who loved her, barely even a nurse nearby. I don't know if they would have let me - but I still wish I'd tried. My husband tells me I shouldn't blame myself; that I needed rest. That it's ok. And that's what I would tell any other mother. Any other mother. But it's not what I tell myself. It will always be one of my hugest regrets, that my just-born daughter spent too much time alone in the NICU.

At some point, my husband called my parents, so that shortly after getting to my room, my son came back to us. He crawled into my bed, and we cuddled. At least I had him. I could hold him, even if I couldn't hold my daughter, at least not yet.

She ended up being in NICU for about three days. She was low in some nutrients, and she had an infection in her lung, so they kept her. I couldn't nurse her for the first few days because the nurses told me they needed to monitor how much she was getting. I learned later that they could have weighed her diapers and that should have sufficed, but I didn't know that at the time. I wish someone had told me. Luckily, my son was still nursing, and he was in boob heaven. All through pregnancy I'd had limited supply, which is normal, so he'd gotten used to there not being much. He might even have weaned if that had continued. But it didn't, and thanks to him my milk came in just fine so that when my daughter was ready, it was available. Eventually, they let me pump and they'd give her that. She didn't have much formula, she did get breast milk, just not straight from the breast.

As I write this, I am notified of new photos from my husband - my little ten-pound baby girl is now over 25 pounds, almost 2.5 years old, dancing on a piano. All that drama and fear and sorrow at the beginning and I am so grateful that she made it. It is a constant weight on my heart that it could easily not have turned out so well, that I could easily not have my daughter. My little healer, my helper, my earth goddess who takes care of all of us. Life, my world, my heart, would be so much less without her. I've shared this story verbally often, talked about with my husband; and each time, there's an ache in my heart, knowing how lucky I am to have her in my life. I wouldn't know what I was missing, I suppose, but the knowledge of its possibility is huge, a heavy rock that gets stuck in my throat, or drops into my stomach and makes me fall whenever I think about it.

A new behavior of hers is, at night, when she's nursing to sleep and just about to fall asleep, I'll ask her if we can switch to cuddling (because the latch she gets when she's falling asleep is less lips and more teeth, less suck and more munch), and she'll unlatch then reach her arms up, wrapping them around my neck, and bring my face in to hers, so we are cheek to cheek or sometimes chin to forehead; she'll hold on, and it is the most wonderful feeling, how much she adores me, how completely I am her world.