Life As A Cat
chat about cats. Both can speak
from very personal experience.
Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. Lyrics are from the fanfilk Never Wed A Wizard, ©1995, and used with permission.
They make a lovely brother, and an interesting beau,
But when it comes to husbands, they just aren't worth the bother
My mama wed a wizard, so I guess that she must know!
Crookshanks was very understanding about the minimal arrangements for pets in the infirmary. It's just not often a cat has to share such feline facilities with its owner.
"Oh, don't laugh, now, kit!" said Hermione. "It's only temporary. I'm embarrassed enough as it is without you mewing and cackling about it."
This was the second day after Hermione drank her disastrous polyjuice cocktail, and by now she was quite used to walking on all fours. She padded her way out of the mop closet and back to her room, her long tail swaying annoyingly with each step. She really wished Millicent Bulstrode's cat had been a tailless Manx.
Madam Pomfrey looked up as the two cats returned to the private room set aside for just such cases of misdirected magic. "Stomach ache gone now, dearie?"
"Much better, thank you," said Hermione, tidying the blanket with one forepaw before lying down. "As you thought, it was a furball."
"Well, I told you not to preen yourself."
"I couldn't help it. Every little bit of dust or loose hair itches."
"Yes, I know. I'll brush your coat this evening to give you a peaceful night's sleep."
Hermione curled on the blanket, Crookshanks doing likewise on a shelf over the bed. "You take such good care of your patients, Madam Pomfrey," she purred.
"All in a day's work at Hogwarts Infirmary of Whoopscraft and Wackery, Miss Granger," chuckled Pomfrey.
"You must get such very odd cases at Hogwarts."
"I do, and then muggins here has to treat them back to health. You're hardly the worst case -- just one of the more inventive ones. You realise I still don't know how this happened to you."
"As I said," insisted Hermione, "it was a bad potion, and my fault."
"Yes, but not in class. I know the Potions curriculum, and Second Years aren't studying anything like this. Doing a little experimentation, were we?"
"Well....nothing I'd like to explain to anyone, so I'd prefer just to say it was a horrible mistake."
"Too right! At any rate, we should have you reshaping and back on regular food by Monday. Until then, I refilled your water dish, and there are some Kitty Treats in the bowl for you two to share."
"Oh, thanks. They really are quite tasty.... this week, anyway! Next week I'll gag at the very thought."
"Then think twice about ever studying to be an animagus, dearie. You'd have to live in two worlds for that. Not to mention that mistakes like this happen often during animagus training."
Hermione nodded. "Have you known many animagi?"
"Oh, yes. My husband, for one."
"You're married?"
"Widowed. A sad end. He was traveling by floo powder to a third-level fireplace at his parents' estate. Unfortunately, the house had burned down a few hours before; the chimney and fireplaces were about the only things left standing. He arrived about 30 feet up on a crumbling hearth, and died in the fall."
"How awful! So sorry for you."
"Yes, well... Being married to Harold Pomfrey was quite an adventure for me. Hal transfigured as a cat.... normal-size house cat, that is. It was perfect for his job at the Ministry, investigating criminal magic undercover. As you're finding out, a cat's life is deceivingly restful. He spent so much time as a cat that he came to prefer that condition. That's not quite the best way to keep a marriage together, you know!"
"I'd say not," agreed Hermione, grinning a bit.
"Oh, I didn't complain when he brought dead mice home to me instead of flowers; it's the thought behind the gift that matters... and it kept the family owl well-fed. Sure, he wasn't the type of husband who's glued to a stool in a pub all evening; on the other hand, I was getting tired of patching him up after midnight scuffles with Mrs. Kensington's bulldog."
"Did you eventually convince him to spend more time in his normal shape?"
"Hal convinced himself," said Pomfrey. "He realised he was in trouble when Ginger, the cat next door, started to wink at him. Then, too, he was uncomfortable about a recurring case of mange from hours of surveillance work in dodgy neighbourhoods.
"The final straw was the night a very nearsighted witch named Hedgeworth caught him in the garden, and thought he was a gnome; she must have flung the old boy fifty feet, and deep into a very thorny rose bush!
"Right then and there, Hal decided he fancied me more than the hazardous life of an undercover cat. He took a desk job, and swore off the animagus art. For the rest of our 28 years together, love was in bloom for Hal and Poppy. We were one very happy household, dearie. Just us Pomfreys -- and no cats!"