Tatonka, II

“All right, come in through this way,” Caitie instructed dutifully, holding an opening in the beads for her.

Elsa stepped through, bobbing her head.

Then she sneezed.

The room they had entered was large, and obviously was supposed to be some form of living room. It was paneled entirely with hard wood. Every wall held a shelf, cabinet or bookcase, upon and within which was a sea of chaotically placed items. Trinkets, picture frames, cork screws, porcelain figures, jars, cups, papers, collections of any and all small objects, endless piles of books, and dish after dish of dusty, stacked-up china, amounting to an antiquated colossus of cluttered disarray.

A black cat, which had been perched precariously upon a 1950’s radio set, hopped unto the musty carpeting, approached Caitie with a welcoming meow, and started rubbing on her shins.

“Oh,” said Caitie, picking the cat up at once. “Elsa, allow me to introduce you to one of my cats, Grimm.”

Elsa merely stared at the creature, unable to think of a thing to say.

“I really hope you don’t mind animals,” continued Caitie, “I have a lot of them - it’s kind of inescapable around these parts, with all the strays roaming around. They come and go, you see. I just can’t bear to keep them inside all day, so most of the time they’re in the forest. And… ah!”

She pointed into a corner where a moth-eaten green armchair sat, and curled upon it was a casually snoozing tabby.

“That there is Hershel. He’s a dope, but nice all the same.”