Witches, hags, crones, all of them share some common characteristics. Crooked backs with crooked teeth, a crooked nose and all a crooked menace. With their crooked hands and their bubbling pots they boil potions and crochet magic in reclusive dens and burrows.

There is however a definitive difference between the three. Only one of these has a black cat. Commonly used to represent bad luck, they're nimble and fiercely intelligent as though an extension of the witch's own soul and magic.

In some tales the writers go as far to say that the black cat is a spirit or demon in disguise.

Still, witches weren't all old and crooked. They were also young once and beautiful as day like all evil things tend to be. Supposedly anyway. Beauty in such stories is presented in a lustful and sinful light as a temptation for good folk, and lack thereof is shown as a warning. Ever feel like there is just no winning?

I wouldn't exactly have described her as beautiful though. She was young and headstrong. Perhaps she was pretty or cute but it takes a hell of a lot to be called beautiful. To be physically beautiful every feature would need to be placed as though with a great plan in mind. That's just my opinion.

Life is partially a game of bingo. Being born is like drawing lots in a lottery. Appearances often play the same way. It's hard to get the dice to land a ten every time you roll it. It's not impossible, just very very unlikely. After all, it's a coin flip to decide what features take after which side of the family tree. And a dice roll to determine which family member they inherited their feature from.

I don't think I've ever met anybody who can be called beautiful. It's relatively hollow as a compliment as well. Maybe I'm jealous nobody has ever called me beautiful?

But being cute and pretty is fine enough. Not that I should care all that much about the appearances of a human with me being... well... a cat. It's the contents of character that should really matter.

I'm not a cat by choice. It's a curse. Maybe it'll wear off. Maybe it needs to be cured. But either way I'm still a cat. I don't take too much offence by being judged by the glossiness of my fur so long as the judgement comes from someone who knows I am not, deep down, really a cat. Otherwise it makes me quite sad.

What I really would have liked is to lie on the bed for just another five minutes. It was just so soft and cosy and if I moved just a little further up I'd find the pillow still warm. How could I ever resist such a mirthful resting place?

She had gotten out of bed in a hurry, not in a good mood. It's wasn't her fault the first light of the day through the cracks of the window shutters didn't wake her up naturally. Most people have an internal clock which wakes them up with a polite yet stern nudge. Her one needed recalibrating to offer rude kicks.

Failing that, the town itself springs to life in the morning. For example, bakers usually wake before the light of day so they have a nice warm stock of freshly baked bread to greet their patrons heading to work. The same happens in a lot of professions so even before the first light of day there can be, to my own humble pointy ears anyway, a lot of disturbance.

My own personal theory is that her internal clock did work fine but just like everyone else, she enjoys the guilty pleasure of falling back to sleep for another five minutes. She did it like the rest of us lowly mortals with such consistency it brought into doubt the functionality of her internal clock. Fighting the sheets would be like fighting the pressure of being trapped at the bottom of the ocean. And eventually... the heaviness of her eyes... nudges her gently back to sleep...

“Ack!” My curled up body was yanked away in the direction of the sharp tug. I dug my claws but found myself just further attached to the blanket as it slipped off the side of the bed.

“Wake up!”

“Nooooo-” I wailed pathetically. “Just give 5 more minutesss.” Wail was not quite correct. If I talked through this cat mouth of mine I'd make the most awful sounds. I think my voice was a handy illusion made by the curse. At some point in my life, I probably explored how its done but gave up or simply forgot the results.

She stomped her way around the bed, huffing and puffing, and came to a stop over me. I didn't need to open my eyes to feel her looming shadow. “If I can't sleep neither can you.” Her own two eyes were alight with righteous anger. “This is a really really important day you know.”

“Yeeess it's a caturday now we get back to sleep in...” I rolled lazily in a half hearted attempt to disentangle myself. I was in a dilemma after all, entangled in this nice soft blanket. Should I attempt to remedy or just make the most of a bad situation?

“Firstly, no, it's Thursday.” I 'fought' my way from out under the fabric with some heartbreak and began stretching. “Secondly, guess what?”

“What?” I replied content that I had indeed guessed what.

“Today is the day I'm booked to get my licence upgrade.” She heaved a heavy sigh and pinches the area between her brows. It was almost as if she was well aware I already knew this. She had a habit of balling her hands into fists whenever she was nervous, or angry. Either way it made her look scary to little old me. Her knuckles weren't white yet but I didn't want them painted the red of my blood.

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Of course I already knew what was happening that day. And I knew how serious it was for her. It was nevertheless a rude awakening in the morning and I was feeling a little grouchy. I never got invested in the lives of my carers so all I could do was put on an act and pretend this was also important to me.

On top of that, there was a level of optimism implied in her words. She had passed the theory ages ago but was now on the practical. Could the provisional licence she already had really count as a licence? Maybe this wasn't an upgrade but a full-release of version one.

“Cool good luck have fun.” I finished stretching, sat down, and primly began licking the back of my left front paw. I'd seen cats do it before and they always looked unconcerned with the world whilst doing it.

When you're a cat you'll find a certain strong temptation to laze about during the day. You'll also feel this innate smug superiority although that may just be me. Cats do their hunting at night where it's generally safer and easier for stealthy predators. They're small and nimble. They've worked hard at become creatures very sensitive to their environment. It does make busy high streets dizzying. I would also rather sleep through the day.

Hannah stomped the wooden floorboard next to me. The sudden snap made me leap back.

“Jeez do you mind?!”

“You're coming with me.” She asserted. By the look on her face, the alternative was probably be being donated to a sketchy street meat stand.

“Yeah I know. I was only joking.”

“No, a joke has a punchline. You were being a jerk. Now get up because we are going now.” Jerk? Even I knew nobody said that anymore.

But really? No breakfast? Fiiiiiiineeee. Nothing spoke jerk to me more than forcing me to skip breakfast.

Hannah made for the door and I hurried along behind. Being a cat I only had a small window of time to get out of the room thanks to how the door swayed shut on its own. Most of the time the doors of the house were all propped open but my punishment for staying home would always be being locked in this room.

I never understood the need for punishment. I was hardly an integral part of who she was. Objectively speaking, I was a leech. Not actually being a cat, something she understood, she never touched my soft glossy fur or let me nap anywhere she could accidentally brush up against me. She was getting nothing out of this a typical cat owner would get. I was essentially just her verabl punching bag for when a human wasn't at hand.

Being stuck in here would also only be locked in a sense. The door had no lock but it was just near enough impossible for my lazy self to open. Pity me who would get locked up in a room which has a comfy bed to sleep on.

I followed her out and the door closed behind me. I sadly and quickly mourned the passing of free reign to nap for the day. The time where she wasn't around was the only time I could sleep on the bed.

She grabbed her shoulder bag off the dinner table. The flap didn't close properly thanks to all the scrolls stuffed in there.

“Make sure you keep up Adam or I'll leave you behind.” That was a warning I took to heart.

“You'd be hard pressed to lose me in a place so crowded as a city.” Thinking of all the stampeding feet and loud chatter that would only intensify as the day rolled on made me shudder.

Before the curse, the concept of dying in a stampede was alien to me. I could imagine it and come up with a very vague and foggy image of what that might have felt like. With it being such a real fear now that I was this size, I could confidently say I never even came close to the truth of how this fear felt.

Hannah was well dressed for the occasion. She was prideful of her witch heritage and that had found its way into her choice of outfit.

Witchery was uncommon. The traditional witch was archaic and behind the curve. Not to mention that anybody with a striking resemblance to that profession would be ostracised by common folk and dismissed by scholars.

It turned out that turning pesky stalkers into newts and curing people of rickets was a thankless job.

Magic was continually being developed. The invention of steam engine had opened up entire new fields to study and exploit in industry. It was a golden age for scholars and magic practitioners who could push boundaries.

Hannah was determined not to fall behind. There was no cauldron in her kitchen with which she would bubble up potions. Perhaps this is much to the dismay of her ancestors.

She didn't fly on a broom nor dress in all black. She did have a cloak she could adjust depending on the day and a pointy hat.

Hannah lived close by the suburbs. It was an idyllic neighbourhood. Wide and open for children to play. One or two mansions could be found here, their brilliant and colourful gardens putting to shame the front lawn of the suburbanite next door. A war of middle class raged there. Hannah's own accommodation was a flat overlooking the noisy river.

She had been offered accommodation on campus as a part of her deal but whether it was because of preferring her own company or disliking the campus pet policy, she decided to find her own place to stay. She had struck gold. The landlord was an old lady who showed no end of charity. She sometimes came over for tea, bringing her own biscuits so as not to bite into Hannah's own budget. This landlord was a saint among a sea of fiends.

“I'm going to take a shortcut.” Hannah declared quite curtly as she turned away from the direction of the quiet suburbs and towards one of the main streets.

“Understandable, and yet regrettable.” I muttered under my breath and kept close behind. Main streets weren't my thing with all of the rolling carts and horses. Usually we avoided them.

“Keep up, I won't be slowing just for you.”

“How kind.” I decided to take it as a sign that she had always been secretly looking out for me all the other times we went out on walks.

When we arrived at a junction to one of the main streets the situation quickly changed. There was a lot of foot traffic and rolling carts.

Innovation and revolution had not reached the city of Kasper for one reason or another. It was rare to see a street lined with lightboxes, let alone anyone who'd ridden on a steam engine. It is often said that Kasper is a city only in history.

“Ah right, the harvest festival preparations...” We looked to eachother, perturbed. Nobody could really look at this stampede and feel relaxed or casual. To backtrack now would mean to lose time. Hannah just sighed, leant down, and opened her shoulder bag. “Get in.”

Room had to be made between all of the scrolls of course but it would be better than getting trampled on.

On the one hand a cramped bag swinging back and forth likely to give me motion sickness, on the other hand a chance of being run over by a cart wheel or trampled by a horse.

I made my decision quickly and me and my ride made good time on our journey.