saying I’ll think about it?”
Larry drew her close and put his arms around her.
“Of course you can,” he whispered in her ear.
As they hugged Gwen saw the inevitable over Larry’s shoulder. A classic brick brownstone set inside the base of a modern glass office tower. The gold stenciled lettering on the large front window read My Pet Shop .
The shop occupied the first floor. The second floor windows were shuttered from within. The third and fourth floor windows were curtained and each windowsill had one or two cats languishing as they watched the rain come down.
“Let’s be responsible for a little furry life,” Gwen finally acquiesced. “We’ll see how it goes from there.”
“At the very least,” Larry joked. “We’ll have the beginnings of a fur coat.”
“You’re sick.”
“You’re twisted.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
With the ringing of the bell above the door, Gwen and Larry Talbot entered into the world of cats and cat related trappings that was My Pet Shop . In some respects this was a proper pet shop but in many others it was quite the opposite.
The colors in this world were predominantly bright orange and dark wood tones. A brass chandelier hung from the ceiling of a space that was more parlor than business establishment. Beneath the chandelier was a sitting area with a round wooden table and three large black leather chairs.
On the center of the table top was a small sign. It was a picture of a cat that was delivering a message from the owner of the shop:
Meow’ll be right back.
There was artwork on the wall to the left as one entered. Each piece hung there was presented with care in ornate gold painted frames. All the paintings were of cats in different settings, seasons, and poses. Gwen noticed an easel and an artist’s case in the far corner of the large square room. They were set against the bannister of the staircase leading upstairs.
Along that same wall were tall orange bookcases filled with all the things a cat owner would ever need to care for their new feline family member. The facing edges of the wooden shelves had small beautifully carved representations of running cats. The remaining wall was lined with more of the same bookcases but these all housed individual brass cages. Some were empty. The rest were occupied by sleeping kittens.
The world of My Pet Shop was a singularly feline world. The shop had nothing but cats and nothing emphasized that more than the three trees that were built into the room. Carved of wood and reaching floor to ceiling, these trees appeared to be quite real. There were no leaves, just branches, and on those branches there was a clowder of cats numbering over a dozen. A few were sleeping. A few others were cleaning themselves. The rest were studying Gwen and Larry.
“Is this a bad time to tell you that I really don’t care for cats?” Gwen admitted.
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
“They make me nervous,” she whispered. “I don’t trust them.”
“They’re just cats, silly girl.”
Gwen started moving towards the door.
“I was two years old and holding my aunt’s cat when it turned on me.”
“Honey, calm down.”
“It tried to scratch my eyes out.”
“I’m sure it’s just an exaggerated memory.”
“I had to go to the hospital. It got close enough to scratch my cornea.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We should go, Larry.”
A woman’s voice came from the top of the stairs.
“Even a cat who is pure of heart and dreams his dreams by night, may become a beast when the crocus blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”
Gwen and Larry were drawn towards the stairs as the woman began to descend them.
“People fear dogs based on their relative size. A Chihuahua can do but so much damage, they think. A Doberman Pincher can kill us, they think.”
Once in view the old woman was quite a sight. Her hair was a wild, and obviously dyed, black crash of curls. She was wearing orange
Larry drew her close and put his arms around her.
“Of course you can,” he whispered in her ear.
As they hugged Gwen saw the inevitable over Larry’s shoulder. A classic brick brownstone set inside the base of a modern glass office tower. The gold stenciled lettering on the large front window read My Pet Shop .
The shop occupied the first floor. The second floor windows were shuttered from within. The third and fourth floor windows were curtained and each windowsill had one or two cats languishing as they watched the rain come down.
“Let’s be responsible for a little furry life,” Gwen finally acquiesced. “We’ll see how it goes from there.”
“At the very least,” Larry joked. “We’ll have the beginnings of a fur coat.”
“You’re sick.”
“You’re twisted.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
With the ringing of the bell above the door, Gwen and Larry Talbot entered into the world of cats and cat related trappings that was My Pet Shop . In some respects this was a proper pet shop but in many others it was quite the opposite.
The colors in this world were predominantly bright orange and dark wood tones. A brass chandelier hung from the ceiling of a space that was more parlor than business establishment. Beneath the chandelier was a sitting area with a round wooden table and three large black leather chairs.
On the center of the table top was a small sign. It was a picture of a cat that was delivering a message from the owner of the shop:
Meow’ll be right back.
There was artwork on the wall to the left as one entered. Each piece hung there was presented with care in ornate gold painted frames. All the paintings were of cats in different settings, seasons, and poses. Gwen noticed an easel and an artist’s case in the far corner of the large square room. They were set against the bannister of the staircase leading upstairs.
Along that same wall were tall orange bookcases filled with all the things a cat owner would ever need to care for their new feline family member. The facing edges of the wooden shelves had small beautifully carved representations of running cats. The remaining wall was lined with more of the same bookcases but these all housed individual brass cages. Some were empty. The rest were occupied by sleeping kittens.
The world of My Pet Shop was a singularly feline world. The shop had nothing but cats and nothing emphasized that more than the three trees that were built into the room. Carved of wood and reaching floor to ceiling, these trees appeared to be quite real. There were no leaves, just branches, and on those branches there was a clowder of cats numbering over a dozen. A few were sleeping. A few others were cleaning themselves. The rest were studying Gwen and Larry.
“Is this a bad time to tell you that I really don’t care for cats?” Gwen admitted.
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
“They make me nervous,” she whispered. “I don’t trust them.”
“They’re just cats, silly girl.”
Gwen started moving towards the door.
“I was two years old and holding my aunt’s cat when it turned on me.”
“Honey, calm down.”
“It tried to scratch my eyes out.”
“I’m sure it’s just an exaggerated memory.”
“I had to go to the hospital. It got close enough to scratch my cornea.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We should go, Larry.”
A woman’s voice came from the top of the stairs.
“Even a cat who is pure of heart and dreams his dreams by night, may become a beast when the crocus blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”
Gwen and Larry were drawn towards the stairs as the woman began to descend them.
“People fear dogs based on their relative size. A Chihuahua can do but so much damage, they think. A Doberman Pincher can kill us, they think.”
Once in view the old woman was quite a sight. Her hair was a wild, and obviously dyed, black crash of curls. She was wearing orange
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