To give me something to do aside from marathoning British TV and talking to the cat, Joe told me to write a story. I figured I'd share it on here. It's turned out wonderfully weird.
My instructions: I was to include an awe-inspiring and manly hero, a flying battle cat, and a dragon who consumes souls. I added some fire-breathing gerbils, a strategic reference to Doctor Who, and a princess turning to diamond.
Magnus Morrow and the Battle Cat
Magnus Morrow was surprised to discover, one gray Tuesday afternoon, that he owned a talking book named Felix, which had been a birthday present from his great-aunt Sylvia, and which, as it turned out, could tell the future--and this future included princesses, Wellington boots, and a rather foolish vicar named Stew.
The discovery came about quite suddenly, just as he was sitting down to tea.
"Jammie dodgers," sighed a voice to his left. "I hate jammie dodger days."
Being a wizard of some repute (as well as a part-time professor of geometric patterns at the local university), Magnus was used to unexpected voices issuing from unexpected places in his house; nevertheless, he did jump slightly, and clutched the plate of cakes, his glasses shuddering on his nose.
Scowling at the teapot, he set the plate on the table and said, rather rudely, "I don't see how you have anything to complain about. I've used a bag instead of tea leaves this time, so you don't go getting mucky--you complained so much when Mrs. Letherby was here to tea."
"Not him!" the voice spoke up again, this time a little scornful. "I'm down here!"
Magnus looked. To his left was a three-legged tea table, one leg of which was broken and propped up on three or four very old, very dusty books. It was from the top one, a handsome leather tome with gold leaf, that the voice appeared to be issuing.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Magnus said courteously. "I'm sorry I was rude."
"It's all very well," the book sighed. "Most people get tetchy when their belongings talk to them at tea-time. Those cakes do look good, though. I miss having a mouth."
"I don't suppose," asked Magnus, "I could hand one down and put it on your cover?"
"Oh, go on then," the book said pleasantly, "but quickly--I'm here on business."
Magnus swiftly transferred a raspberry cake onto the red leather surface, where it remained for a moment before there was a sucking noise a bit like a vacuum, and the cake vanished. The book heaved a happy sigh.
"Right-o," it said. "I wouldn't have spoken up, normally, but as I said, it happens I'm here on business. It would be best if you read me at once. I have an urgent message from the princess."