by Rubbery Ginny

THE STARVELING CAT! THE STARVELING CAT! I WILL TRY MY HARDEST ‘TIL IT KILLS ME FLAT!

Yes, the Starveling Cat, menace of larders, subject of songs, stalker of places best left to their own devices – and recent resident of my very own larder. As I first found the wretched thing, wrapped in a package left for me by an ‘anonymous admirer’, I considered it a menace and a pest. Who wouldn’t? Its hiss makes one’s eardrums ring, its claws cut to the bone, and it smells like a drownie orgy. But then I got to thinking – for a beast as notorious and well-known as the Starveling Cat, we know so very little about it! What wondrous knowledge could a creature this enigmatic and this infamous possess?! Mayhaps this was not a cruel joke of fate, but a golden opportunity presented to me on a silver platter! So I silently thanked my mysterious benefactor, and I got to work!

The first hurdle I ran into was luring my new furry friend out of the larder. Any attempt to enter it was met with a furious whirlwind of claws and teeth, accompanied by hisses so potent and deep they made my gums bleed! I decided to find another approach before I lost my other eye. Being forced to eat outward due to my larder’s inaccessibility, I visited a lovely café near Ladybones Road, deflected any questions regarding the copious amounts of blood on my face and whether I would like some bandages, and enjoyed a few cups of black darkdrop coffee. It was while I was nursing my third cup, trying to lead the heavy liquid past my bleeding gums, that my eye was caught by the beautiful floral arrangement on my table. They were false, of course, made from coloured paper and scented with perfume… and a little gem-cut figure of a bee was sitting in one of the petals. This is when I decided that it was bound to be more fruitful to procure a lure (ha!) for the hungry beast instead of attempting force.

By the time the gas lamps had been dimmed, I had hired some very foolhardy and eager chefs to prepare a scrumptuous buffet in my humble lodgings. Three courses consisting of the finest fruits of the zee the Bazaar would part with, pies and pastries, several large vats of varying puddings – the small fortune I paid for the assembly of this meal was only topped by the second fortune I paid to get its remnants removed from the carpet. But it was worth it, for the Starveling Cat was out of the larder! It waited patiently for the final course to be assembled before it pounced. As the chefs fled the room, I remained as long as I was able, attempting to ask the Cat some light questions regarding its opinions on the current mayor, the newly instated import taxes regarding nouveaux branches of love poetry, and the weather. The chefs swear that they heard *something* come in reply, but the cacophony and the blood in my ears prevented me from picking up anything. Maybe that’s for the best, as the chefs were only able to tell me about any of it after they had concluded their lengthy stays in the Royal Bethlehem Hotel. Suffice it to say, I did not manage to take any notes, and I left the ordeal rather peckish and scarred. But is that not true of most things worth pursuing?

After the feast, it seemed the Starveling Cat’s ravenous hunger had been momentarily satisfied, and it had taken the opportunity to take a stroll through our fair city. Staying on its trail proved easy enough – the sounds of screaming from society ladies with torn whalebone corsets and the angry hissing of street cats could likely be heard all the way to Polythreme. After bribing a few urchins and a quick snogging session with a Desolate Artist who claimed to have seen the beast, I managed to follow its trail all the way up to the peaks of the Flit. It had taken up residence in a raven’s nest at the top of a tall chimney. The raven was not too keen on his new housemate, and voiced his complaints at length and at high volumes. (His metre left much to be desired.) After artfully scaling the bricked pillar, my advances were swiftly delayed by a flurry of claws, and I decided a more subtle approach would be necessary. By the end of the hour, I was soaring through the sky, launched off a particularly bendable flagpole, and straight into the Cat’s current residence. A thick flurry of soot, fur and feathers later, I had confirmed to my satisfaction that the Starveling Cat does not have a strong opinion on the activities of our Lord Mayor, but would have preferred to see Mrs. Plenty in the office this term. I had also lost a lot of blood and most of my left pinky toe, and the Starveling Cat was nowhere to be found to answer my remaining 76 questions.

After a day of attempted rest rendered fruitless by vicious nightmares concerning a haunting marsh filled with flickering lights, I decided that I would have to carefully plan a new strategy that involved less bodily and mental harm. Luring the Starveling Cat was all well and good for getting it to occupy the same room as you, but allowing its gaping maw to be filled with food did not aid conversation any. And using physical force to make a being – nay, a CONCEPT such as the Starveling Cat conform to mortal whims was akin to emptying out the Unterzee by drinking it up. No, what I needed was a lure that kept the beast’s mouth free, yet also kept its claws otherwise occupied. Luckily, I had just such a thing.

What happened next, I will only gloss over, as despite the rebellious appeal it may hold, I would rather not the entire run of this edition be confiscated by the Ministry of Public Decadence (ha!). Suffice it to say that I was chased off by no less than seven chandlers while procuring the necessary materials, and that more than one Drownie gave up their eyes to me. By the end of that eventful night, I found myself drenched to the bone in the most literal sense, my soul ached like a festering tooth for weeks, and I still haven’t gotten my Peculiar Enhancements to stop twitching erratically. But the interview, dearest reader, the interview was a success! Let me now enrich you with the knowledge I have gleamed from speaking to the Ruler of the Roofs!

Firstly, it may surprise you to know tha-

[Oh dear. As soon as your gaze makes contact with this last paragraph, the paper bursts into flames in your palms. Stomping it out takes minutes, and your new boots are ruined! Still, it may have been worth it for the glimpse you caught of the contents. They remain seared onto your retinas for days.]