Bothering the Witch
Perfect. I couldn't help beaming as I poured the powdered snake legs into my cauldron, juggling the stirring rod in the same hand as the empty phial while I scanned the thick spell book intently. Now, all I needed was the fur of a familiar and I'd have my potion. Perfect.
I glanced around the cluttered hut I called home, squinting past the piles of worn books and shelves of ingredients for a certain cat. But even a witch can't find a cat that doesn't want to be found, and within minutes I was scowling bitterly as I called, "Leander! Get out herehiding won't do anything but make me angry."
Moments later, my familiar slunk out from behind my collection of magic brooms. He sat down and casually began licking the fur that I needed for my potion, as if he'd intended to come out the entire time. Cats. Jeez.
"Are you quite finished bathing yourself?" I demanded, scowling. "Come up here; I need your fur."
Leander stretched, glancing at me with meticulous yellow eyes,