The White Horse Inn, Act II

[Imladris]

Goldwine, Prince of Cats

I listened with delectation to the human of the female persuasion’s unwaning, separate conversation. I did not deign to respond to her various tormented, damsel-like distress for the precise reason because their speech is strange to me. Is it not enough that I grace her domain with my kingly aura?

The woman did commit the gruesome fault of referring to me as a she, though how one could make such an atrocious mistake, is rather beyond me. It mattered not, however: the revelation of the truth would strike her soon enough, I hoped.

Gerdwyn was a splendidly marvelous cook and the muscle she served me was deliciously soft and tender, not tendons entangled themselves with succulent meat, and just the slightest tint of smoke pervaded the flavour. ‘Twas better than a mangy rodent that dwelt in the golden fields of men.

With a final lick of the lips, I gathered my muscles for a might leap, and landed upon the woman’s shoulders. A little gasp escaped her and her hand crept up and stroked my luscious coat. I settle smugly: I had won her and she was yet another comrade to add to the growing list.