Morning came slow and soft.
Elisha, the kitten, had made herself very much at home, having discovered Beatrice's velvet slippers sometime in the night and decided they were her rightful bed. Beatrice found her there just after sunrise, a tiny ball of black fur snoring lightly against the toe of her shoe.
She didn't move her.
Instead, Beatrice sat by the hearth with a cup of tea and watched as the kitten eventually stirred, stretched with dramatic flair, and began a campaign to conquer the rug by pouncing on invisible enemies. It was absurdly calming.
Lily entered mid-morning, carrying a new stack of letters. She paused when she caught sight of the kitten chasing her own tail.
"You're spoiling her already," Lily said, amused.
"She deserves it," Beatrice replied.
"She's barely bigger than your hand."
"All the more reason."
