Angel gasped in delight. There sat the most perfect snow white cat, gently cleaning himself. On realising that he was being observed, the cat opened his wide eyes, surprised. They were a lovely deep violet!
As she picked up the cat, choosing that instant to name him ‘Rain’, Angel gazed at Marn, flitting around Padfoot’s head just outside the pet shop door. Angel looked back down at Rain.
“Hmm, something’s missing,” she pondered.
Suddenly, delicate white curled wings wove themselves out of the fur on the cat’s back; he exclaimed, but was otherwise unaffected by this physical change, exactly how Angel liked him to be. So, with a mew he continued cleaning his other paw.
Satisfied, Angel led Rain over to join Padfoot and Marn outside the pet shop, shaking her long blonde hair so that it billowed out behind her.
“Hmm,” she mused again, and instantly her hair was bundled up, pinned neatly on top of her hair, and contained within a deep blue hair of mid-1800s style.
She shrugged to Padfoot with a grin and said:
“I watch too many historic dramas.”
Suddenly, Padfoot nudged Angel and pointed across the street. The ‘weasel guy’ was leaning against a store-front, smoking, and it looked like he had been watching the girls all the time.
“Right…” Padfoot said, rolling back the sleeves of her shirt, “It’s time we had a word with Mr. Weasel and his weasel…”