Potion Princess

Here is an original story sent to us by Kat The Cat.

Potion Princess

By Kat the Cat

Chapter 1

Princess counted the swirls in her latest concoction as she waited for the wind chimes above her door to ring. The blue and pink swirls formed intricate designs in the cauldron before her.

   47… 48… 49… 50!

  Her potion was done. Princess took one of the small glass vials lined up next to her and ever so carefully began to spoon the potion into it.

   Ding!

   The wind chimes unexpectedly jingled. Princess jumped and dropped the vial. It smashed upon the floor into tiny shards of glass. The potion slowly spread across the floor.

   “Cafuzzle,” she muttered. She hoped the potion wouldn’t alter the floor before she had a chance to clean it up. Last time she had spilt a potion, the floor was covered with white carpeting for a week. It was soft, but it didn’t look good with the wooden shelves in her workshop. With a sigh, she marched towards the door and opened it.

    A small grey cat stood on the doorstep. Her cheeks were wet, and Princess suspected it wasn’t just from the storm raging outside. A bright red pimple had sprouted next to her nose. She trembled as she looked up at Princess. “I’m in need of a potion, ma’am,” she said.

   “Of course,” replied Princess. “Come in.”

   The cat followed her into her workshop. Most Webkinz were awestruck by the sheer number of glass vials, spell books, and magical tools adorning the many shelves, and this cat was no exception. She gazed, open-mouthed, at the room, and suddenly wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is that smell?” she exclaimed.

   Too late, Princess realized that the potion she had spilt earlier must be absorbing into the dark brown wood flooring by now. “Oh,” she stammered, “that’s just… a potion I was working on earlier. Take a seat, will you?” she said, motioning the cat towards one of two wooden chairs.

   The cat looked at her skeptically but took her seat.

   Princess busied herself sweeping the workshop with a broom soaked in a high-strength cleaning potion. “So, what brings you to my workshop?” she addressed the cat.

   “Can’t you see?” sighed the cat miserably. She pointed to her nose, where the pimple had sprouted.

   Princess looked at it with mild interest. “Only a pimple? I thought you had a real dilemma for me, my dear.” Webkinz used to come to her shop for actual disasters, like illness, extermination of pests, and endless injuries, but now they came running to her with the most trivial problems.

   The cat looked at her and burst into tears.

   “What ever is the matter?” said Princess, quite taken aback. Pets sometimes were turned off by her down-to-earth manner, but they didn’t usually start crying.

   “It’s… it’s… him!” the cat sobbed.

   Princess wondered who “him” was. A sorcerer, perhaps? She hadn’t had a good duel in quite some time. Not since the epidemic, anyway. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about the epidemic now. Not when a cat was sobbing in her workshop.

   “That is quite enough of that,” she said sternly, but not unkindly. “No use crying; you’ll never get anything done by wallowing in self-pity. Now who is ‘him’?”

   The cat sniffed. “Ollie. He’s this boy at my school, and he’s kinda cute...”

   Princess stifled a yawn. She had heard her fair share of stories from heartbroken girls, and she knew exactly how each one went every time, without even using her mind-reading potion.

   “…I really like him, and he’s nice to me as well.” The cat finished.

   Princess blinked. “So what’s the problem?”

   “This!” The cat pointed to her pimple. “I can’t go to school like this! Everyone will laugh at me! And he’ll think it’s a total turn-off! Please! You gotta help me!” She started to cry again.

   “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop crying, child,” said Princess, exasperated. “Of course I’ll help you. Just sit here and let me get a potion ready…”

   In the next five minutes, Princess ran around the workshop, finding the proper potions. “Half a bottle of 142… quarter bottle of 568… half of 973…” she muttered to herself as she searched the shelves for the numbered potions. She had been trained in memorizing each and every potion’s number when she was small. Now she could gather the ingredients for an average-level potion in five minutes flat. Soon a potion was simmering in the black cauldron and Princess was stirring it. “So tell me more about this boy of yours,” she said to the cat.

   Princess listened to the cat’s babbling as she counted the bubbles in the mixture. Apart from silky fur and a prizewinning smile, the boy in question didn’t seem too interesting. He also seemed kind of mean.

   “Pardon me,” she said after the cat was finished, “but this boy… he seems very disrespectful, don’t you think? And he has the personality of – if you will – mildew.”

   The cat giggled. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe he’s not so great after all.”

   The potion had made 73 bubbles; it was done. She spooned the potion into a cup. “Drink this,” she said, shoving the cup under the cat’s nose. She obligingly downed the whole cup.

   As Princess watched, the pimple shrank, and disappeared within one minute. The cat gazed wide-eyed in a mirror at the miniscule red dot that remained.

   “Thank you so much!” cried the cat, jumping up from the chair and hugging Princess. Princess stood stiffly, unsure of what to do. Huggers always made her feel uncomfortable. “You really live up to your name, ma’am,” said the cat adoringly. “You really are the Potion Princess.”

   After the cat had gone, Princess left her potions and instead sat in the old wicker chair, thinking. Every time someone saw her, every time someone called her by her title, she remembered that day. That day, back on a sunny day in May, where it all began.