Chapter Eleven: In Which There Is Tea.

The cave in which Ralph the Timid had met Ginger McSporran the black beast of the caves had been, as so many caves are, full of blackness. It had been very dark indeed. It had had stalagmites and stalactites placed in inconvenient places in order to trip adventuresome people up. It had been rocky and hard and ever so slightly damp.

It thus came as a surprise to Ralph the Timid to see what Ginger McSporran's living room looked like. It was not precisely what one would imagine a black beast of the caves would find relaxing. One might expect that there would perhaps be lots of darkness, maybe some pointy rocks. There would possibly be a nice pile of bones menacingly squatting in one corner as piles of bones are wont to do. Maybe if it was a particularly luxurious cave there would be some unindentifiable spiky things and maybe a hide of some unspecified creature. An essential would be some evil looking flames, possibly in a rough stone hearth. These are the sorts of things that traditional black beasts of caves like, or so we are to believe from stories.

Ginger McSporran's living room was not like this at all. It was, to begin with, quite light. It was obviously near the surface of the caves, Ralph noted, as natural light filtered in through a series of skylights. There was also a homely looking fire flickering in a cottagey hearth which spilled a warm light into the room. Far from being rocky and black, the walls were wallpapered in an intricate pink and white floral pattern. There were two chairs comfortably arranged by the fireplace. They were also pink, and heavily upholstered. Each had two large cushions, heavily embroidered with pictures of fluffy kittens. There were pictures of fluffy kittens on the walls as well. A large fluffy rug covered the floor, and two little wooden tables sat by the chairs (one by each).

Ralph the Timid looked at the fluffy rug. He looked at Ginger McSporran, the black beast of the caves. He looked at the pictures of the kittens. He looked at the roofscraping leathery black wings. He looked at the cushions and the floral wallpaper. He looked at the horns and the claws and the luminous teeth. He looked back at the room.

"Um. You like cats?" he ventured.

Ginger McSporran beamed. At least, Ralph the Timid thought the big black beast was beaming, but it was hard to tell. There were lots of teeth and Ginger McSporran seemed happy, so it was probably a beam. "I love cats!" said Ginger McSporran with immense enthusiasm. "Here, Twinkle! Twinkle! Twiiinkle!" He began clapping his hands together in way in a way intended to call a cat to him but, as is the usual outcome when this is attempted, no cat appeared. "Twinkle is my cat." he explained to Ralph the Timid, who was still standing near the doorway trying not to look dumbstruck.

When the cat continued to not appear, Ginger McSporran directed Ralph to sit down by the fire, and went through to the adjoining chamber to make the tea. Ralph looked around the living room - or was it a chamber? he was still in the cave after all, hard though it was to believe. It seemed most uncavelike. He walked across the carpet towards the chair. The carpet was soft. The chair was really soft. Ralph sank into it like the Titanic into the Atlantic, except he didn't break in half or fill up with water, there was no iceberg, and no one died so the number of lifeboats didn't really come into it - the point is that the cushions were squishy and deep and when he sat down he became very comfortable almost instantly. He could hear the clink and clatter of tea being made in the kitchen (or was it a chamber? a cavern? he still could not decide) and wondered for a moment what the kitchen looked like. He didn't go to take a look. The whole thing was too odd. He almost felt like he was visiting his foster mother's mother at her plush cottage in the village, except everything in her house was yellow, not pink. And she had a very large fluffy ginger cat.

Just as he was thinking this a fluffy ginger cat who was very large indeed strolled into the room.
Ralph the Timid made an involuntary exclamatory noise. It looked so much like Granny Aggie's that it sent a shiver down his spine.

It should be explained at this point that there is no reason why Ginger McSporran, black beast of the caves, and Mrs Aggie Crooks, foster grandmother of Ralph the Timid, had very similar tastes in decor and cats. No one is trying to say that grandmothers are black beasts of monstrous appearance who lurk in caves. No one is trying to say that black beasts of monstrous appearance who lurk in caves are little old ladies, although doubtless some of them are. Similarities happen from time to time. It's called coincidence. It's just one of those things.

Anyway, the cat came in, and it was large and ginger. The cat sat on the mat. Its fur clashed hideously with the pink of the rug.

"You must be Twinkle." said Ralph the Timid.

Twinkle said nothing, because he was a cat. He got up stalked toward Ralph the Timid and bit him on the ankle, and then, as Ralph the Timid yelped and clutched at his ankle, he sat down again in front of the fire and began to wash himself.

"There you are, Twinkle, you bad cat!" said Ginger McSporran, coming into the living room with the tea tray. He gave Ralph a steaming hot mug of such huge proportions Ralph thought he might be able to go swimming in it. He could certainly have used it for a useful bucket. It was very difficult to drink out of. Ginger McSporran had no such problems - not surprisingly, as it was his tea set, after all - and took a sip from his own cup before placing it on the table by his chair. "Do you take sugar or milk, young Ralph?"

Ralph did not, and politely declined.

Ginger McSporran sat in his own chair, pushing aside one of the pink embroidered cushions. Twinkle looked up from his washing, made a soft meow noise, and abandoning his toilette jumped up on the giant black cave beast's lap and started to make himself at home. Ginger McSporran stroked him idly. "Now then Twinkle, don't knead so hard! You've got claws, you know."

Ralph the Timid tried not to stare at the incongrous picture of the mighty beast, almost omnipotent in appearance, stroking the fluffy cat while seated in a pink armchair drinking tea. It just goes to show that the most unexpected people like cats.

"Now then Ralphie!" Ginger McSporran took a big swig from his tea cup. "Let me tell you about my cave!"

(Word Count: 11035)