alicatwitchery @alicatwitchery - Tumblr Blog

New month, new blood 🩸

Tucker, the cat behind Lady Normalgirl’s noble eunuch, passed away on Tuesday morning.

From about the time I could talk, I dreamed of having a pet cat — and when I was ten, that dream finally came true. But in all my tiny child dreaming, I don’t think I could have imagined a cat better than Tucker. He’s been my constant companion for the last thirteen years, through all the best and worst bits of my life and as much as I know it’s good he’s no longer in pain, it seems very wrong that I have to do this next worst bit without him.

I’m thankful that we were able to spend so long together (even if it doesn’t feel quite long enough) and I’m so very grateful that over the last year and a bit I was able to share him with all of you. Knowing that he will be remembered so far and wide means more than I can really express. He definitely knew how insanely much I loved him (and I know how much he loved me back), but I’d like to think he knew how much so many of you loved him and how much joy his noble likeness’s comics brought so many people. While I know I will never stop missing him and that my sadness might never truly go away, it will always be a comfort to know my little cat has left behind such a grand legacy of love and happiness.

<3

heroineimages

eHugs, Lady Normalgirl. I've also lost some great cats over the years, and now I'm crying thinking about them.

ohsamiam

From a deck of cards illustrated by Hanna Krajnik. Warsaw, Poland. (1979)

segmentedleg

Smiling Crocodiles. Isabel De Obaldia. Glass.

eonblueinmay

Watching the process of this absolutely stunning painting makes it even more beautiful.

The artist is Sydney Swisher

zuccnini

[oc] Comic - Love bugs

Happy valentines day!!

fleshwizard

Few objects produced more terror among the Isles- folks than the cu sith, or faery dog, a creature of ill omen they sometimes encountered on dark nights, moving swiftly and noiselessly from place to place. Faery dogs are said to be about the size of a two-year-old stirk. For the most part, they are dark green in colour, though toward the feet the green takes on a lighter hue. Some possess long tails, which they coil over their backs : others have a flat tail, “plaited like the straw rug of a pack- saddle.” Their motion is silent and rhythmical, and is always in a straight line.

Their bark has been described as a rude clamour. It sounds not unlike that of an ordinary dog, but it is louder. Faery dogs, they say in the Isles, bark only three times; and there is usually a fair interval between each bark, which gives to the terror-stricken hearer a chance of making for safety before he heards the third bark. Otherwise, he is liable to be overtaken and destroyed by the faery dog. The footprints of the faery dog are said to be very large. Some aver that they are as broad as the spread of the human hand. They have been traced in snow, in muddy places, and upon the sands.

The Peat-Fire Flame : folk-tales and traditions of the Highlands & Islands, Alasdair A. MacGregor

chimeride

Cu-sith, the 263rd Known One.

thestuffedalligator

"Um," said the fairy. "Choose something else."

Rosamund hesitated. It was, she had to admit, the first time she had ever been given a wish, so she wasn't an expert with this sort of thing, but she felt that this was not part of the typical script. "Sorry," she said. "Is that not allowed?"

The fairy grimaced. When it spoke, its voice came out pained and stressed. "Y-y-y-e-e-e-no," it sighed at last, dragonfly wings sagging. "No, technically no, it's not not allowed, but-" It suddenly brightened. "How about gold? Can't go wrong with gold. Gold's a good wish."

Rosamund frowned. This was really not going the way she expected at all. "Excuse me-"

"Beauty, that's a good one too, beauty's always popular," it went on. "And if there's a ball nearby tonight I can probably-"

"Excuse me!"

The wand was twiddled in chitinous fingers. "Right," the fairy said, sounding scolded. "Sorry, it's just..." Its voice trailed off.

Her grandmother's clock chimed midnight from the mantelpiece.

Then - "I'm sorry," it said, not daring to look up, "I know it's not fair, but - you know what I am. You know what we do to wishes. If you wished for wealth I'd have to turn your hair into silver, so you’d have to tear every strand out of your head before you could spend it. We can't help it. It's what we do. The cost of a wish is that you get what you want, but you don't get it the easy way.

"So if you wish for a child, it'll be - strange. Twisted, somehow. Made of pine or marzipan or have the head of a hedgehog. That's the cost of a wish-child; you'll get the child you wished for, but it'll never be - right."

Rosamund waited to see if there was anything else. She felt a sting to her pride when she realized there wasn't. "Is that all?" she said. "I wouldn't care what I got-"

"You all say that," the fairy said. "You all say you wouldn't care what you got. You all say it, and you really believe it, until the neighbours sneer at you and your hedgehog child for too long, or your back aches because your thumb-high child can't help you in the fields, or your pine child kicks and bites and won't obey, and then you think, 'This isn't the way it was supposed to be,' and then..."

The fairy stopped and looked into Rosamund’s eyes. It was a beautiful thing, all glittering carapace and iridescent wings, but just for an instant it looked terribly, terribly old.

"I'm sorry," it said. "But I'm tired of making unloved children."