#a trick

[belfrysol]

no fear, not even in a little danger, never stop killing.

[catfindr]

[inkblots-and-rainbows]

Trick or treat!

Eg

[elusivemaster-moved]

It’s a day early but I’m going to send people Trick or Treat Asks. Like if you want one.

[mrkanman]

my tablet, obviously broken: pp,lleass, ju,st l,et it endd, i can't, i can't g oo on,,,

me, shoving it into the usb port: Want Draw.

[msclaritea]

~The Cat & The Hound~

Excerpts from The Brazilian Cat by Arthur Conan Doyle

Our story opens with the central figure of the writing, Marshall King, telling us about the difficulties of having expensive tastes and expectations, but no money and no job. No kidding, huh? A normal person might say, 'Time to go to work.' But, Marshall, who doesn't identify himself by name until much later in the story, doesn't seem to have the same thought processes as a normal person. X 

He is the heir of some wealthy relatives, namely Lord Southerton, but is perplexed that most of his family has no interest in his trials or day-to-day living. Until one day, a cousin named Everard King, takes notice of Marshall and sends an invitation for him to come visit. Marshall thinks this is a great opportunity to cash in with a family member who can help him out of his financial snare.

"Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was standing in person upon the steps of his house, for he had seen us in the distance, and guessed that it was I. His appearance was very homely and benevolent, short and stout, forty-five years old, perhaps, with a round, good-humoured face, burned brown with the tropical sun, and shot with a thousand wrinkles. He wore white linen clothes, in true planter style, with a cigar between his lips, and a large Panama hat upon the back of his head. It was such a figure as one associates with a veranda-like bungalow, and it looked curiously out of place in front of this broad, stone English mansion, with its solid wings and its Palladio pillars before the doorway."

..."The whole afternoon was occupied by this inspection, which included all the birds, beasts, and even reptiles which he had imported. Some were free, some in cages, a few actually in the house. He spoke with enthusiasm of his successes and his failures, his births and his deaths, and he could cry out in his delight, like a schoolboy, when, as we walked, some gaudy bird would flutter up from the grass, or some curious beast slink into the cover. Finally he led me down a corridor which extended from one wing of the house. At the end of this there was a heavy door with a sliding shutter in it, and beside it there projected from the wall an iron handle attached to a wheel and a drum. A line of stout bars extended across the passage. 

     "I am about to show you the jewel of my collection," said he. "There is only one other specimen in Europe, now that the Rotterdam cub is dead. It is a Brazilian cat." 

     "But how does that differ from any other cat?"

     "You will soon see that," said he, laughing. "Will you kindly draw that shutter and look through?"

     I did so, and found that I was gazing into a large, empty room, with stone flags, and small, barred windows upon the farther wall. In the centre of this room, lying in the middle of a golden patch of sunlight, there was stretched a huge creature, as large as a tiger, but as black and sleek as ebony. It was simply a very enormous and very well-kept black cat, and it cuddled up and basked in that yellow pool of light exactly as a cat would do. It was so graceful, so sinewy, and so gently and smoothly diabolical, that I could not take my eyes from the opening.

       Later, in our tale....

"I must see my cat before I go to bed," said my host. "A high wind excites him. Will you come?"

     "Certainly," said I.

     "Then tread softly and don't speak, for everyone is asleep."

     We passed quietly down the lamp-lit Persian-rugged hall, and through the door at the farther end. All was dark in the stone corridor, but a stable lantern hung on a hook, and my host took it down and lit it. There was no grating visible in the passage, so I knew that the beast was in its cage.

     "Come in!" said my relative, and opened the door.

     A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had really excited the creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, we saw it, a huge black mass coiled in the comer of its den and throwing a squat, uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail switched angrily among the straw.

     "Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers," said Everard King, holding up the lantern and looking in at him. "What a black devil he looks, doesn't he? I must give him a little supper to put him in a better humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a moment?"

     I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door.

     "His larder is just outside here," said he. "You will excuse me for an instant won't you?" He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp metallic click behind him.

     That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terror passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned me cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the inner side.

     "Here !" I cried. "Let me out!"

         "All right! Don't make a row!" said my host from the passage. "You've got the light all right."

     "Yes, but I don't care about being locked in alone like this."

     "Don't you?" I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. "You won't be alone long."

     "Let me out, sir!" I repeated angrily. "I tell you I don't allow practical jokes of this sort."

 ..."And then, with a fresh wave of horror, my eyes fell upon the lantern. The candle had burned low, and was already beginning to gutter. In ten minutes it would be out. I had only ten minutes then in which to do something, for I felt that if I were once left in the dark with that fearful beast I should be incapable of action. The very thought of it paralysed me. I cast my despairing eyes round this chamber of death, and they rested upon one spot which seemed to promise I will not say safety, but less immediate and imminent danger than the open floor."

     How slowly those dreadful two hours went by! Once I heard a low, rasping sound, which I took to be the creature licking its own fur. Several times those greenish eyes gleamed at me through the darkness, but never in a fixed stare, and my hopes grew stronger that my presence had been forgotten or ignored.

..."Tracing the course of events afterwards, I conclude that I must have been insensible for about two hours. What roused me to consciousness once more was that sharp metallic click which had been the precursor of my terrible experience. It was the shooting back of the spring lock. Then, before my senses were clear enough to entirely apprehend what they saw, I was aware of the round, benevolent face of my cousin peering in through the open door. What he saw evidently amazed him. There was the cat crouching on the floor. I was stretched upon my back in my shia-sleeves within the cage, my trousers torn to ribbons and a great pool of blood all round me. I can see his amazed face now, with the morning sunlight upon it. He peered at me, and peered again. Then he closed the door behind him, and advanced to the cage to see if I were really dead."

The entire story is available here, and a fun read. On the names used:

Marshall an occupation name whose origin is from the Frankish mare ("horse") + skalkoz ("servant"). It is most commonly found as a surname, but may also be used as a given name. It is also an old Scottish surname meaning 'Love of Horses'. Related name: Phillip Everard "brave boar", derived from the Germanic elements Ebur "brave, hardy".   

Tommy, the beast Derived from the Aramaic tē’ōma (a twin). The name is borne in the Bible by an apostle who doubted the resurrection of Christ.

*Will have to take a closer look at stories with the name Tommy, Tom, Thomas.

[yeahloads]

honestly liam’s birthday tweet looks like harry tweeted himself from liam’s account