📔 Journal Entry: “Three Cats Came to Stay”
Date: Waning Crescent Moon, Early Spring
Ivy says we didn’t choose them—they chose us. I think she just didn’t want to admit she’s becoming a full-blown cat lady.
It started with Thistle.
He just appeared one morning, sitting on the porch rail like he'd been watching us sleep. Black as midnight, one eye gold, the other green. He didn’t meow—just stared at Ivy like he knew her.
She stared right back. And then opened the door without a word.
Now he sleeps in her cauldron (when it’s cold), guards the basement stairs, and hisses at the wind like he’s got beef with it. Ivy calls him her “watcher.” I think he might actually be older than she is.
The second one was Wisp.
A silver tabby who… well, comes and goes. One minute she’s on the windowsill. The next? Gone. No sound. No pawsteps. Just vanished like a breeze with whiskers. Ivy swears she’s real, but I’m not entirely sure I didn’t dream her up during a lavender tea-induced nap.
Wisp purrs like a little ghost and bats at the pendant around my neck when she thinks I’m not looking.
And then there’s Maple.
Big, fluffy, ginger—and ridiculously affectionate. She flopped into my lap the moment she came inside and has basically never left it. Sleeps by my feet. Follows me when I go into the garden. Growls (adorably) at Vlad if he so much as passes by the cottage.
Ivy says Maple reminds her of someone. She won’t say who. But I think it’s my mom.
So now it’s official: We live in a two-witch, three-cat, one-llama, six-chicken cottage of utter chaos and absolute magic. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Except maybe some lint rollers.
—Sylva 🕯️🐾
