Fog was so thick at the coastline only a sweeping beam from a beacon could be seen, pointing ships away from the rocks like a compass of light just as the map described. The aspiring adventurer rang the lonely lighthouse bell. Rusted door hinges creaked in protest on their pins for an old sea cat to stare wearily beneath an arched brow at the mouse. "Don't remember orderin' delivery."
Quickly and nervously, Tripp tried not to quiver as she showed Grandpa Great's nautical chart to the phoophie feline with a wooden leg carved into claws clutching a crystal ball glinting brilliantly in the lucid revolving light.
"Used tah navigate fer Cappy Primus 'til I had tah give up life on the seas. Maybe shoulda listened tah Mum an' went tah barber-surgeon school instead o' spendin' all me time daydreamin'. Figured Cappy'd long forgotten 'bout the likes 'o this ol' pirate. Those two perpetual dream machines, eh? The bat drop it off? Yeah, that one is an acquired taste. More like the Unholy Ghost."
Tripp, "Right?"
Suddenly the tailless orange manx named Binta became distracted by an itch on the back of her shoulder. After a moment of persistently gnawing, biting, and brushing the fur smooth again with her tongue the ginger tabby, whom for the life of her couldn't remember if she had cheated death seven or eight times and since dead cats don't mew erred on the side of caution and already measured dimensions for an oblong box (putting it to good use outside the door filled with boiled sweets on All Candlemas Eve with a sign saying "Please take one").
Tripp stared nonplussed through loose floating airborne hairs.
