I was born in a time where cats were persecuted. Killed for being harbingers of evil. My first witch Elizabeth found me and allowed me to drink a potion that would protect me. Little did she knew the potion would have the side effect of immortality.

After she was tried and sentenced for witchcraft at the age of forty-five I fled to her daughters arms.

We travelled far to escape persecution only to end up persecuted in the New World.

And so it continued hand to hand, generation to generation, place to place.

A familiar to every descendant.

Until we reach now the year of the Goddess 2025 where my current witch an individual called Gunner is currently holding me up in the air and cooing at me.

I was once feared just for existing, I was the advisor to witches for generations and now I’ve been demoted to a domestic cat. Forced to embrace kisses and things waved in my face that I try to swat away.

What injustice is this?

Well I suppose I can’t complain too much, I get fed every day, I used to have to hunt for my supper, now I get it delivered in a silver dish.