For the Love of Cats

He was a cat lover. He owned too many cats to count, and if you were to name them each a number, you would probably lose count. And though many found him odd and peculiar, but she loved him just the same. She was his little mouse, small and short. She had brown hair and brown eyes and he loved her just the way she was.

Gabriel Selwyn was only 20 when he asked her to marry him. They had both graduated from Hogwarts a couple of years back and Gabriel could not wait any longer. How on earth could one stand not to marry the girl you love? And as he got on his knees, on that rainy Monday in his small apartment, she said yes.

They decided to have a little pink wedding. And since she was constantly on the look out for everything pink, Gabriel thought that this would be a good time to go pink crazy. It was madness, but romance kept them going, ignoring the annoying relatives and their disapproval for a whacked up looking wedding as they planned for perfection.

Despite it all, on that Sunday morning, the little pink canopy hovered over their heads as they said their vows. And the choir of meowing cats ended the ceremony with awkward expressions from the small crowd that was present. Though it was something many would choose to forget, but the both of them chose to cherish that memory as they each kept it in a bottle for safe keeping. Who knows when it might come in handy?

But who knew it would be sooner than a grey hair on their heads.

It was a quiet night when Gabriel left the house to fetch some milk.

They were running low on supply and some of the kittens were already cutely whining at their feet. It was then that Gabriel decided to make a quick dash to the nearby convenient store. She, on the other hand, was a little unsure as the night was at its fullest, with the rounded moon hovering above their little town.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I don’t have a wand with me,” Gabriel said as he placed a kiss on her forehead. But as he left, his wand sat on the kitchen table, untouched since morning.

As the clock hand moved from one number to another, she couldn’t help but feel something was not quite right. There was something odd about that night, and with a glance out of the window, she felt the bright round moon imprinting a sinking feeling inside her. But being fearful of leaving the house, she sat quietly by the fireplace, waiting for Gabriel’s return.

It was not until the morning sun rose that she rose from the couch she fell asleep on.

“Gabe? Honey? Are you home?” she asked. But her voice bounced off the walls with no reply.

Something was indeed wrong. And without hesitation, she hurried out onto the streets in search of her husband.

Down two lanes and into the small town center she went, calling out his name. At the convenient store, she asked the man at the counter, but he said he wasn’t open that night.

Panic stricken-ed, she kept going until the sun decided to set again. As she fell on her knees, sobbing in front of the small town hall, she knew he was gone.

But gone in what terms was she referring to, she didnt know. Would he have left her and all his cats? Was he murdered? Was he kidnapped? Had muggles discovered him and sent him to an asylum? Oh, how she hated muggles. That was probably what had happened.

But her theory was proven wrong when an wizard from the ministry of magic told her what truly happened.

It was a full moon last night, and a young werewolf attacked her dearest Gabe. He couldn’t fend for himself and was mauled by it. He died the moment it went for his neck. And she was “assured” that he did not suffer long. But that assurance did no assuring at all. That day, she drafted a piece of anti-werewolf legislation.

To think she was going to go whacked with her oddly cheerful behavior after the incident, one didn’t have to think twice. As she collected Gabriel’s cats and have them each painted onto plates, she reminded herself that her husband died because order and law was not enforced. Hence the day she forced herself up the corporate ladder, to make her Gabe proud and to prove that great things come in small pink packages.

Today, you may hate Dolores Umbridge for what she has done. But a person does not act out of ignorance. There is always a back story somewhere.

So for the love of cats, the next time you find Peeves hanging your undergarments on a Quidditch pole, or see Filch talking to Mrs. Norris in an inappropriate intimate way, there is probably a back story somewhere. PROBABLY.

(On a side note, I would also like to know what other HP characters would you like to read about? Leave a comment below, and I’ll see what I can come up with!)