Mirabella was not typically the life of the party. She barely attended any type of social gathering, for she never knew what to say, or how to converse easily with those she didn't know. Patches, her calico cat that her parents bought for her at the age of eleven, was usually her buffer. All she had to do was bring him, and she never felt lonely. A fine sight she was, indeed...in a green sundress, her trademark floppy white hat, and barefoot; Patches nestling in her arms, asleep.

Life was more stressed for her than usual, compounded by thoughts of a certain someone that would not leave her, no matter how hard she tried to think them away. Eight years of damn near worshiping Edgar, and for what? She tried very hard to convince herself that he'd never have her, and to move on. Subconsciously, the petite blonde felt she wasn't good enough for him...he was of a rich lineage, and after saving most of her pay from the Magical Menagerie, she never had more than two knuts to rub together.

Maybe that's why she came to the barbeque...to try and forget. Perhaps she'd see someone she knew, someone who would do all the talking, so all she had to do was listen, and maybe throw in a word or two. Sitting down at one of the unoccupied tables, she noticed food...no drink as of yet. She never drank anything stronger than butterbeer...today might be an exception. No alcohol was safe from Mirabella Jane Mulberry.

Patches stirred, and stretched lazily. "There, there, Patches," she smiled, and rubbed his head; he closed his eyes in contentment and purred. "I love you, baby doll. Yes I do." If all people were like cats, love would be selfless and neverending...


True love is the recognition of your soul's counterpoint in another.