Whisper the Witch's Cat

Prologue

Another day of waiting.
Humans. Unreliable, furless... I thought with a sigh, but I can't stay mad at my Mistress. She wasn't even human. Twas like this for 300 years, me sitting upon this window awaiting for my Mistress's return. I know she is dead but I dare not accept the truth, far too much pain. I know she is dead because I am bound to this house and have been for Trivia knows how long. If my Mistress was alive I would be able to leave whenever I please but now... bah! When I try I'm dragged back by the old souls of witches before; denying me any freedom without a witch to accompany.
Tis this property I'm stuck on for all eternity unless I find myself a new Mistress--but now a days no one wishes to hear about the art of Witch Craft. Us witches' cats are jokes now, silly little things that a child dresses as for their silly candy begging fest once a year. The only thing I have for amusement is terrifying them. Oh, what fun. Oh, if they only knew what I did when I could do as I pleased. I whispered to the royalties while in slumber. Giving them ideas and choices to make their reign better. Why do thy think Elizabeth 1st's reign was named 'The Golden Age'? My whispers on how to overcome the French of course. Who do thy think gave Columbus the idea to go the other way and find the new world? Me, of course, I was only 50 then and a much crazier mind. I have rarely failed, perhaps I could have persuaded Henry 8th to stop cutting off heads though. Saved many lives. Oh, well, far too late now.
Altogether I've had 9 Mistress's. I'd normally get one at least less than 50 years after the previous one passed on but tis been 300 years now and I sometimes wish that I could join those who have passed. Sadly, immortality makes that quite impossible. I lay my head down on my paws, bathing in the moonlight shining through the window. Without a Mistress my power has weakened and my exhaustion is unbearable. I do not wish to rest but I can not help it. I'm closing my eyes when I hear noises outside. An irritating shrill. An obnoxiously loud woman seemed to squeal in joy.
"This will be a great article! All about the witch's house, this is great, isn't it, Elliot? This is a brilliant opportunity to learn about history and myths, you love them!"
I bit back a hiss of rage, witch's were no myth. I am no myth, how else would I be talking? Her face behind that mask of facepaint or "makeup" as humans say now a days was a myth, I bet she slumbers with it on.
Humans had paraded around this house over the centuries but my whispers always sent them away paler than ghosts. Ha! How amusing...
These humans were no different. Excited couples or a family with loud pesky children and idiotic canines causing problems. One family had a tom cat that was so arrogant I was tempted to lead him down the chimney into the blazing fire, thankfully that family left after one of my night whispers. So now I had a squealing journalist and her daughter to deal with. Bah, they'll be gone before the week ends like the others so I can dwell in my misery in peace.