Pleasant Company

Lucy set out dishes for teacups and tarts. A paint-stained apron graced her pink dress. She kept spoons separate from forks with butter knives. Checking her princess watch constantly, Lucy minded the minute hand. When it passed from one to two, she would have to go fetch the tea.

The guests! Lucy hurried to let them in. Her feet pattered against the stone patio as she made her way to the door.

"Mr. Bearsworth, I'm so glad you could make it." She carried in a stout, creature who came up to her knee.

"Did your wife make it?" Lucy helped him to his chair. "Splendid!" She followed with helping his wife to the next seat. Mrs. Bearsworth had softer fur and a fairer complexion, along with pearl dangling from her ears.

"Thank you both for coming." Lucy smiled, and her eyes wandered back to her watch. She gasped, and flurried to back door. "I'll be right back. The tea! I hope it's not ruined."

Pots and pans met with the kitchen floor. "Ah, there it is." One oven mitt on each hand, Lucy carefully set the teapot onto a tray and carried both outside.

She paused, the tray quivering in her hand. "Where's Buxley? He said he'd come." The corners of her lips dipped into a frown. Neither of the Bearsworths said much about it. Despite their permanent smiles, Lucy found them rather dull. Sighing, she set the tray on the table.

"I suppose we should begin." Buxley still didn't show. Lucy poured each of them a cup of tea, balancing the steamless teapot in her hands . In fact, the tea looked suspiciously like apple juice, but the Bearsworths wouldn't know differently.

Lucy sat down, putting the oven mitts down. She reached for her tea cup, and daintily sipped from it. The fields behind her house seemed even more empty this afternoon.

"How are the relatives? Oh, wonderful." The longer they chatted, the harder Lucy worked to sound entertained. The Bearsworth's had little to say.

Reaching for a tart, Lucy's elbow knocked one of the mitts to the ground. "Oops. Excuse me." She turned slightly to pick it up, and her head bumped into a large mass. The smell of musky fur enveloped her nose, and the hairs themselves had not been washed in some time. Lucy tilted her head back so she could see the rest. Her eyes looked at his belly, his fur-covered chest, up his neck, to a firm jaw and sharp teeth. Two yellow eyes looked back at her.

"Lucy."

She swallowed, smiling. "Buxley! I was worried you wouldn't make it!"

"You started without me." His claws grasped the back of the empty chair, tilting it back and forth like cardboard. He sat on stone  instead. Buxley picked up the entire tea cup between his thumb and forefinger, the claws scratching against the porcelain.

"You were ten minutes late."

"I was?" He glanced at the bulk of his arm, as if he expected to find a timepiece there. "Lost track of time."