Sue Vincent’s latest #writephoto prompt is this 

Once upon a time, in a land, far far away there lived a Queen. She wasn’t wicked or anything like that, more a bit tetchy in Thursdays but otherwise kind of okay with being all Queenly. Her people revered her because, well, they didn’t get out much and when they did she was a pretty fine waver and bestower of regal head nods and wotnot. 

And this was good.

The Queen had read the manual and realised that spinning wheels were pretty dangerous and apples definitely to be avoided. As for mirrors. Well let’s just move on, shall we?

The funny thing about this Queen was she never remembered a time when she wasn’t a Queen and neither did her people and that was good too.

Except it was really pretty boring. It’s not exactly peachy for a narrator, you know. Especially when the Lord Chamberlain is as nutty as a box of plugs and insists on the same old, same old. 

Now I know they say don’t work with children or animals and after that Pied Piper farrago over fairyland way I’m not going there but how bad could it be, writing in a pet for Queeny?

Horses are popular, owls, ravens. That kind of thing. All a bit tropey, a  touch cliched, if you ask me so the Queen gets a cat. Yes, I know. Puss in boots. I hear you but I forgot and by the time it’s in the narrative it’s too late.

Anyhoo, the cat thing is all going pretty well when someone asks if Cat has been neutered. Apparently it’s a thing in fairytales, no gratuitous sex and stuff. The Queen was miffed but she’s a stickler for the rules, so we called in a vet.

That’s when it went wrong.

First up it was a she. Nothing wrong there except she wasn’t keen on channelling her inner  virginal maiden. Been to university she said. Five years she said. Not very likely after fifteen flaming sambucas and a dodgy kebab during freshers she said. 

Then there were the herbs and magic potions. Only there weren’t. There was a sharp knife, something in a vial and a lot of blood. Geez, we said. This is a magical kingdom, for pity’s sake. We don’t do bodily fluids anymore. Not after those Grimm brothers signed away their souls to Disney. 

Funny though, it’s not all bad. Cat is a changed beast. He’s taken to turning cartwheels at the slightest thing. Her Maj is out and about more and the people have something else to talk about beyond how many waves they’ll get from the old dowager dearie per diem. 

Me, I’m still narrating but, like now, I’ve taken to hiding in the shrubs if the Lord Chamberlain is passing. Having seen the Cat’s gymnastics, the old boy has his heart set on turning a cartwheel before they close the book on him. I haven’t the courage to tell him we’ll need to get the vet back and his nadgers will be toast when we do. Now that really would make Grimm reading.