The parcel at her side was certainly making quite a racket.  From inside the carrier with holes, Margo could hear the unmistakable squeaking of a tiny creature trying to paw its way out against the cardboard.  But this little squeaking mess of a kitten with its father’s[1] spirit had a very specific destination, for a very specific little girl who wanted a cat so desperately she’d resorted to stealing one.

Having heard the story, Margo couldn’t believe it.  The kid she’d met in the ice cream parlor[2] had actually taken someone else’s cat.  It was just lucky for Nate (and his daughter), that her cat had impregnated the neighbor’s cat and they had been searching for homes for the fluff balls.  She offered and it was accepted: now she was delivering the cat to them. 

This was a destination Margo herself had never actually been to either.  When Nate had informed her that he lived in Piddlehinton, she honestly thought it was a joke.  She had started laughing, clutching a bed sheet to her face in her fit of laughter.  Unfortunately, he had not been joking – that was, indeed, a real place, as he had explained once she dropped the sheet and got it back together. 

Now, as she walked through (having floo’d through a pub nearby – The Green Goblin[3] and asked for directions from the proprietress[4] who regarded her with a critical eye), Margo didn’t think she could ever survive in a place like this.  Sure, there was a local pub – points for that, certainly, but cottages and hills and local shops?  It was so… quaint.  It made her uncomfortable. 

Her boots crunched along the roadway – piles of half-melted snow around her feet, brown and dingy from the melting time, and she chewed her lip looking for the right number.  She was on the street, cottages dotting the space in front of her. 

The unholy little ball of fluff, female, as requested, continued to squeak from inside the box and Margo readjusted her hold on the handle as she approached the cottage that she was fairly certain she had been given directions to, walking up and knocking on the door.  She guessed even if she was wrong a neighbor wouldn’t mind pointing her in the right direction, wasn’t that what these little villages were supposed to be like? 

1.	Margo’s cat, Lizard
2.	Just Desserts
3.	Owned by Archer Radley’s parents, Nate’s relatives by marriage
4.	Leola Radley

Because he knew that non-family was coming over for a visit, Nate had systematically gone through the cluttered cottage and cleaned. Callie helped by organizing her toys and putting her laundry in the basket. In preparation for the new kitten, he and Cal had gathered all the necessary items for new cat owners. It had been a long time since he owned a pet. Luckily, cats were relatively low maintenance. He hoped that allowing his daughter to have her own pet would thwart any further attempts to abduct and traumatize Cepheus' cat, Claude.

At the sound of the door knocking, Callie let out a majestic eagle screech. Or something like it.

Nate ran to the door before she could greet Margo and say something horribly embarrassing.

"Hey. Thank you for making the trip." He said more casually than he felt, "Come in."

Callie tried to squeeze her face between Nate and the door, and was nearly guillotined when he tried to let Margo in.

"Where is my kitten?" Callie asked, staring at the cardboard box, wishing she had x-ray vision.

Nate mouthed to Margo, I'm sorry.

It was one of those truths of the universe: Margo Amherst did not scare easily.  However, whatever sound was coming from behind the door made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  She was a great aunt – she had tons of nieces and nephews (well, it felt like it), but that didn’t mean she wasn’t completely stuck in her spot when she heard that blood curdling scream that could signify anything from a murder to the appearance of a favorite wrock band member. 

Taking a deep, deep breath, Margo braced herself for when the door opened – imaging the small child darting like red sparks from wherever she’d been to get to the door. 

After the scuffle of feet – sounded like a bloody foot race – the door opened and Margo involuntarily squeezed the cardboard a little harder – wincing as it didn’t bend to her will and just resisted against her palm.  She couldn’t help but be a little relived that it wasn’t blank space above a child’s head that greeted her.  Instead, very blue eyes and Margo cleared her throat. 

“Wasn’t a big deal,” Margo shrugged, honestly.  “Almost got sidetracked at the pub,” she smirked before the voice of the little girl pierced the air – drawing Margo’s attention downward.  What a… determined stare she had!  Unnerving. 

Frowning a little, Margo couldn’t very well let the little thing out right here, even if it peeped and shifted forward in the box, tipping ever so slightly.  “Where’ve you set up her bed?” Margo asked, leaning down a bit – considering she was quite a bit taller than the foaming-at-the-mouth child.  “We’d best start her there, get her used to home, eh?” Her eyes shifted upward to Nate - this was weird, wasn't it? "Trust you can lead the way?" she half-told, half-asked to either of them - eyes jumping back and forth. 

Nate looked from Margo to Callie, just barely masking his anxiety. This was so, so painfully awkward. He ran his hand over his face and suppressed a groan. Yes. Yes this was weird.

Callie, however, either didn't notice or didn't care. She led Margo and Nate to her bedroom, where the kitten's bed and everything else was set up. Nate had heard that it was best to introduce new cats to a home one room at a time to make the transition as smooth as possible.

"What was that, about being sidetracked at the pub?" Nate asked in horror. Archer's mother was so nosy. He had no doubt that the whole family would be talking about Margo showing up at his place. Piddlehinton was a small town; this would spread quickly. Yes, he was sleeping with her. Or had slept with her a few times. Did that count? Nate didn't know. He had married young-- his dating years had been brief.

Callie presented the cat bed and stared at the cat carrier expectantly. "I can't name her until I SEE her." She insisted.

Walking through Nate’s home was completely strange.  It was even more strange when Callie grabbed her free hand and started to tug – as though she could throw her weight to make their trek go faster.  A part of Margo was grateful, the other part was super uncomfortable.  That was so weird.  It was even more weird because it was her bad hand… and that just seemed strange.  Don’t act weird.

At least that palm wouldn’t sweat, she reasoned: silver linings. Staring straight ahead, Margo just followed along until they ended up in the little girl’s bedroom.  Which was most assuredly a little girl’s room, pink and green – but not too tidy.  That was good, Margo reasoned.  It had always been creepy, the way some of her cousins and even siblings were so neat.  It wasn’t life if it was too clean. 

Whatever the case, Margo was just happy to have her hand released and be able to put the carrier down.  The cargo inside let out another loud yowl, obviously very excited to get out and probably perked up at the smell of food that was so patiently waiting for her in the bowl. 

Glancing up from putting the carrier down, Margo shrugged.  “Yeh, I floo’d through,” she answered him, “looked like a decent place.  Plenty on tap,” she had a crooked smile as she stood fully up again and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.  “I’m telling you though, when I asked for directions – lots of questions, always like that?” she laughed and shook her head, turning her eyes back to Callie, who seemed to be staring at the carrier like she could melt it with her eyes. 

Instead of doing it for her, Margo put her hands on her hips and looked down at the dark haired child, “Well, she’s yours now: might want to go ahead and open it up yourself!”  She looked mystified for a moment, like the possibility was overwhelming (it probably was), but Margo gestured forward – honestly, she just didn’t want to get on the floor, hard to get up in the winter, and that was not really the image she wanted to present.  Thankfully though, it didn't look like she had to tell Callie twice before she set upon the carrier.

One thing was clear-- Callie was absolutely delighted. Nate watched with amusement as she descended upon the cat carrier eagerly. The kitten didn't have time to escape before Cal had her in her clutches.  She gave the kitten a good look.

"What're you gonna name her, Cal?" Nate asked.

She stared at the cat, knowing very well that this was a very serious decision. "Grandma." Calliope replied. "She's grey. Grandma."

"Grandma?" He gave Margo a bewildered look.

"Princess Grandma."

"I see." He covered his mouth to hide his amusement. He didn't want to risk offending her highness, Princess Grandma. "That's a good name." Nate gave Margo a side-eye glance, "Right, Margo?"

Calliope stared at Margo defiantly, as if she expected the tawny woman to disagree.

Margo was slightly afraid for a moment.  Well, for the kitten anyway.  Calliope went at the carrier like a dragon, talons outstretched ready for the grab.  Honestly, there was a part of her that flashbacked to the mountains and thought the kitten was a goner – lost by way of the sheep. 

Rather than being devoured in one little gulp, followed by a fiery burp, the kitten was scooped into her arms and that grip had to be stronger than any holding charm that was ever created.

Raising her eyebrows at the naming question, Margo spared Nate a curious look, and then back at the little girl who apparently took naming this cat as seriously as if she were the bloody sorting hat. 

Of course, it would have made sense for a little wizard girl to name her cat something like Rowena or Helga.  But what came out of Callie’s mouth was something Margo did not expect:  Grandma. 

Nate seemed to think the same thing because he looked at her with a silent scream in the back of his eyes, especially when Callie added Grandma’s royal title:  Princess. “I’d have thought Queen,” Margo replied instantly, because if there was anything she could do, it was play along with the ridiculous, “ but I guess that make sense, what being a baby and all that.” 

“But,” she shrugged, “My cat -- her dad," allegedly, "is named Lizard so…” it hung in the air and she shrugged.  “Princess Grandma is great.”

Callie scrunched up her nose at Margo judgmentally. "Lizard is a bad name." She said without any sort of shame. She did not care at all about Margo's feelings-- Margo didn't care about Lizard's feelings when she gave him such a horrible name. She made a hand motion at Margo, shooing her out of the room. She turned her dark gaze onto Nate. "You too, daddy. Princess Grandma and I need alone time."

Nate was scared to know what alone time with the cat entailed. He remembered, quite vividly, the way Claude had been tormented. He was still growing his patches of fur back. However, he decided to obey her request, leaving her room, feeling wearied already. He left her bedroom door open a crack, just so he could hear if the kitten started protesting disproportionately loud.

When they were out of Callie's earshot, he gave Margo an amused look. "Kids freak you out, don't they?" She was single, no kids. She owned a bar. Margo seemed like the kind of person who wasn't that into children. To be fair, they were tiny little sociopaths until they developed empathy.

“Admittedly, yes,” Margo agreed without missing a beat.  Honestly, she had a lot in common with kids.  They both said whatever they felt like, had moments of depth followed by extended moments of ridiculouness, and pursued what she felt was best when she felt like it.  It made Margo a fantastic aunt.  She could swoop in, deliver the presents (like a kitten in this case), and then whisk out when things got hairy.

At least this munchkin wanted her out.  There had been times with her nieces and nephews where they didn’t want her to leave.  There had even been a time when she thought she would have to take one of her nephews in for a bit.  Thankfully, that had passed and so too did this delivery.  “Have fun,” Margo saluted the little girl and walked out of the room. 

When she turned, there was definitely the part of her that was so thankful that Nate got kicked out too.  She wouldn’t be awkwardly standing in the hallway wondering where the fuck she was supposed to go.   He joined her and Margo snorted at his question.  “You know they’re freaky – tiny hands and creepy singing voices,”[1] she smirked, shoulders relaxing as she joked.  “But, you know, I have cool aunt down pretty well, and I can get 'em all drunk for free on their seventeenth birthday,” she added with another shrug and bright grin. 

1.	Two of my friends are actually terrified of children for this reason.

"They are a little freaky." Nate admitted. He hadn't been someone who liked children until he had children. And even then, he wasn't so certain that he liked other people's kids. In fact, the only child whose company he enjoyed for longer than an hour was Calliope. "At least her tiny hands aren't perpetually sticky." He lowered his voice to a whisper, lest his daughter overhears. "But her singing voice is creepy. You get used to it." 

He didn't know Margo was an aunt.

In fact, it struck Nate that he didn't really know Margo's life at all. They usually had a couple beers, slept together, and then let each other be. He liked her, and he liked her wild streak. His mom had once told him that his taste in women was disastrous. His mom and Jillian had not gotten along. But hey, those kind of women were also the sort who were fun to take on surprise hikes. They didn't usually complain and they were never boring.

"Do you usually get your nieces and nephews drunk?" He hadn't thought that Margo was old enough to have nieces and nephews who were adults. He began to make his way to the kitchen.

"You want a beer?"

If there was one thing she could do, it was grin easily.  Margo appreciated that he could understand that children were a rather terrifying thing and even understood the problems that could be inherent in them being around – stickiness, especially.  Margo wrinkled her nose.  She was glad most of her nieces and nephews were out of that phase.  The older siblings already had their brood for the most part and they were mostly school age and up.  “I would just say all the wireless stations are broken,” Margo shrugged. 

Well, she did, actually.  Eli had a horrible singing voice.  It had been a necessity to lie to that child. Even Raul said so, and he didn’t generally advocate that she lie to his children. 

Putting her hands in her pockets, Margo followed him along and smirked, “Gods yes,” she practically groaned in response to the question about a beer.  That was far more important than talking about kids, for sure.  Margo couldn’t help herself.  Ambling along behind him, Margo decided to explain herself a little, since she had never really bothered to tell him much… it had never really come up. 

In the middle of grabbing some drinks and then falling into bed, you didn’t exactly talk about your family.  That’d be weird.  Not a kink Margo had, thanks.  I only supply two of them – they’re in their last year at school,” she grinned.  “But I have a few more coming up on age.”  Her sister’s children were in school too, but younger.  They’d be there soon enough.  “I’m the middle child,” Margo explained with a shrug, “my older brother and sister have their kids.” 

“What about you?  Any secret seventeen year olds hiding about?”

Nate led Margo into the kitchen and pulled a couple of dark bottles out of the fridge-- IPAs that he had brewed himself, though he didn't want to tell her that in case she absolutely hated it. He took a seat at the small kitchen table and opened the bottles. He motioned for her to join him.  He took a sip. Perfect-- bitter, hoppy, a little citrusy.

"Is terrible singing an Amherst family trait then?" He grinned. Karaoke nights weren't really Nate's thing, though if that meant hearing Margo brutalize the most loved of wizarding classics, then it was totally worth it.  Margo as an aunt-- he could totally see it. She could rain fun down on her nieces and nephews, and escape as soon as they started being horrible. When you were a parent, however, there was no escape. As long as Callie didn't grow up to be a horrible person, then Nate would be happy.

"There are absolutely no seventeen year olds in my life. Thank god." Besides cousins through marriage, though he used them mostly for babysitting more than companionship. "None that I speak to regularly, anyway. Don't have any brothers and sisters. My parents only had me, and they spoiled the hell out of me too. Until I went to school, I spent more time with young sasquatches than I did with people."

Walking into the kitchen, Margo peered around.  She couldn’t help herself, she just wanted to get a good look.  It wasn’t like she’d spent time here, after all.  It was where he kept his kid, that’d have been totally bizarre.  So, she took a moment to take in the surroundings, noting how it suited him before following him to the table.  “Thanks,” she responded with a cool smile and took the bottle from him after plopping, rather unceremoniously into the chair at the table.

It was such a relief to be sitting.  Her leg was still bothering her, being outside and walking, plus carrying the cat.  Usually it wasn’t so bad, but the fact that the weather was out of sorts… it felt so old to think that.  She was thankful for the sip of beer.  “Not bad,” she appraised after she swallowed, going to look at the label – realizing there was not one only an inked ‘IPA’ on it, “Where’d you get it?” 

Of course, that question was long forgotten after she feigned offense at his comment.  “Excuse me,” she pointed the bottle at him, “I am a fan favorite at karaoke.  You are just unappreciative of my talent.”  She grinned and leaned back in the chair, extending her bad leg outward before taking another sip from the bottle.  “Just a what, five year old? And now a Princess Grandma, obviously,” she quipped with a crooked smile.
 
What an odd little family.  She continued to listen, tilting her head as he spoke.  No siblings?  Margo couldn’t even imagine.  She was the middle child of five.  She had so many relatives she couldn’t keep them straight most of the time.  “Sasquatches?” she repeated sort of dumbly, “like…” she raised her hand into a claw and made a sort of screetchy-gargling sound that was supposed to be a sasquatch, “Sasquatches?”  she’d learned about them in COMC, not really a thing on this side though, unless you counted Yetis, but those were more to the east, really. 

“Spoiled though?” she smirked, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”  She took another drink, “I’ve got an older brother and sister – they’ve both got kids,” Margo explained, “and two – one younger sibling,” she corrected herself.  Mateo had been reported Missing in Action, essentially.  Margo was more used to it than the rest of them being in her line of work, “no kids there yet, but there were five of us growing up and cousins,” Margo rolled her eyes, “more than I know, I think.  Pureblood thing,” she shrugged.  “Hard to throw a rock at any pureblood function without hitting a relative.  Thankfully, I don’t mind hitting them,” she snorted and wrinkled her nose. 

She paused, “so, tell me, Mr. Sasquatch, what did you learn running wild with them in the woods?” 

He nodded at the appropriate times as Margo went on about... Pureblood stuff. The pureblooded families here did seem to have a lot of children.

"Sasquatches." Nate confirmed. "They're an American thing." The United States was huge-- he needed to clarify. "A Washington state thing, though they've been seen in Oregon too." He shook his head. His upbringing had certainly been odd, even by wizarding standards. "My parents are Sasqualogists. Sasqueech was my first language. I can comfortably speak to them. Right now my parents are working on moving them from the 'beast' category to the 'being' category. They're highly intelligent. They're primates, like us. Unlike yetis, they're capable of speech and rational thought." He didn't mean to sound like a massive fucking nerd, but he totally was a massive fucking nerd.

"They're shy. It's not exactly easy to make contact with them unless you're established as a friendly face. They used to be hunted by wizards-- their pelts used to be turned into invisibility cloaks." Nate explained, "They're huge too."

He realized he had been going on about sasquatches for a bit too long.

"Uh, you like your beer?"

The fuck if Margo knew where Washington state or Oregon were, except that they were in America and that was useless.  Margo could boil down what she knew of the United States into Sleepy Hollow, Salem, Savannah, and New Orleans – magical history that’d been drilled into her brain, but that was it.  The concept of anything beyond that was sort of irrelevant…

Though, not at the moment: she could have done well with a map at the moment.  Instead, she just sipped on her beer and nodded, digesting what he said: sasqualogists.  And a language?  That required another very hearty sip of beer.  This was real?  She studied dragons, she supposed, so anything was possible –hell, she’d almost written a book on them once upon a time, but sasquatches?  And their own language?  “You don’t fucking say,” she interjected in completely genuine awe when he explained they were primates.  “You need to teach me something in sasqueech,” she insisted, sitting up forward in her seat. 

It was one of those things you had to lean in for, even if he was going on about pelts and whatnot, sasqueech! It even had an amazing name.  “Do they have a word for beer?” she contemplated aloud, glancing at the bare bottle in her hand before she actually addressed his question: “Oh! Yeh, it’s good,” she appraised so eloquently.  “I almost finished it already,” she noted with a grin: no beer had a long bottle life in her hand. 

“Where’s it from?” she asked, “Not the sasquatches, I hope.”