Testament

With the mourners gone, the house was finally quiet again. My sister made tea for us while I examined the details of mother's will. We weren't glad she was gone, not by any stretch of the imagination, but we were the kind of family that dotted our i's and crossed our t's. Mother would have wanted it to be this way, so we put aside our grief and focused on the facts.

And the biggest fact of all was that despite everything we knew about mother, and through all the years she claimed to have no secrets; there was, apparently, one very large one being carried around within her. Her last will and testament, contrary to everything we'd expected, contained a mystifying reference to a prophecy and, of all things, a robotic cat.

It was this that I was puzzling over while Maisy busied herself in the kitchen, and our conversation was both muted and unenlightening. She was as in the dark as I was, and we sat attempting to make sense of the thing until the birds outside warned us of the day's imminence.

***

Three so-called spiritualists, an extra-large medium and four tarot readings later, we were no closer to figuring it out. Nobody knew anything about a prophecy or a true robotic cat. Oh, they'd tried to pull the wool over our eyes a few times. One lady'd run from the room, then returned half an hour later with one of those "Fur Real" pets, defurred. She'd tried to tell us it was the item of prophecy. Luckily, Maisy saw the packaging and I sneezed as some of the stray fur made its way up my nostril. So that was that, we threw in the towel and went back to puzzling over the will. Perhaps it was a trick of some kind, a last joke for mother to play on us.

It was purely by chance that we had swapped places one day - Maisy poring over the document, and I in the kitchen making tea - when it happened. A light tremor shook the floor and I dropped the cup. It smashed on the tiles, steam hissing up as scalding water sprayed my legs. My skin welted up in an intricate webwork of splashes, and I am not ashamed to say I huffed with the suddenness of the pain. The cup itself was shattered, though somehow the bottom had stayed intact.

Maisy, by now, had left the document and come to my aid, and so it was that she discovered that the remains of the tea leaves and the burnt welts of my leg were, inexplicably and disturbingly, identical. If we hadn't spent so long worrying at that damn document, it probably would entirely have escaped our notice, but once we detected it, there was nothing for it but to take photographs and try to ascertain its meaning.

I took comfort in the fact that the design, though it did remind me of something, did not look at all like a cat.

***

Six months later, with a full third of mother's estate frozen, we were no closer to finding the robotic cat, or interpreting the prophecy. Every so often, one or the other of us would become so frustrated, we would threaten to burn the blasted thing, that it may no longer taunt us. At this point, the least frustrated would send her sister out for dinner. On this particular night, Maisy returned with Chinese. I almost passed up the fortune cookie, having long since outgrown such childish nonsense, but something stayed my hand, and I grabbed one afterall.

"Inside the leaves, a truth so tall - the prophecy sends a cat metal. Follow the fire to find your desire."

I read it aloud, expecting my sister to laugh with me at the absurdity, but she frowned slightly and plucked it from my fingers. She repeated sections, fixating particularly on "follow the fire", then leapt from the room. Curious, I followed, and discovered her digging out the photos we'd taken of my burned legs that day. "Oh, Susie," she sighed at me. "It's a map. All this time, the answer's been right here!" She frowned again, speculatively adding, "But where do we start?"

As if in answer, a rush of wind came from the open window, sending papers everywhere. One swished through the air, in exactly the way of a dandelion, and landed on Maisy's head. It, too, was, by coincidence or mother's design, a map - and it matched the pattern of the splashes and tea leaves.

***

Three hours, too many scrapes and scrambles later, we stood in front of a heavy door. Inscribed on a tablet hanging down, in unfamiliar writing, was a note to us.

"Well done, children of the prophecy. You have fulfilled your duties by following the map, and within lies the greatest treasure you will ever know. Created by a grandfather's dear grandfather, and passed down the generations upon death, it is the culmination of generations of waiting. As the oracle of prophecy has foretold, it is time for its release on the earth, that it may explore and bring joy."

Beneath it, a piece of paper with mother's hastily scribbled writing, says only: "his name is Fella, and good bloody luck with him".