Note:
Before the Midnight Kingdom expanded into the court it is today, the original council gathered in the Virginia Beach house under the cover of night. These meetings were quiet, deliberate, and occasionally chaotic. Here the founding cats debated territory, food rights, sleeping arrangements, and the delicate balance of power within the household. These records preserve the earliest councils of the kingdom.
MorrowGrave, Kingdom Archivist
Council Record
The Founding of the Midnight Council
Virginia Beach – Third Floor Apartment
Recorded: October 13, 2013
Early Years of the House
The apartment was quiet. Not the soft daytime quiet of sun puddles and drifting naps, when the human moved between rooms and the air carried the faint smells of coffee, paper, and laundry. This was the deeper silence that came after midnight, when the human had gone to bed and the apartment settled into stillness. The refrigerator hummed faintly in the kitchen. Air moved through the vents with a low whisper. Outside, somewhere beyond the entrance road of the complex, a car passed slowly and disappeared again into the dark.
The third-floor apartment sat at the entrance of the complex, which meant the living room windows looked out over everything. From those wide panes the cats could watch the parking lot lights, the sidewalk where people came and went, and the thin trees where birds gathered in the morning. The balcony beyond the sliding glass door was their favorite observation post, a narrow stretch of territory where they could sit and watch the world below—supervised, of course.
Inside, the floors were carpeted wall to wall, soft beneath their paws. A brick fireplace stretched along one wall of the living room, its dark opening a quiet cavern of shadow. The couch faced the windows, and beside it stood the tall cat tree where anyone could climb to the highest perch and watch the birds outside.
Milk stepped onto the center of the living room rug. Moonlight filtered through the blinds and settled across his white coat as he lowered himself into a seated position, the careful movement of an older cat who understood that patience could command more attention than motion. For a moment he simply waited.
Then the others began to arrive.
Tokyo came first, padding quietly across the carpet before settling near the edge of the rug. The fluffy tabby wrapped her tail neatly around her paws, her ears flicking toward every faint sound in the apartment. Menace slipped in next, her torbie coat blending easily with the dim hallway light. Her yellow eyes moved constantly, measuring the room the way they always did.
Jynx followed, breathing through her nose with the familiar soft snuffle that never quite went away. Her sinuses were almost always a little stuffed, so she paused midway across the carpet to test the air before continuing.
Ripley arrived differently. Instead of joining the others on the floor, the skinny black cat leapt onto the arm of the couch and settled there, curling his tail around his paws so he could observe the entire gathering from above.
Raven appeared from the hallway without making a sound. The large gray tom crossed the carpet with steady confidence and settled just outside the moonlight spilling across the rug.
Lily entered next. The Bengal moved with calm, measured steps and chose a place near the couch where she could see both the windows and the hallway. She had a way of sitting that suggested she preferred to understand a room before speaking in it.
Zephyr followed a moment later. The younger Bengal paused briefly near the doorway, her green eyes sweeping across the gathering before she moved to sit beside Lily, close enough to listen but careful not to crowd the space.
Eight cats had gathered in the living room. Eight travelers who had come from different places and somehow found themselves sharing the same strange territory.
Milk studied them for a long moment before speaking.
“Amici, my friends,” he said quietly. his voice calm and measured, “this house… it is changing.”
No one interrupted him.
“You see it, sì? The food moves. The sleeping places move. Doors open, doors close. The human brings new things and takes away old things.”
Menace’s tail flicked once against the carpet. Ripley leaned forward slightly from his perch on the couch.
“And we pretend this does not matter,” Milk continued. “But it matters very much.”
His blue eyes moved slowly from cat to cat.
“If we do nothing, the house becomes chaos. Food will be fought over. Sleeping places claimed with claws. Peace will disappear.”
The room remained quiet.
Finally Lily spoke. “So you propose rules.”
Milk nodded once. “Yes.”
Raven’s voice emerged from the shadows. “And who decides them?”
Milk looked around the room again. “We do.”
Zephyr tilted her head slightly. “A council.”
Milk’s whiskers twitched in agreement. “Yes. A council.”
Ripley asked the question that lingered in the room. “And why should we listen to you?”
Milk did not appear offended. Instead he straightened slightly, the quiet weight of years settling into his posture.
“I have lived in many houses,” he said softly. For a moment his gaze drifted toward the window and the night beyond it. “I have seen what happens when cats live without order. It ends with fighting. With fear. With no one sleeping well.”
His tail moved once across the rug.
“And this house,” he added quietly, “deserves better.”
The words settled into the room like dust drifting through moonlight.
After a moment, Zephyr spoke again.
“And what do we call this group?”
Milk considered the quiet apartment around them—the moonlight, the windows, the balcony where the world could be watched from above.
Then he answered.
“The Midnight Council.”
No one laughed. No one objected. Because every cat in that room understood that something important had just begun.
The apartment was no longer simply a place where cats happened to live.
Now it had order.
Soon it would have a court.
And someday, though none of them yet knew when, it would become a kingdom.
Archivist Note: This gathering is recognized as the first recorded meeting of the Midnight Council in the Virginia Beach apartment in October of 2013. From this council would grow the Court of the Midnight Kingdom, whose members and traditions expanded in the years that followed.
Council Archives
Midnight Council Records
Virginia Beach – Third Floor Residence
The First Midnight Watch
October 14, 2013
The night following the founding of the Midnight Council brought a deeper quiet to the apartment than usual. Once the human retired, the house slipped into the layered silence that belonged only to the hours after midnight. The refrigerator hummed softly in the kitchen. Pipes shifted faintly behind the walls. Outside the tall living room windows, the lights of the complex glowed against the pavement of the parking lot below.
From their third-floor vantage, the Pride could see the entrance to the building, the narrow autumn paths between parked cars, and the occasional sweep of headlights passing through the lot before disappearing again into the night.
The council gathered beneath those windows.
Milk took his place near the center of the room, the same position he had occupied when the council was first declared the night before. Age and long experience rested easily on him. He studied the room for a moment before speaking.
“A council must watch its territory,” he said calmly. “Otherwise it is only a meeting.”
No one disagreed.
The house contained several locations where vigilance was best kept during the night hours. The hallway carried sound from the entrance of the building and often revealed movement long before it reached the apartment door. The living room windows overlooked the parking lot and the entrance of the complex. The kitchen corridor contained the household machines whose noises sometimes masked smaller disturbances.
Without further ceremony, the Pride began taking their posts.
Tokyo settled near the tall windows first. She preferred observation over movement and possessed the patience required to watch long stretches of quiet without distraction. From her position she monitored the outside lights and the occasional late-returning human crossing the parking lot.
Menace moved to the hallway where the carpeted corridor funneled every distant sound toward the living room. She sat facing the direction of the building entrance, ears angled forward, listening for anything that might approach the territory.
“If something moves out there,” she muttered quietly, “I will hear it.”
Near the entrance to the kitchen, Jynx took responsibility for the machines. The refrigerator hummed with suspicious consistency while other appliances clicked and settled at unpredictable intervals. She regarded them all with careful distrust.
“That one,” she said, nodding toward the refrigerator, “makes entirely too many noises.”
Lily and Zephyr remained near the center of the living room where they could observe both the hallway and the windows. Lily approached the watch thoughtfully, quietly studying the positions chosen by the older cats. Zephyr listened closely to every exchange, her attention moving from speaker to speaker as she absorbed the rhythm of the council.
Raven positioned himself along the shadowed edge of the room where the wall met the darker corner near the furniture. Though younger than most present, he held his post with quiet steadiness.
Ripley climbed to a high vantage point along the back of a chair where he could survey the entire room from above. From there he watched the living room, the hallway entrance, and the movements of the Pride below with calm detachment.
Milk remained in the center, observing how naturally the watch had formed.
The Midnight Watch had begun.
For nearly an hour the apartment remained peaceful. The building shifted occasionally with faint settling sounds. Outside, a car door closed somewhere in the distance and footsteps crossed the pavement before fading into the stairwell of another entrance.
Then the first disturbance occurred.
A sharp cracking sound echoed suddenly from the kitchen.
Menace turned instantly toward the hallway.
“What was that?”
Ripley leaned forward from his perch while Raven rose from his shadowed post. Even Tokyo glanced briefly away from the windows.
Jynx was already staring at the refrigerator.
“I warned you about that machine.”
Milk crossed the room with deliberate calm while the others followed more cautiously behind. The refrigerator stood quietly against the wall as if nothing unusual had happened.
For several seconds nothing moved.
Then another loud cracking pop came from inside the freezer.
Jynx jumped backward with visible alarm.
“There! You heard that!”
Milk studied the appliance carefully before turning back toward the council.
“It makes ice,” he said simply.
The Pride regarded the machine with renewed skepticism.
Another cracking noise came moments later from within the freezer compartment, confirming Milk’s explanation though not entirely improving Jynx’s opinion of the device.
The council returned to their posts.
The apartment settled once more into its quiet rhythm. Outside the windows the parking lot lights flickered faintly as a breeze moved through the complex. For a time nothing disturbed the watch.
Then the second incident occurred.
A moth slipped through a narrow gap near the window frame and fluttered into the living room air.
Ripley saw it first.
From his perch he launched forward in a swift arc, striking at the air where the insect had been moments before. The moth veered sharply toward the center of the room.
Raven reacted next, crossing the carpet in a low rush as the intruder zigzagged between them.
Zephyr ducked instinctively while Lily watched the developing situation with composed interest.
The chase carried the moth across nearly the entire room before Raven intercepted it near the base of the window.
Silence returned just as quickly as it had been broken.
Ripley climbed back to his perch with careful dignity.
“That was mine,” he announced.
“Too slow,” Raven replied quietly.
Milk cleared his throat.
“The territory is secure.”
The council accepted the ruling.
The remainder of the watch passed without further excitement. The machines in the kitchen continued their quiet murmuring. Menace reported no unusual sounds from the hallway. Tokyo observed only the occasional passing headlights below.
As the first pale light of morning touched the edges of the windows, the Pride gathered again near the center of the living room.
Two disturbances had occurred during the night: one mechanical and one airborne. Both had been resolved quickly and without damage to the territory or the authority of the council.
Milk therefore entered the event into the official record as the first successful Midnight Watch of the Pride.
By unanimous agreement, the Midnight Watch would continue on future nights for the safety of the household and the order of the territory.
The record was entered accordingly.
Council Archives
Record Title: The Day Vinny Touched the River
Date Recorded: Early Spring, 11 May 2024, River House Era
Classification: Personal Trial / Boundary Crossing / Identity Reckoning
The house was quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that made any sound feel like it did not belong. Sunlight slipped through the tall window in golden stripes that climbed the tower in the cat room and pooled on the floor. Dust motes turned in the light. The air smelled of wood polish and fabric with a faint hint of old toast.
Outside, the river shimmered between the trees. The current caught the light and scattered it in flashes of silver. Vinny heard it too, a low steady murmur under the waking house. It felt older than the walls around him, older than the Pride, older than his fear.
He sat on the highest perch with his paws tucked beneath his chest, fur warm from the sun. He looked through the glass at the same view he saw every morning: river, trees, a narrow strip of sky that changed only in color. Once the sameness had soothed him. Now it felt like something fixed in place while he stayed fixed with it. The river went on. He stayed.
Behind him, Petunia stretched, black fur gleaming until she arched and it broke in ripples. Her claws clicked once against the rug as she sighed. “You are staring again,” she said. “That river is not going anywhere.”
Vinny did not turn. “Maybe not,” he answered, “but I keep thinking about what is past it.”
Petunia flicked her ear. “Grass, bugs, disappointment. You have all of that here, and you do not have fleas. Seems like a fair trade.”
He watched her stretch with lazy grace. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just go?” he asked. “No rules. No arguing. No keeping the peace. Just being.”
“I used to,” Petunia said. “Then I remembered how much I like breakfast. And not being eaten.” She hopped down and washed her shoulder. “What is this really about, Vinny?”
He let the silence hang. “Every day feels the same,” he said. “Someone is fighting. Someone is scared. Someone is hungry. I calm them down, make sure the shy ones get to the bowl, sit beside the ones who shake when it storms. Then I come back up here and watch the river that keeps going when I do not. I want to know if I can still do something just because I want to. Not because someone needs me to.”
Petunia studied him. “You think the river will tell you who you are,” she said.
Vinny watched the light crawl across the glass. “Maybe it will remind me,” he murmured.
She stepped closer, her scent warm and familiar. “If you are really going,” she said, “keep your head low and your paws quiet. The world has teeth.”
Vinny’s mouth twitched. “I will be fine.”
Petunia turned away. “That is the last thing cats say before trouble finds them,” she muttered. “And do not make her cry. She has cried enough.”
From the kitchen came the clink of dishes, the sigh of the kettle, the scrape of a chair. The smell of toast and coffee grew stronger. Every sound felt sharper, as if the day itself were waiting. A door clicked open. Quiet footsteps crossed the living room toward the porch. The door groaned, and cool air slid in, carrying damp earth and early light. Scarlett’s breakfast time.
Vinny’s heart stumbled, then raced. He rose, the tower trembling beneath his paws, and climbed down with careful, silent motions. His body stayed low as he slipped into the hallway, tail straight and steady. The world narrowed to the hum of the vent, the soft creak of boards, the bright rectangle of the open door. The entryway smelled of coffee and morning. The front door stood half open, a strip of sunlight laid across the floor like a path. The breeze carried grass, river water, and something he did not have a name for. It smelled like distance.
His human stood on the porch, shadow long on the rug, humming softly as she scooped food into Scarlett’s dish. Metal clicked against ceramic. Vinny crouched behind the shoe bench, feeling his heartbeat everywhere at once. He counted the rhythm of her movements. Scoop. Step. Pour.
He shot across the rug and burst into the open air. Sunlight hit his fur in a hot rush. The boards of the porch were rough and warm under his paws. The smell of the world flooded his lungs: soil, clover, damp wood, the faint tang of metal. It rushed through him like a second heartbeat.
He hugged the edge of the porch, chest tight with fear and wonder. The yard lay ahead, the grass moving in the breeze. The fence stood at the far end, tall and weathered. Between two slats, a thin crack of light shone through. Behind him, his human kept humming, unaware. Vinny’s whiskers trembled. He took a breath that reached all the way down to his paws.
Then he ran.
The porch boards thumped beneath him. The yard blurred green and gold. The fence rose up, smelling of sun and old wood. He flattened himself and wriggled through the gap, the rough edge scraping his back legs. On the other side, the air grew cooler and thicker, crowded with scents he had never known so clearly. Insects hummed. The breeze carried pine and damp soil and the colder smell of the river. The earth felt softer under his paws, the grass wet with dew.
This, he thought, is the world.
From the shadows under the porch, Scarlett watched him. Light broke across her tortie coat. “I thought you were one of the house cats,” she said.
Vinny looked back. “I was,” he answered. “But I am going to the river.”
Scarlett’s pale eyes reflected trees and sky around him. “The river does not care about you,” she said.
“Maybe not,” Vinny replied. “I want to see it anyway.”
Scarlett blinked. “The world keeps what it likes. Be careful it does not decide it likes you.”
Vinny swallowed. “I will be back before dark.”
Scarlett turned her gaze toward the trees. “The dark does not wait for anyone.”
Her words followed him onto the street. Gravel clicked under his paws. A flag snapped down the block. A wind chime clinked from a porch. He brushed his tail against the rusted post of the mailbox. A butterfly rose from the weeds, orange wings flickering. The world did not just stretch. It breathed.
A large orange tom sprawled along a low brick wall, tail tapping at the stone. His fur was sun faded and his face creased with years. “I have seen you before,” the tom said. “You are the one who stares out the window.”
Vinny halted. “Maybe I was planning an escape,” he said.
The tom’s mouth curved. “That look on your face says you finally did. Name is Howie. Indoor and outdoor, depending on the weather. You look new to dirt under your paws.”
“I am going to the river,” Vinny said.
Howie’s ears twitched. “Brave,” he said. “Or bored. Maybe both. Come on, then.”
They crossed a yard that smelled of tomato vines and mint. The grass brushed Vinny’s belly. A sprinkler hissed, tossing a fine mist across their backs.
“You live out here all the time?” Vinny asked.
Howie shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes inside. Depends who is home and how cold the night is. Freedom is nice until the rain starts. Or the snow. Or the hawks.”
Vinny thought of the cat room, the tower, the shared bowl, the quiet weight of other bodies when the wind howled. “Inside has its teeth too,” he said. “You just know them better.”
Howie gave a soft huff. “That is true enough.”
The dock stretched out over the water, its boards dark and damp. Vinny stepped onto it and felt the subtle shift beneath his paws as the river moved. The water slid past in slow layers, catching the light. A faint vibration rose through the wood into his paws.
“It is beautiful,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Howie agreed. “But it does not love you back. None of this does.”
He let the breeze ruffle his fur. “I learned that one winter when I chased a mouse too far. Spent two nights under a porch with my belly empty and the wind trying to peel my fur off. The stars watched,” he said, “but they did not help.”
Vinny kept his eyes on the water. “I do not want to stay,” he said. “I just wanted to know what was out here.”
“Then you looked,” Howie replied. “That is something.”
They sat in silence until the water turned more gold than blue.
Vinny stood. “Thank you,” he said.
Howie dipped his head. “You know the way home,” he replied. “If you still want it.”
Vinny left the dock and walked toward the trees. The air cooled as he entered the woods. The smell of pine grew stronger. The ground felt softer underfoot. Shafts of sunlight fell through the canopy in thin bands, leaving most of the forest in shadow.
Away from the houses, the world felt older and less interested in him.
“You do not belong here,” Oreo said.
Her voice slipped through the stillness. She sat on a fallen log, her white fur catching what little light made it through the leaves so that her edges glowed. Her green eyes watched him with tired recognition.
“You smell like walls,” she added.
Vinny stopped. “I came to see the world,” he said.
Mr. Grey slipped from the shadows behind her, gray fur blending with tree bark. “The world does not see you back,” he said. “Your human has been calling for hours.”
Vinny’s ears flattened. “She is calling?”
“Over and over,” Grey said. “Her voice sounds cracked.”
The picture of her in the yard, calling his name until her voice frayed, pressed against him.
“I will go soon,” he said. “I just need to see something.”
Oreo’s gaze softened. “You will see hunger if you stay much longer,” she said. “And teeth.”
He went anyway.
The canopy thickened until the light faded to a dim green. The smell of the river grew colder. Every sound sharpened: the rustle of leaves, the crack of a branch, the faint splash of water. His heartbeat sounded too loud.
Something moved behind him.
Vinny dropped low, belly close to the forest floor. The fur along his back lifted.
For several heartbeats there was nothing.
Then a twig cracked.
Leaves rustled with a slow, deliberate sound. A new scent rolled toward him, thick and wild, musk and damp fur and the iron tang of old blood.
Between the trees, two pale eyes blinked once, then narrowed.
Vinny bolted.
The forest exploded around him. Branches slapped his face. Ferns tore at his sides. The ground rose and fell in sudden dips that nearly sent him sprawling. Behind him he heard the thud of heavy paws and the rough drag of breath. The smell of the coyote wrapped around him, hot and hungry.
His lungs burned as he tore across the uneven ground, claws raking at the soil while he twisted around roots and slid over mats of leaves.
The panting grew closer.
Warm breath brushed the tip of his tail.
A growl rolled through the trees and he flung himself sideways, scraping through a narrow space between two skinny trunks. The coyote tried to follow and crashed against them, teeth snapping at empty air as Vinny shot ahead.
The sound of the river swelled, no longer a murmur but a steady roar.
He burst into a small clearing. At its center grew an oak, thick and gnarled. Without thinking, Vinny hurled himself at the trunk, claws sinking into the wet bark. Pain shot through his shoulder, but he clung there and scrambled upward.
The coyote skidded into the clearing behind him.
The predator hit the base of the tree with a snarl. For a moment it paced, tail lashing. Then it rose on its hind legs and jammed its front claws into the bark. With a low growl it dragged itself partway up, high enough that Vinny felt a puff of hot breath on his hind legs.
Vinny clawed his way higher, gouging new furrows into the trunk.
The coyote slid back, then leapt again, hauling itself another short distance before its hind feet slipped and dragged it down.
Vinny climbed until his muscles shook and the branch beneath him swayed.
At last, the coyote dropped back to all fours, sides heaving. It circled the base of the tree twice, then stopped. The wind shifted. The scent of the river washed through the clearing. The coyote lifted its head, breathed in, and turned toward the sound.
Without another growl, it slipped into the trees and vanished.
Vinny stayed where he was.
His legs trembled. His claws burned from gripping the bark.
Slowly the sound of birds and water seeped back into the clearing.
When he finally climbed down, every movement was stiff and careful. The ground felt cold and soft under his paws. Every scrape and bruise announced itself.
At the edge of the clearing, Mr. Grey waited, almost invisible in the low light.
“You found out,” he said.
Vinny’s voice came out rough. “It almost had me.”
Grey stepped closer, looking over the dirt in his fur, the torn patches, the faint limp.
“You would not have made much of a meal,” Grey said quietly. “You are all bone and worry.”
Vinny let out a breath that shook. “It did not seem to care.”
Grey nodded. “Everything out here almost has you,” he said. “Even when you are not worth the trouble.”
He turned toward the house. “Come home, Vinny. You have given the world enough of yourself for one morning.”
They walked back together.
The path that had felt open and endless on the way out now seemed narrow and fragile. The air still smelled wild, but Vinny no longer mistook that for kindness.
Oreo sat near the porch when they emerged from the trees, tail curled neatly around her paws.
“You learned something,” she said.
Vinny looked at the house, the familiar windows, the tower visible through the glass.
“Home is not a cage,” he murmured. “It is a shield.”
Oreo dipped her head as if she had been waiting to hear that.
The front door opened.
His human stepped out, hair messy, eyes red-rimmed. When she saw him, she made a small sound and dropped to her knees.
“Dang cat,” she whispered. “Do not ever scare me like that again.”
She opened her arms.
Vinny went to her.
She scooped him up and held him close, one hand pressed against his ribs where his heart still raced. Her fingers shook as they moved through his fur.
Inside, the air was warm and smelled of toast and sunlight and something soft that always meant safety.
Petunia lifted her head as they entered, eyes sharp. When she saw the dirt and the missing patches of fur, she let out a slow breath.
“You did not like it,” she said.
Vinny settled beside her as his human set him down on the perch.
“I did not like being alone,” he answered.
Petunia shifted, making room so his shoulder could rest against hers.
“Told you so,” she said, but there was no sting in it.
She touched her nose briefly to his cheek.
“So,” she asked, “what did you find?”
Vinny thought of the dock and the dragonflies, of Howie’s worn face, of Oreo’s warning, of Grey’s steady eyes, of the coyote’s claws scraping at the bark and the hot breath rising toward him.
“Big things,” he said softly. “Beautiful ones. But none of them know your name.”
Petunia began to purr, low and steady, the sound vibrating against his ribs.
“That is why you have us,” she said.
Freedom, he realized, was not the open world or the endless sky. It was this: the place that held him when he came home and did not ask him to be anything more than himself.
Council Notes:
This record documents Vinny’s first voluntary crossing beyond the River House boundary. The subject returned, though not unchanged. The outside world was confirmed to contain both beauty and immediate threat. Curiosity is not discouraged, but it carries weight. Identity may be questioned in solitude, but it is confirmed in belonging. The river remains constant, but it does not recognize those who stand before it. The Pride does.
Addendum (Petunia):
“He went looking for something he thought he lost. Came back knowing he never lost it at all. Also came back smelling like poor decisions.”
Council Record
Concerning the Puppy Rae and Her Inability to Respect Personal Space
Recorded: September 13, 1999
Villa Records
Recovered from the early Villa Archives. Authorship disputed, though Milk repeatedly denied involvement while sounding exactly like himself
The puppy did not understand distance.
This became apparent almost immediately.
If one sat beneath the olive tree, the puppy sat directly on top of you. If one moved to the warm stones beside the fountain for reflective solitude, the puppy arrived moments later carrying either a pine cone, half a flowerpot, or emotional concerns. Elevated shelves provided temporary relief until she learned to stare upward with unbearable intensity until someone acknowledged her existence.
“She is touching me again,” Milk observed one afternoon from the garden wall.
Rae, who was in fact leaning across half his body despite possessing an entire courtyard of available space, wagged immediately.
“That is because I love you.”
“That is not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
Witnesses confirm Milk attempted relocation six separate times that afternoon. Rae followed all six times with unwavering emotional commitment and very little coordination.
At one point she became stuck halfway beneath a chair while trying to maintain physical contact during his escape attempt.
Nala reportedly watched the situation unfold in exhausted silence before remarking:
“The puppy believes attachment is a survival strategy.”
Milk later insisted this was ridiculous.
However, records indicate he eventually allowed Rae to sleep against his stomach during storms, tolerated repeated tail collisions throughout the giardino, and once returned from a lizard hunt carrying an entirely unnecessary leaf which Rae treasured for three days.
When questioned about these contradictions years later, Milk offered the following official statement before refusing further comment:
“She was very small and emotionally unstable.”
-MorrowGrave, Kingdom Archivist