All
Cthulhu ever wanted was a kitten to call his own. A nice little black kitten
all for himself.
‘Oh,
how the empty, cyclopean streets of R’lyeh would be filled with joy if only a
kitten could be had’ Cthulhu would pine, as he lay belly down, head in hands,
dreamily (but dead) looking from his chamber window.
Across
the lonely expanse of his sunken city, Cthulhu would wander, arms flailing and
skipping. He would skip and skip and skip, his feet fluttering in the air as
his misshapen wings allowed him to land gently.
‘Oh!
My city for a kitten! In the name of all that is dark and terrible, a kitten!
Great Old Ones grant me a kitten! Even the Flying Polyps had kittens!’ he
shrieked.
Deep
in his heart however, gentle Cthulhu knew the likelihood of a kitten in R’lyeh
was as that of Azathoth taking human form and becoming a folk singer. The years went by and Cthulhu
lay dreaming. Dead, but dreaming of his little black kitten. His heart breaking with despair and
loneliness. All until one day when a ship wreck floundered upon his dark
shores. There were no survivors. None but a kitten. A little black kitten. A little black non-Euclidean kitten.
‘Calloo
Callay!’ exclaimed Cthulhu as he picked up the small creature and held it close
to his mighty chest. ‘Finally, a kitten! A lovely little kitten all for me! Oh!
Truly all the joy in the universe is mine today. The Last Amorphous Blight that
bubbles and blasphemes at the centre of all infinity be damned I say! A kitten!
A kitten!’
Finally
after so many years, Great Cthulhu had his kitten….skinned and fried, served with
onions and gravy.
