It's Not Faux Fur

My roommate has organized a party without my consent - how uncouth!

Though it is her birthday, one would hope to receive some warning before the merrymakers stream through the front door. My nap on the couch was cut short, a grand shame, as a good night’s rest has evaded me the past few days.

I took refuge in the bedroom. Perhaps the decorations and platters of refreshments should have keyed me into the happenings of tonight, but ho! My dear roommate did not run anything by me; was I meant to assume she went behind my back to make these plans?

Nonetheless, it is happening, and now I stand before the mirror. Oh, I look horrendous!

Evie says as much. “You have bedhead, Bella!” She sweeps out of the bathroom in a graceful movement, her dress swirling behind her, a cyclone of crystals and twinkling gems. “Tidy yourself up - our guests are here!” she giggles.

They are hardly my guests, but I do not wish to hide out in the room while the festivities commence without me. Do I, as a resident of this house, have any choice but to appear presentable?

The hair on my head is ruffled and my coat is untidier than I’d like - in fact, my ensemble is in no way suitable for an audience. I smooth down my coat as neatly as I can, admiring the silky fur as dark as a night’s sky without stars. Except there are stars - fabrics from the couch on which I’d slept, flecks of white. Oh, how disastrous! It would be impossible to remove every fiber, but oh, it simply must be perfect, or as close to perfect as one can achieve.

After fussing for what may have been hours, I’ve transformed myself. Stunning is not a strong enough word to describe my apparel. Truth be told, it may be unfair of me to appear before the guests of this party; I would only outshine them as the best-dressed dame they’ve seen yet. My precious coat is as glossy and smooth as satin and softer than any blanket. I’ve fixed my hair and a necklace with a golden chime hangs from my neck. Now I, despite my earlier complaints, am quite excited to make an appearance at dear Evie’s party.

With that, I stride from the bedroom. Chatter and laughs fill the house with warmth, but the noise dims once I enter. Gasps of admiration now roll throughout the crowd, and Evie smiles at me.

“Here she comes! At last, you’ve joined us.” She raises her champagne glass, the liquid inside nearly trickling past the rim. “Everyone, meet Bella!”

Our guests erupt in a symphony of oohs and ahhs. I lift my head, content to be admired from afar, but a few of them step forward.

Ah! They wish to touch my coat. Who am I to impede them of such an honor?

Soon, several of Evie’s friends are running their fingers through the softest fur coat they will ever come across. “Gorgeous!” one woman squeals. “You are so lucky!” another says, eyes sparkling with envy. Part of me recoils with every touch - if crumbs get tangled in my coat, it will be dreadful to clean. But another part of me rejoices. This attention is well-deserved, I’d say, since Evie’s compliments are not enough to keep a lady of my standard afloat!

Once everyone takes their turn, I settle on the couch. A few of my admirers flock to my side, and I know it is because they intend on touching my coat some more. I cannot blame them. Quite the opposite, actually; I welcome the brush of their hands. To hog such a soft thing would be blasphemy!

My favorite guest, the young child of Evie’s cousin, gives me more attention than I could possibly deserve. He claimed the spot to my left and hasn’t stopped cooing at me since! His mother scolded him at first, but I made it clear that his attention is no hassle. Children have always been fascinated with my coat. I was the same way as a baby, and in fact, my tastes in extravagance were shaped by those experiences. Perhaps one day, he will have a coat of his own to flaunt. Make no mistake, however - none will ever approach mine in beauty and elegance.

Some of the girls offer me biscuits soaked in butter, but I politely refuse. My diet is far too strict to allow treats such as those, although they look delightful. Instead, I indulge in the conversations flowing through the room. I offer my opinion from time to time on various topics, earning a round of gleeful laughs from those involved. My time is rarely spent around this many people, so I enjoy every moment of tonight.

By the time guests begin filtering into the world beyond, I am not ready for my spotlight to fade! I brandish my coat, and as I’d hoped, some stay behind to admire me a little longer. Alas, fame is not everlasting, and the house is empty when the clock strikes two.

Our guests - when had I begun calling them ours? - had left quite the mess. Paper cups and crumpled napkins lay strewn across the house, and the silence is almost painful.

Evie and I clean up the remnants of the party, though the excitement of the night has left me weary. I shall admit that Evie does most of the cleaning, while I nap on the couch still warm from the guests who had lounged there.

“Bedtime!” Evie sings some time later, so I stretch my limbs and stumble into the bedroom.

We lay in our beds, the memories of tonight replaying in our minds.

“I knew you’d have fun,” Evie finally murmured, a yawn interrupting her words. “You were Miss Sourpuss at first.”

It is true, I had been sullen at the thought of an impromptu party and nearly decided to spend it moping in here. But the evening had turned out to be a treasure I will always cherish, and I owe it all to my lovely black coat.

The bell on my necklace chimes, and I think, Perhaps I’ll throw a party of my own one day.

With that heavenly thought in mind, I close my eyes and purr.