Smudge

“Smudge does not purr. He rumbles. If you hear it, stop talking. The next lie you tell will not end kindly.”

— Seraphis Nightvale, Librarian of the Last Home

Smudge is, by all outward appearances, a sleek black cat. Yet he floats instead of walks, grumbles instead of purrs, and knows when you are lying. He drifts lazily through the rafters of Fizz’s Cottage or along the hedges of the Garden, watching with yellow eyes that seem to see too much.

Fizz insists he is “just a pet.” No one believes this, least of all Smudge.

The Cat That Isn’t

Smudge never gains weight, no matter how much Fizz spoils him. He eats endlessly—scraps from the counter, morsels from experiments, even a bottle’s worth of something best left sealed—and still remains perfectly cat-sized. His floating seems effortless, as natural to him as walking is to other creatures, though he abandons it when asleep, curling on a shelf like an ordinary animal.

No one is certain what he truly is. Some whisper he is a cat warped by experiments, others that he hides a human mind behind his sharp eyes and teeth. A few even suggest he is a fragment of the Cottage itself, made manifest in fur and disdain. Whatever the truth, Smudge offers no answers. Only a rumble.

Habits and Rumbles

Smudge does not meow or chatter. His voice is the low, resonant rumble that rolls out whenever lies are spoken. It grows louder when the lie is believed, and on rare occasions, begins before the deceit is even voiced—as though he knows you are about to try.

He prowls without touching the floor, drifts over patrons’ shoulders, and leaves pawprints on ledgers as if signing bargains on their behalf. Inkpots topple when he is displeased. Bottles shiver when he hums. Patrons whisper that Smudge can even sense the lies people tell themselves, and that his stare alone is enough to force a guilty conscience to the surface. Those who bargain in the Cottage quickly learn the rule: when Smudge rumbles, the price of your deal has already changed.

In the Eyes of Others

Fizz dotes on him shamelessly, feeding him constantly, fussing over him, and brushing his sleek fur as though he were royalty. Smudge accepts the attention with smug entitlement, never swelling beyond his perfect, unsettling silhouette. Dillon, the owl, sharpens whenever Smudge rumbles, his blank stare snapping into sudden focus. The two seem to act in concert, one marking what is false, the other staring into what should not be seen. Whiskers the drake once tried to eat him, mistaking him for a rat. Smudge survived, insulted, and the feud between them remains unresolved. The Maids tolerate him with irritation, for he spoils bluffs as easily as he exposes cheats. Seraphis alone unsettles him. His hackles rise when she enters the Garden, and he vanishes before her gaze can fall on him. The reason is never spoken, and perhaps should not be.

Rumours That Persist

Smudge is never found inside the Inn. Some say the Inn itself refuses him. Others claim Seraphis has barred him, whether openly or by quiet authority. A few suggest he is bound to the Cottage the way bottles are bound to shelves. None of these explanations satisfy, but all of them persist. Patrons whisper and trade theories freely: that he is a cat twisted by alchemy, a human intelligence trapped in feline form, or a lie given flesh to remind us that bargains always bite back. Fizz only smiles at the speculation. Smudge rumbles.

Final Consideration

Smudge is not a pet, nor a harmless familiar. He is the Cottage’s conscience, the grumbling shadow in the rafters that unmasks lies before they can breathe. He will never claw or curse you. He does not need to. His presence alone is enough to ruin the safest deception.

And if he rumbles at your words, the bargain is already lost.