(To split her tangerine into slices aka I am going to beat the living daylights outta her)
Scene: Midnight. Somewhere between that damn forgotten sock and a broken prophecy. Tension so thick you could spread it on toast like anchovies paste.
Charlotte (marching into the living room, full murder-floof activated):“LILITH. I swear by all nine hells and the extra one I’m building in the laundry room, if you drop ONE MORE prophecy, I will personally segment your mystical ass like a mandarin orange and serve you with a side of tuna tears.”
Lilith (curled up like a smug bat on a windowsill, purring softly)“The calico awakens. The storm approaches.”
Charlotte (spitting): “Don’t you dare start with the riddles. Not today, Morticia. I haven’t slept in 36 hours because of ‘beware the third bowl.’ The third bowl doesn’t EXIST. You made it up. You’re a chaos goblin with eyeliner. And the glitter ball is gone again. I KNOW you know where it is.”
Tartiflette (poking her head out from under the couch): “I ate from the third bowl! I think I absorbed a ghostie!”
Charlotte (without turning): “You are a ghost. A noisy one. Hush.” (turns back to Lilith) “And YOU — you sit there all mysterious, whispering doom into the curtains, while I’m over here trying to figure out if I’m the chosen one or just constipated.”
Lilith (tilting her head ever-so-slightly): “The line between destiny and indigestion is thin.”
Charlotte (screaming): “I SWEAR TO BASTET I WILL LAUNCH YOU INTO THE ETHER. I AM DONE. DONE WITH MYSTERY. DONE WITH PROPHECY. DONE WITH YOUR TONE!”
Ziggy (from inside a boot): “Is she turning into a dragon again? Is she bringing Scorchio? I think I peed.”
Willow (not even looking up):“If there’s fire involved this time, someone better open a window and stay clear of the plants. Break a pot and Karen is going to send you all to that Sansi Bar”
Charlotte (clawing at the air like a furious opera singer): “Luna’s got binders, Tartiflette’s got colanders on her head, Collateral Damage won’t even look at the sofa anymore — and all because YOU won’t say ‘Charlotte, nothing’s happening, have a snack and chill.’”
Lilith (deadpan):“But something is happening. The glitter ball knows.”
Charlotte (absolutely snapping): “THAT’S IT. I’M SEGMENTING THE ORACLE. STEP ONE: PEEL OFF THE MYSTIQUE. STEP TWO: SMASH THE METAPHORS. STEP THREE: SERVE YOU ON A CHEESE PLATE WITH A SIDE OF ‘SHUT THE HELL UP.’”
Lilith (slow blink):“Your rage is delicious.”
Charlotte (howling): “IS THAT ANOTHER PROPHECY?! IS THAT A SNACK REVIEW?! I CAN’T TELL ANYMORE AND I HATE YOU WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY FLOOF.”
Luna (entering with a clipboard): “Alright. That’s it. Prophecy curfew is back in effect. Charlotte, you’re going into Emotional De-escalation Nap Time. Lilith, no more vague pronouncements after 10 PM. Tartiflette, take off the colander and spit out that rune.”
Tartiflette (spits): “…It was spicy.”
Luna’s COO Log, Entry #873: The Oracle Incident
Timestamp: 2:11 AM
Location: Living Room
Incident Type: Uncontrolled Prophetic Episode (UPE)
Affected Parties: Everyone. Again.
Summary:
Lilith delivered a spontaneous, unapproved prophecy. Charlotte responded with rage, fur, and an implied citrus-based threat. Tartiflette declared herself haunted (again). Ziggy possibly soiled a shoe.
Collateral Damage is pretending none of this is happening. Karen is sleeping and I don’t want to bother her because, meninguini. Willow is on snack strike. I am holding this household together with duct tape and existential exhaustion.
Actions Taken:
– Enacted Code Mauve (Prophecy Containment Protocol).
– Applied calming spray to Charlotte (she bit me, which I expected, this is the calico for you)
– Assigned Tartiflette to “Quiet Time Fort” until further notice.
– Seized the colander. (“Wait, what, how, why does Tarti have a colander?”- Karen. “Too many questions, Karen, go back to sleep”).
– Blocked Lilith’s access to shadowy perches pending review.
– Filed a motion to suspend all vague utterances until sunrise.
– Gave Ziggy a supportive nose boop.
Notes:
We are down to our last three emergency glitter balls.
If one more cat tries to form a prophecy-themed militia, I’m locking the cupboardand the astral plane.
I am Luna. I am composed entirely of soft fur, dignity, and pure administrative rage.
Attached memo (posted on fridge):
Dear Housemates,
New policy:
– No prophecies after 10 PM.
– No segmenting anyone “like a tangerine” under any circumstances.
