The very first thing she & the Woodsman noticed was the nails- sharp and polished – as they elegantly removed various foods from the basket. The fingers are long and darkly graceful

      They wore red, ornately, like a Duke or Prince, but darkly ostentatious. 

The jars clinked on the counter in unnervingly perfect rhythm as the jars were placed.

     One was opened, it smelled of chicken.

     “Stop” insisted the Woodsman, “We do not know if we can trust you. We will not feed a sick man poison.”

      The ornate one shrugged artlessly, half smiled under  dark hair,

“How do I know what You feed him is not poisoned?”

…and took a swig out of the jar confidently without breaking eye contact.

      “it may be poisoned with something their kind are tolerant to that may kill us,” accused the Woodsman dramatically, “It may not be butchered nor cooked properly and still bloody.”

      The Stranger smiled, his canines feline-sharp.

       “Does the Woodsman even know how to kill a chicken without struggling with a single line in the sand and a sharp blade, or how to hunt flying birds without holding a weapon?”

     “Impossibility, all”

      “Remind me to show you my falcons if we are burdened to cross paths again.  The moon is thinning. Perhaps you should pray the wild Katzen do not bite you.”

…and they left.

    The next morning, they were awakened with cat song. The Woodsman & woman remained secluded in a windowless room until the yowling stopped. 

    Only then did the short Woodsman venture out to see a large, Grey and white tailless cat sitting patiently in front of a second basket.  He meowed twice, then a man dressed entirely in Grey appeared over the hill, bowed curtly, and refused to introduce himself as he waved away the kitty.

  “You are here early,” stated the Woodsman with clear contempt.

    “…As my mother named me.  It’s well after morning prayer.”

The blonde kneeled on the stoop, adjusted his expensive spectacles, and started to unpack the basket, speaking to them both as a college professor might speak to a child.

   “I am going to explain this slowly to you, as I heard from Prince you are neither educated nor particularly bright; I brought bone marrow, astazanthin, collagen peptides, vitamin D, Magnesium, Don Cossack-sourced Oud, and healing clay.  I would instruct you how to use it… However, I do not trust your competencies, based on present circumstance, of course.”

    He stood, rather tall and thin, he crossed his arms, not welcoming discussion, as he stated,

“The old man will know what to do with them.  I actually trust him… surprisingly.” “Also…”

He paused.

“Do not touch his oud.” 

   Rigidly, at first, the grey-blond stranger stood, gave a curt salute, and walked with a bounce in his step over the hill.

    Day three was a drone wearing cat ears tapping on the window.  It carried a payload of Franz Kafka novels, a can of off-putting looking sea creatures [per the label], and a note:

Dear Sir & Madam,

   I prefer cats. Please give him the books; you can eat the can.  BTW: Open the window again… [That is, of course, if you closed it already] …Por favor & Te Amo…I think?

~K”

    The drone had a tiny screen with a cat face that grinned slightly and started playing Llorando Luz, and over the hill, the sound of Spanish guitar.

     “I have had enough of this,” exclaimed the Woodsman, who promptly tore off over the hill and into the woods.

     The cat drone returned, smiling, with a new note:

      “We have speakers in the trees, lol.”

   The next day, two more feral cats arrived with their persons.  Both claimed to do “patrols”…one a feral looking female wearing corpse paint and horns, the other another blond man, much like the condescending college professor, but shorter, more feral, and with longer hair and far less condescending.

      He arrived several hours after the woman after they stated the woman was there earlier, as he promised not to patrol where she did for “better cover”  …but nervously, as he ran off, also, without introducing himself. 

     The speakers in the woods played Dropkick Murphy’s & pirate shanties all day, though.

     The next day, the woman & the Woodsman went to the market only to arrive home to find the entire estate cleaned, the garden weeded, and the remaining horses had an entire feild’s worth of flowers braided in their manes.

      A note on the door read:

“Thank you for finally leaving. We cleaned everything.  It was fun. 

From: Hypatia & Kore”

  The next day, a professional chef arrived.  Said the Prince sent him since ‘they told him they did not trust jar foods’ when asked if he was also just a cat, he snapped back, quite homosexually,

    “…Do kitty cats normally make strawberry crêpes?”

      He stayed through supper, left a Dutch apple pie, hugged everyone jovially, and left.

      The following morning, a Native in leathers left roses and performed a few hours of Terrifying war chants.  One of them was written by Limahl, which was even more horrifying to the two properly proper people terrified within.

The next guy didn’t even show up… but the internet sure worked better, and the forklift in the garage suddenly resurrected itself from its horse stall crypt, blinking with cryptic upgrades, including playing the ‘Star Wars, Imperial March’ each time a person sat in the driver’s seat.

     The fields were better irrigated, and all that was left was a stack of benign drawings of furries waving friendly-like.

      The next day, the yard was filled with chickens, rabbits, and a stack of fish fresh caught and still alive, wrapped in water and plastic.  The farmer tipped his hat as soon as he was seen, and over the hill, he and his companions went.

   Finally, on the last day- there arrived a straight-up Deutsch lynx in a tophat, his accent was Deutsch, and his voice was quiet and powerful.

      “Why do you felines torment us?” cried the Woodsman and the woman.

      “Because the elder you ignored and crippled, called for us.” replied the Other Prince.

Meow.