There it was. Just sat there. Sat in the middle of the carpet, licking itself. Harry's tongue flopped out of his mouth, and a line of spittle ran down his chin and dripped onto his dungarees to join that evening's gravy. He looked at his hands. Pink. Sticky. One of them had a feather stuck to it. Goodness knows how that got there, thought Harry. True, he had been playing with the glue, but he was fairly sure there wasn't a parrot in the house. Unless, of course, his parents had bought one of those as well. He gave his feathery hand an experimental lick. Eurgh.
Harry turned his attention back to the new cat. It had stopped licking itself, and was now just staring blankly at Harry with its big, yellow eyes. Harry frowned. He didn't like its attitude. What was it doing, coming here and invading his personal space? Harry rather thought the cat was eyeing up his shape sorter, and pulled it protectively towards himself. A yellow cube fell out of one of the holes, and Harry was temporarily distracted, wondering if he could fit the cube in his mouth. He almost immediately regretted this. The yellow cube was much more yellow and cubey than he had first thought, and the edges were … sharp. Harry coughed, tears streaming down his cheeks, and eventually the cube slid wetly out of his mouth. The cat, he was delighted to discover, had taken fright and left the room.
From the kitchen, Lily heard her son choking and saw a black mass streak, terrified, from the room. She sighed, and went to attend to Harry. He was going through the "eat everything" stage. Last week it was the house keys, and they had had to take him to St Mungo's. More recently than that, he had decided to sample the cat food, apparently wondering if he was missing out on anything.
"There, now," she soothed, Harry dribbling miserably over her shoulder, red in the face. "Look, Harry, you scared Beans. Poor little puss-puss."
"Beans" was now sitting in the hall. Harry clenched angrily. Everything came back to the sodding cat. It wasn't as if it was an interesting cat. All it did was sit. And lick. Even Harry could do that. And he could fit things in his mouth that physically shouldn't. "Beans" was a stupid name, anyway. Now a good name, a good name would be something like "Harry". Why did they need a cat, anyway? To claw at the furnature? To throw up it's dinner everywhere? To eat everything in sight? There was already a perfectly functioning Harry to do that.
"Bedtime, Harry. Say goodnight to Beansie." Lily stooped, holding Harry in front of her so he could see the cat. Beans looked worried, and rose from his sitting position. Harry seized the opportunity – he reached out, grabbed something long, black and hairy, and pulled. For the second time that night, Beans mewed loudly and shot out of sight.
That'll learn ya.