The Burgundy Cat

Hume was the Chesire Cat’s cousin. Not striped. Not witty. And definitely not cruel. Instead, he was burgundy. 

Cheshire, or Cheshy, as he likes to be called around family, was unacceptably mean. One day, during a family get together, Cheshy spoke trash about leading some blond girl in circles through Wonderland. Cheshy smiled and chortled, his pink and maroon stripes glowing as he told cruel story after crueler story.

Hume lived in the city, and while Wonderland was mostly forest and countryside, he could not fathom how a country-bumpkin cat, like Cheshy, could become so city-minded with his sarcastic awfulness. Hume tried to confront him one day:

“That trick you played on those fat twins was awful!”

“How did you hear about that one?” Cheshy asked, smiling his wide-wide grin. His mouth was the largest mouth in the family — if anyone was to be made fun of, it was Cheshy. 

"Those fat twins can't even talk anymore," Cheshy said in his impish sing-songy voice. 

Then he chuckled, disappearing from the room. 

"You're such a sociopath," Hume told the empty air. 

So perplexed, Hume was, that they were even from the same family tree.