The Cat, the Witch, and the Elusive Password

“Cattywampus catastrophe?” Inna Walword guessed, standing awkwardly in the narrow alleyway.

The buildings here were made of stone, and all the buildings reached up to at least ten stories high. This made the alleyway seem much smaller than it actually was, but despite this and despite it being well after eleven at night, it felt cozy. Or at least as cozy as an alleyway could be.

At first glance, it looked like Inna was talking to herself. At second glance, it still looked like she was talking to herself. But if you sidled up next to her and squinted carefully at the adorning ledges, there was a black cat named Syliad, lounged just within the ambient light of the nearby lanterns.

“Innnvalid passssword,” Syliad droned in a bored tone. Languid as ever, he did not look up from licking his paw.

Groaning, Inna rifled through her coat pockets for another slip of paper. She cursed her former self for letting so many of the previous passwords fill the various pockets in her purple peacoat.

Tonight was going to be her moment.

After four years of sipping tepid tea and laughing at a number of needlework puns that she still did not understand, Inna was on the cusp of being promoted from Honorary Stichee in the Society of Witches & Stitches to Official Junior Stitcher. (Inna was still not sure why Nonna Housworth cared that her husband was 'threading another woman’s needle' when getting a needle threaded could be tricky)

She would do the cleansing ritual. She would lead tonight’s Stitching Circle. She would lead the ritual of temporary, inconvenient curses. (Last month, they cursed Mr. Bayor with chronic constipation after letting his poodle defecate in Biddy Baker’s front yard one too many times.)

But most importantly, Inna would finally show up her archnemesis, Polly Esquaverez. They fought a silent war, waged through cutting remarks, tiny digs, and aggressively friendly smiles. Inna knew that as she played host, her sworn enemy would eat her pointed hat with envy, from the bejeweled rim to the ridiculous pompom at the top, which Inna was NOT jealous of.

The very thought gave her goosebumps.

But here, at the literal threshold of Witches & Stitches, she could not remember the password.

“Blasphemous bumblebee?”

“Invalid password.”

Inna's face bloomed with crimson. Syliad scratched his ear.

The door into the Society of Witches & Stitches could only be summoned by Syliad and in emergency situations, the High Witch herself. The original High Witch removed all doors to the building and adopted Syliad as a gatekeeper. Some said it was for security. Others whispered about a heated argument with a persistent door-to-door salesman of moats and piranhas who would just not take no for an answer.

As the gatekeeper, Syliad took his duties seriously.

Unfortunately for Inna, there were just. so. many. passwords. It changed every week, every few days, or even every few hours, depending on the fickle cat’s mood. To make matters worse, this was not an “open sesame” situation. Every witch had a unique password, keyed to their unique aura.

If being bombarded with everchanging passwords was not enough, Inna instantly forgot every one. The passwords passed through her eyes, into her brain, and out to some black hole where it could never again be recovered. After a year of embarrassing situations, Inna started writing them down, to Syliad’s unending displeasure.

Shivering from the night air, thick with fog, Inna fished out another crumpled piece of paper from her hand. With smeared ink on one side, Inna ventured, “Incandescent infatuation?”

“Invalid password.” Syliad had found a beetle and began to bat it back and forth with his paws.

It was hard for Inna to tell what she found more annoying: his indifference to her plight or his fastidiousness to the rules.

She plucked out one of the longer lists and called out, “Languishing luminescence, hyperbolic hydra, mercurial manatee, quintessential quilting, bizarre bailiwick?”

“Invalid password, invalid password, invalid password, invalid password, invalid password.” Bored already, he swatted the beetled away and watched it scurry under a loose stone.

“Is bailiwick even a word, Syliad?” Inna muttered angrily.

Syliad sighed the sigh of the long suffering.

“I am told things like this can be googled now. Also, I would like to remind you of your questionable password security measures and highly recommend that you memorize your passwords. Data suggests you have been reminded 359 times since you’ve become a society member.”

Normally, Inna would have secretly imagined shaking Syliad by the scruff of his neck, but she did not hear him because she was struck with a thought.

Between finishing the cranberry buttercream for her sage cookies and agonizing over the types of tea she would offer to the other witches tonight, she wasn’t entirely sure she put the password in her pocket. She could picture it on the counter, but she couldn’t picture it going from counter to her pocket.

Syliad had moved onto cleaning his back leg. Inna changed tactics.

“Syliad, do you really need a password? You see me every week at least. Can’t you let me in just this once? Please.”

Syliad stopped licking and narrowed his eyes.

“Password required.”

Inna thought, You don’t have time to go home. Don’t panic. He’s just a cat. A cat who has perfected the art of resting disgusted face, but a cat all the same. You can do this.

“Can I reset my password?” Inna angled slowly.

Intrigued, Syliad mused, “Reset your password?”

Encouraged, Inna continued, “Yes! There’s another way, right Syliad?” Inna pretended to smooth the wrinkles out of her coat with the palms of her hands to hide her gleeful expression from Syliad. Syliad toyed with the notion in his head.

“Like?” he dangled like a cat toy in front of her.

“Like, like…asking me something only I or a member of the society would know?” she ventured, “And give me a choice of questions too! Like in other password systems.” Slyiad’s eyes narrowed at being compared.

Inna checked her watch. There were still 20 minutes until the meeting would start. There was still time.

“Choose from one of the following questions. One, what was the color of the doctor’s eyes who gave birth to you? Two, what was the middle name of your best friend’s mother when you were three? Three, how many people did you encountered from the ages of 5 to 23?”

“What kind of questions are those?!? How would I know the answers?” Inna huffed.

The cat sniffed back at her, “They are questions about your life. They should be ones you would know.”

You nasty, magic beast. Okay, okay. It’s actually not that bad. There are only so many eye colors. The chances are in your favor.

“Brown,” Inna boldly declared.

“Incorrect. Invalid password recovery.”

Inna tried to brazen her way out with a cat who had spent the last 300 years bronzed in shamelessly brazen behavior.

“What color were his eyes then?” Inna accused.

“Her eyes were walnut,” Syliad smirked back.

Inna ignored her crushing embarrassment.

“Walnut is brown.”

“Brown is brown. Walnut is walnut. It’s like saying her eyes had color. Just because you are not wrong does not mean you are right either,” Syliad commented.

“If you are going to be like that, I deserve another question. In other systems, they let you pick your own question.”

“Cranky witch toddler. You're throwing a tantrum,” Syliad informed her, “Should I ask your mother’s maiden name? As if anyone could not use the digital webs to find that! My questions were better!”

Crumpling up the list in her hand, Inna threw the paper ball at Syliad. It missed by several feet, but the hair on Syliad’s back still raised on end.

“I am leading the ceremony tonight! I am going to be late, Syliad. You know who I am! Just let me in!”

Syliad lowered his gaze onto Inna like a guillotine.

“Attack on system. Security measures activate. User account locked.”

“Who is being the toddler now, you dumb cat!”

“404: Syliad response not found. Contact a member administrator for assistance. Extensive password resetting protocol must be followed.”

“Syliad! I’ve been preparing for the Sitiching Circle for months. Please!”

“403: Access forbidden.” A red X flashed on the wall like a large neon sign.

“I don’t think you really understand those codes,” Inna criticized.

“401: unauthorized back talk and orneriness,” Syliad retorted.

Inna fumed.

As she considered her next move, none other than Polly Esquaverez strutted through the fog with a flounce. Young with a thin face and piercing eyes, Polly sported pink sequin robes, though she clearly shivered from the cold. In Inna’s opinion, Polly looked like a discarded piece of bubblegum had decided to start walking.

With a smile that was a little too toothy, Polly yanked Inna into an emphatic hug that Inna responded to with dead weight, neither actively resisting nor participating in the hug.

“It’s SO good to see you, Innie!” Polly shrilled, “I can’t wait for the Stitching Circle. Of course I’m jealous, but I know you’ll do something brilliant and impress everyone.”

“Thrilled to know you are so excited, Polly,” Inna said through gritted teeth.

“I think we can both agree you haven’t really shined as of yet, but I’m sure it’s just because you haven’t been given the right opportunity. Although it has been four years. Still, your tenacity is so inspiring!”

Gaping like a fish, Inna's mind was suddenly devoid of any thought as she scraped the sides of her brain for a good comeback.

Say something! Say something!

But Polly had already fluttered her way to where Syliad sat.

In a flash, Syliad went from glaring at Inna to Polly pressing him against her face repeating, “Oose a good cat?”

Indignant, Syliad bopped Poppy lightly on the forehead with his paw. Undaunted, Polly pressed her face further into his belly, saying, “Who’s a good boy?”

The centuries old Syliad, who was not a good boy, hissed at her and kitty punched her right off the stoop.

“401: unauthorized petting and baby talk. Please refrain from touching your password security system.”

While Inna was a witch on the edge, she silently cheered to see Polly’s legs flip over her head. Tangled in her own robe, Polly flailed on the ground like an upturned tortoise before stopping to compose herself.

Polly glanced back at Inna, presumably to see how much she saw, and Inna tried to telepathically convey, “Yes, I saw everything and imprinted it microsecond to microsecond into my mental scrapbook. It will bring me joy for many days to come.”

Scuttling forward but stopping a respectful distance away, Polly sheepishly whispered, “Sorry, Syl. I thought we were finally there in our relationship.”

“It seems the 231 times I have told you before that I am not your ‘pet kitty’ have failed to impress itself upon you,” Syliad scolded.

Carefully, Polly gently laid three squeaky mouse toys in a row on the ground, giving one an experimental squeak. Syliad did not look back at her, although she kept biting her lip glancing back and forth from Syliad to her toy offering.

“Right,” Polly muttered, before stating loudly, “The Sound and the Feline 49 with four money signs.”

The silence stretched for seconds to an entire minute. Polly threw down another mouse toy.

Smirking, Syliad raised a paw.

“Login success for Polly Esquaverez, username: PollyPoppins. PollyPoppins may enter.” A wooden door with a large latch handle materialized in the stone wall. Sighing with relief, Polly walked through and disappeared into the building.

The tension that had been growing in the back of Inna Walword’s mind finally snapped. There were only 5 minutes until the Stitching Circle would begin. She was stuck out here while Polly had charmed (or groveled) her way in.

It was a predilection of her personality to imagine elaborate scenarios before or after the fact, like the perfect comeback after a fight (mostly zingers for Polly) or the perfect Stitching Circle meeting.

Inna imagined all the witches commenting on the amazing pattern she had picked, the new technique she was going to share, and most importantly the scrumptious cookies she served. (A subpar snack had sent many an Honorary Stichee back down to Junior Honorary Stichee.)

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she shifted in the street awkwardly, not wanting to stay in this spot but unwilling to leave either.

“So are you going to go in?” an elderly voice stated.

A short, elderly woman hovered at Inna’s elbow. Her thick wool coat ensconced her from her shoulders to her lower ankles, and on her head, she wore a hat with white bunny ears.

“High Witch Mackerel!” Inna squeaked, shocked from her misery.

The High Witch Mary Mackerel waited. The bunny ears were somehow disconcerting in their cuteness. When a witch had asked her about them last week, the High Witch declared "it's the year of the rabbit" like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ruefully, Inna admitted, “I forgot my password.”

Nodding, the High Witch waited again.

“And Syliad won’t let me in,” Inna continued.

“Ah.” The High Witch was still just nodding.

Inna searched for more words.

“And I am running late as you know.”

“Ah, I am unfamiliar with running late. I am always exactly where I should be at the time I should be there. I am never late. I just am supposed to be somewhere else, even if someone else thinks I am supposed to be there.”

Although awed by the High Witch generally, Inna was unsure whether this was brilliant or complete nonsense.

While contemplating the High Witch’s words, she had missed what she said next.

"I'm sorry what?"

“I said, you asked him…politely?”

“Well…” The words caught in Inna’s throat. Polite might not be the word.

“Ah. Yes, so that’s a no. Syliad is a cat,” she said the last part slowly, watching her face to see if she understood.

On unsure ground, Inna also state something obvious, “Syliad’s a cat who can talk.”

The High Witch conceded the point with a tilt of her head but repeated, “Syliad is a magical cat, but mostly a cat.”

Inna blinked several times, hoping each blink would spark a revelation.

The High Witch continued, “Cats are proud. Cats like games. And Syliad specifically takes his job his seriously. He’s not your cellophane.”

“Cellophane, High Witch?”

“The thing people talk in.”

“Cell phone?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. He’s not a cellophane.”

The High Witch patted Inna’s arm affectionately, and a small, rectangular object slid into Inna’s pocket.

“Syliad,” the High Witch called.

“High Witch,” he replied.

“The Great Catsby - no spaces, capitalize the first letter in each word - 666 and three exclamation points.”

“Login success for Mary Mackerel, username: TheHolyMaryMackerel. TheHolyMaryMackerel may enter.”

As she entered, Syliad brushed against her leg with a purr, and the High Witch pet him under his chin. Inna was mostly relieved she did not have to watch the High Witch getting kitty punched off the threshold.

Before entering, the High Witch mouthed the words “HE’S A CAT” before disappearing into the society.

What does that even mean, High Witch?

Inna peeked at the object out of her pocket. It was a can of sardines. Inna frowned with her eyes.

Well, I can at least do as well as Polly.

“I am sorry I took a rude tone and threw a small piece of paper at you, Syliad. I know you were just trying to protect the society. It was ill-mannered of me.”

Syliad started to return to his perch, but the sound of tin can opening stopped him in his tracks.

“I promise to try harder to memorize the passwords. I don’t have as good a memory as you though, so I might still make mistakes and sometimes have to write it down. I am just a person.”

Sniffing the air, Syliad asked, “Is that Inky Otto’s Limited Edition Tuna-Marinated Sardines?”

The label indicated yes, so Inna nodded. She slid it in front of him. He stared. She pushed it closer.

Syliad slurped one up. Inna watched him practically melt.

“Account unlocked. Password will reset in the usual way on your next visit. Apology accepted. Login success for Inna Walword, username: InnaWinehouse. InnaWinehouse may enter.”

Inna never once considered petting him. Unlike her fiendish foe Polly, she knew she was not the High Witch Mary Mackerel. She rushed in before Syliad could change his mind, where she found Mary waiting for her.

“Manners and kindness can take you far.”

“More like bribery,” Inna muttered.

“Well, he is a cat. Cats take appeasing sometimes. When he’s bored, he sometimes sets off fire alarms to watch us scatter, although I am sure he would say it was a 'safety measure'.”

Inna started to surge forward. “Thank you so much for helping me, High Witch Mackerel. I know I am late, but I will get the Stitching Circle together right now.”

The High Witch grabbed her elbow, pulling her back.

“Inna dear.”

“I promise I can do it fast. Just give me a chance.”

“Inna”

“I made cookies!” Inna blurted desperately.

“It’s Tuesday, dear.”

“And just wait until you see this pattern…what?”

“Tuesday. The Stitching Circle is not until Thursday. It is just Open Stitch today, so people come and go as they please.”

“Ah,” Inna said, stunned.

“Ah,” the High Witch agreed.