Toothless bites, mouthless mutters, wingless fluttters

Soul, a soul, a soul to play. The flute was a distraction - the catnip was better. A trilling mmrrowww? of greeting sounded through the trees, echoing along the branches and rustling in the leaves. A dappled patch of shadow suddenly got up, stretched mightily, and padded out to investigate. The feline was black as night, with a white spot upon its chest. It looked utterly harmless - in fact, it started to try and wind its way through Maea's legs as Delphia continued to play.