Strays (tag: Isis)
Usually when Bast visited her mother, she arrived some anticipation. It was not always the good kind of anticipation, since Isis did seem to love to lecture her and she’d never really done very well with being told what to do. But even in the middle of a battle of wills with the woman that had raised her, Bast had a satisfying feeling of welcome and love. Most of the time, the visits went well once they got past the requisite guilt trip over not coming to see her more often. But Bast’s step was dragging just a bit today as she approached her mother’s home in France.
The thing was, she was still seething over Artemis’ defection in the middle of the rescue mission they’d planned. She’d specifically asked, and that blah-faced Greek had said she’d go through with it. But just as things got started, the goddess had just disappeared, without even saying a word, leaving Bast to clean up the mess. Which she had, handily. It wasn’t like she’d needed the Greek after all. But it was a little irritating that she had been told if she couldn’t stand the heat to get out of the kitchen. Who was it that had left when it got hot? Not Bast.
Stupid Greek. How had she been compared so much to Bast again? Because really, she couldn’t see what was so great about Artemis, what made her worthy of being compared to any Egyptian.
A small mew of noise came from the basket she carried, drawing her attention away from the irritating foreign goddess and back to more important matters. Such as finding homes for all the cats and kittens that she had liberated. On her own. Without any help from the Greek. (Alright, perhaps she was a bit sulky about that.) This would not be the first time she’d shown up on her mother’s doorstep with an odd feline or two for her to take in. And Bast had no doubt that Isis would take the kitten. After all, she’d certainly taken in a few strays in her time. Like Bast herself.
Fact was, Isis was a softie. And one look at the little fuzzy face that was currently peeking out of the basket, and her mother would be a goner. Which would be good for her as well as the kitten. Obviously, as much as she harped on Bast about visiting, the woman must be lonely. She needed the company. So this was just a perfect solution all the way around, Bast concluded as she simply walked into her mother’s house. Why would she knock? Wherever Isis called home was hers as well, wasn’t it?
“Mama?” she called out without waiting for any of the queen’s attendants. Bast didn’t want to dilute the surprise. “Mama, I have a gift for you!”