"You see, a witch has to have a familiar, some little animal like a cat or a toad. She helps her somehow. When the witch dies the familiar is suppose to die too, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, if it's absorbed enough magic, it lives on."

Race: Witch Cat
Age: Appears to be an adult
Height: 4 feet, 6 inches (1.3 meter)
Weight: Fat-cat
Build: Pudgy
Fur: Speckled Grey
Eyes: Blue

   
    Most people know, at least in passing, about the familiars kept by wizards and witches. Generally considered some sort of enchanted or magical creature intended to aid the caster in some way. They may come in many different forms, from rather mundane appearing beasts, to infernal creatures summoned by less benevolent sorcerers.

    Few ever consider what would become of the familiar should something untoward happen to their master or mistress. Not even the casters themselves really give much thought to the fate of their little assistants. Most assume these creatures simply go back to being normal animals. Perhaps they just wait around to be summoned by a new master in need of aid. Some even believe they would perish along with their masters. All could be true, or none at all. Of course, as with all things magical, there's always room for something unexpected.

    Among the many casters with need of a familiar's aid, witches are perhaps the most reviled, seconded only to perhaps necromancers. Many witches seek out the aid of apparently common beasts, to better help hide their nature. And none are more common among such practitioners than the common cat. Such was the circumstance of one young witch and the little grey feline she called to her service. Of course, clearly things did not end well for at least one of them.

    It may have been carelessness, or an unfortunate stroke of bad luck. Perhaps the young witch was simply foolish and dabbled in incantations she should have known better than to invoke. Whatever the events, the young witch clearly isn't around any more. And her little kitten? Well, she certainly isn't a kitten any longer.

    At a mere four and a half feet in height, she certainly isn't the most intimidating creature around. Of course, familiars are never really meant to look impressive. Perhaps she could be mistaken for the common catling, but she's clearly more feline than human. While she has the pose of a woman, she retains much of her fuzzy features that made her quite the adorable little helper when she was young. Her sapphire eyes look out past her snowy bangs over her tiny pink nose and plump, whiskered cheeks. Her dark feline ears swivel and twitch about, often poking through holes in her tattered but quite garish hat.

    It would not be unkind to call her a fat-cat. Indeed, she is quite plump, with a rounded figure that speaks to a life of excessive snacking and little actual work. After all, many witches turn to magic to avoid mundane labor, and it's only natural their familiars would likewise be given over to laziness. This does, however, afford her new body ample space for the massive mounds perched upon her chest. Considered simply enormous were she in any other realm, her breasts easily reach into the ponderous I cups, her fat pink nipples poking out from her soft fur. Thankfully for the feline, she need not support these heavy weights simply by her back alone. Her mounds rest atop the substantial pudge of her belly. The kitty's cut often jiggles along with her breasts, showing her love of sweet cream and decadent treats.

    The cat's quite zaftig figure does not skimp below her waist either. Her ample hips gyrate with each step, a ripple of impact often moving it's way up her plump thighs to her round rump. It's not clear how much of the plushness is simply her soft, warm fur, or the masses of tender flesh. But with every shake and jiggle of her round rear, it's apparent she seems quite comfortable with her lush weight. From just above that quivering tush, the feline's tail flicks about. It's quite long and thick, a plush brush to sweep through the air and curl about anything the feline finds to her liking.

    Her dress could be considered rather immodest by some standards, though not as overly explicit as some. At least, not unless one could consider colors indecent. The cat's preferred colors are quite garish, teal and violet in excessive amounts. Witches are known for disregarding societal norms, and the feline does seem to enjoy the eye-twitching she causes in the fashionably minded. The tight teal leotard she wears does little to hide her chubby figure, hugging her fat breasts and belly close before slipping down to cup the pudgy mound of her pussy-puss. Her fat thighs are mostly bare before they disappear into the violet of her leggings, the tight leather form-fitting to her legs, all the way down to her paws. Yes, her feline pads are quite the same as they have always been, her boots custom made to not hide their rather feral nature.

     Her irreverent outfit comes complete with a purple cloak draped over her soft shoulders, it's white collar pulled down and curled about her neck, giving her a ready place to nestle her cheeks and chin into on cold nights. The finishing touch is the old violet witch's hat perched atop her head. Perhaps it once belonged to her old mistress? Whatever it's origin, it's clearly seen better days. Torn and tattered in places, two ragged holes allow her feline ears to peek out, somewhat lost in the dried roses and feathers haphazardly decorating her chapeau.

    And what sort of personality does a witch's familiar develop once she's walking about on two paws? Quite the crude one, it seems. Cats have never been known to be overly concerned with the feelings and opinions of others, so long as they have what they desire. And this one is no exception. Indulgent and rapacious, she knows what she wants, and she wants an excessive amount of it. Be that fresh milk, succulent food, or carnal attentions. And if she decides she doesn't want any of those things right now? Well, she might change her mind in a moment or two, or she might curse you to only being able to quack like a duck. She is a cat, after all, and they care devilishly fickle creatures. But make no mistake, once she decides that something you have is her's, be it something you have or your very body, no one is able to tell her that she's wrong..

 


[Blacksword Build]