White Feta Springs, 1989
"You reckon Old Lady Geraldine will care for that baby?" Cheryl asked, slamming the three of spades down on the sturdy table in the shabby tavern.
"Nah," Erin waved dismissively, frowning at the cards in her paw before producing a five of hearts from the stack. "Guess that's gonna be our responsibility from now on."
Cheryl grunted in response. At the same time, an agonized wail pierced through the air.
"Yeah, serves you right for getting yourself pregnant," Erin grumbled under her breath in response.
"You think we ought to go check on her?" Cheryl asked while indicating the door to the adjacent room with a small nod of her head.
"Nah. The doctor's with her. What can the two of us do that he can't?"
Cheryl sucked at her teeth as she contemplated this. Her companion was likely right. Then, she came up with another brilliant question.
"I wonder if the child is going to look anything like her," she said, resting her chin in her palm.
Erin shrugged as she eyed the cards that were assembled on the table, trying to calculate Cheryl's next move. That was indeed a great question. As of now, Geraldine was a bitter mouse who only found joy in the nights spent in the company of some of the male patrons of the tavern. However, looking at her coat that was colored a coppery hue of orange, her round violet eyes, and that oblong snout of hers that almost held traces of some noble features, she might have been a sight for sore eyes in her youth.
***
As it turned out, Erin was right concerning the fact that Geraldine did not so much as look in the direction of the baby once she had brought it into the world. As for Cheryl's thoughts about his looks, he did take after Geraldine somewhat. His fur had the same color, or perhaps a bit lighter, and although his head was still tiny, as was the rest of him, it was probably safe to assume that it would have a similar shape to Geraldine's one day. However, the baby did not have his mother's eyes; instead of being violet, they were a beautiful shade of green.
"What's the boy's name?" Cheryl inquired when the bundle was brusquely pressed into her arms a few hours after the baby's first cry had resonated through the tavern's walls.
"Name?" Geraldine huffed, "How am I supposed to know?! G, or call him whatever you like."
That was how far Geraldine's imagination stretched – the first letter of her own name. Cheryl accepted it with a sigh of defeat.
She was not too fond of the fact that baby G now seemed to be her responsibility on top of the surreal working hours that Geraldine always made up for her and Erin, but what was there to do about it? It was not as if it was the boy's fault.
So, Cheryl took it upon herself to at least provide G with the bare minimum – milk, clean diapers, a few gentle words here and there.
As the little mouse grew, Geraldine began to task him with various chores around the tavern. He could very well pay her back for having the audacity to be born and hence be a general nuisance, she reasoned.
G did not fuss, whine, or complain. He just did the work, as diligently as could be expected of a three-year-old. He did not talk much either, and he was overly shy. However, Cheryl could not help but notice the way his emerald eyes sparkled with some otherworldly wisdom in the candlelight every evening as she told him bedtime stories.
"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a big kingdom. The Byzantine Empire, it was called. Now, for a couple of years, this Empire was governed by an empress named Theodora – Theodora of Byzantium," Cheryl would begin, and G would listen eagerly, with an intelligent spark in his gaze.