Lake of gold
Tartan slippers shuffled across worn, yet pristine, carpet. Small porcelain cats and silver framed photos lined the mantle of the fireplace except for a silver urn that stood proudly among them in the center. Engraved into either side of the polished surface a paw print stood as if holding the curled letters that made up the name, Butter Biscuit. Crackled leather was quickly occupied as the woman lowered her aching body into the puffy armchair. She let out a weary sigh and allowed herself to slump back to become almost swallowed whole by the sheer size difference. She finally won the battle between antiquated furniture, rising to place herself at the edge of her seat. Slippered feet firmly set on the floor, she reached to where she had let her pink and white quilted shopping bag slump beside where she rested. Her long, thin fingers grasped the soft surface and pulled it up to sit in her lap.
