Rita looked up at the board of the store with a frown; 'Pet Shop'. What a dull name! Giving a snort, she pushed open the door of the pet shop.
Her nose contorted as the smells of dung and straw and rotten food crept up to her nose. Glad that it's the last one. Rita thought as she stared up at the owls perched upon the windows high up. The owls hooted incessantly as she walked up to the counter, having to watch her way due to the dung that decorated the floor. 'Welcome, Ms Rita! How may I cater to your needs?' asked an ugly witch with warts in a flowery voice as she spotted Rita. 'What would you like to see? A bouncing rabbit? Perhaps a colour-changing mouse?'
'Oh, no, no, no. I'm not here to buy a pet. I'm writing an article on pet shops, so I've been visiting some of the famous pet shops in Diagon Alley.' Rita's face twisted to a disgusted face as she started around the shop, but there was good material here. With the dung strewn on the floor, the cats running freely after one another, and the smell that emanated from every side, there were a lot of remarks she could write on pet shops. 'So, show me a bouncing rabbit, please.'
Meanwhile, the Quill rested silently on the stack of parchments in Rita's sparkling purse. It lay there, unmoving. It had been sleeping for a long time, or so it seemed. It was rather difficult to track time confined in the dark purse. It had not been taken out for a long time, so it was slowly becoming lazy. It was scolded the last week or something when Rita found the piece of parchment on which the Quill had taken to writing on its own. From then on, it had not been dipped into any ink and remained dry. It had gotten rather lonely and taken to sleeping a lot.
The purse snapped open and light streamed into it, waking up the Quill. It was shoved aside as Rita picked out a grey quill. She took out an ink bottle from another pocket and dipped the quill in it. Throwing the ink bottle roughly onto the Quill, she closed the purse. The Quill wriggled itself from under the ink bottle, jumping excitedly. At last, it was going to get a bath after a long time. As it rolled itself around in the ink, his eyes fell on the parchments. Jumping out of the ink, the Quill poised itself at the top left corner of the parchment, thinking about what to write. It started scribbling on the parchment as an idea came rushing into his mind.
Cho thei paeed phor there i screams und crosst the striit ta the Maigekal Menaegary.
Thar bhajn't mooch room this onside. Avery ink awall waz hitten ba cages. Ee waz schmelly und bhery nosy bekauj they a coupons of these cajes ware oll squaking, sqoking, jhabbering or hizzing. Te which bind the countar waz aready adwycing a weezer on the car of dooble-lended noots, cho Herry, Roon und Hermyonee weited, eczamining the cages.
A fair ov eenormouse pupil toods sat golping wetly und pheesting on ded blouflies. A jigantik tortoie wither jool-enkrusted shel waz gleetering ner the widow. Poizanas oranja sneils were oozing slouly op the saed ov there galass tank, und a fat whyte rabbeet kep chenzing eento a selk top hat und bak akain with a laud pop-poping noese. Ten their were cets ov avery calor, a noisee caige ov raivens, a baaskit ov phunny kastard-calored furbols that wera homming laudli, und, on thr caunter, a vaast caige ov slick blak rats witch were playeng sum sort ov scippeng gaime uuzing there loooong boald taels.
Gotten out of the habit of writing a hundred words a day, he could not write anymore. But it was still quite impressive, writing after a whole week and still being able to remember the seven rules of grammar was quite an accomplishment. The Quill looked at the parchment with a lot of pride, its nib swelling up. After such a long and tiring work, it deserved a bath. Thus, it jumped into the ink and rolled around in it, completely drenching itself.
The purse once again snapped open and Rita's ring-laden fingers shot in with the grey quill. Placing the grey quill on a velvet pad, the purse once again closed. The Quick-Quotes Quill stared at the grey quill with resentment and anger. Long ago, the velvet had been its place, but today, the grey quill stole it. It started at the grey quill with a deep urge to kick it, which it did. Giving it a kick that made the grey quill cry out, it settled itself on the pad, relaxing. Beside it, the grey quill stared at the Quick-Quotes Quill with fear.
My pet pygmy puff, Puffy: