"Why do you keep making me say this crap? It's embarrassing." "Wow! I feel like a character in a Jane Austen novel," Cat said through gritted teeth, before rounding on Val again. All I can do is try to get to the end with my dignity intact."įortunately, Ellie and Henry were unusually forgiving souls and had persuaded their father, General Tilney, to invite Cat to Northanger Abbey, their ancestral home. "I looked stupid enough in the original," Cat miaowed. How she longed to explain to them that she had had no choice. Henry and Ellie would now think her unspeakably shallow for going off with the despicable Johnny and never speak to her again. "Let's go."Ĭat groaned deeply with the unfairness of everything. "Don't bother with them," Johnny harrumphed.
"I've promised Henry I would join him and his sister, Ellie, for a walk," Cat replied. "Come for a ride in my Porsche and get away from all these proles." "Yah! Hi, Cat! I bet you can't help finding me devastatingly attractive," boomed Johnny. Be a babe and chat to my bro, Johnny, cos then we can double-date, like." "Oh my Godz," said Bella, "Have you seen this Facebook update? Vampires are, like, totes cool. Fortunately, Mrs Allen had already considered this possibility and had arranged for Cat to have dancing lessons with the enigmatically pale Henry Tilney.įor a moment or two, Cat naturally wondered whether Henry was a vampire, but these thoughts were quickly interrupted by her introduction to her new BFF, Bella Thorpe, a young woman entirely her equal in half-wittedness.
To her surprise, on arrival in the city of contrasts, intimate surprises and contrasts, Cat found she had been invited to the Highland Ball! She wasn't entirely sure why Highland Ball! had an exclamation mark but she assumed it was the style of a Jane Austen parody, and so worried instead about her inability to reel. So it came as some surprise to Cat to be informed by her neighbours, the Allens, that there was a place called Edinburgh in Scotland and that they were inviting her to join them for the festival. Indeed it was not entirely clear she was aware of anything but the Twilight novels of Stephenie Meyer. Improbable as it may seem in the 21st century, Cat, as she preferred to be known (short for Catatonic), had never once left her small Dorset village in her 17 years. Though by the end of this one, she would be glad of all the distance she could get. I t was a source of constant disappointment to Catherine Morland that her life did not more closely resemble her books.
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