Fur & Fortune Department Store

Blog

  • A Farewell To The Season, With Gratitude

    As the last days of October draw in, a deep and respectful bow from the whole company of Fur & Fortune. To every cat who ascended our staircase, sat upon our cushions, sniffed our perfumes, and wept at our prices, we offer our sincere thanks.

    The winter season approaches, with tinsel and treats and a sleigh in the Atrium drawn by two stuffed reindeer. We shall open on the first of November at nine o’clock sharp, whiskers waxed, lift polished, and Miss Pounce in her best gloves. Until then, dear patrons, rest well, eat generously, and mind the step.

  • Sir Reginald Addresses The Matter Of Pigeons

    Sir Reginald Tuftington wishes to address the matter of pigeons upon the roof terrace. They arrive at dawn, in numbers exceeding one hundred, and conduct themselves with astonishing impertinence, strutting along the parapet as if they paid rent.

    He wishes to say, firmly, that they do not. A strongly worded sign has been placed by the weathervane, reading: ‘Pigeons are respectfully requested to depart.’ The pigeons have read the sign, considered it, and left a small token of their opinion upon the letter P. Sir Reginald is thinking of employing a hawk. Miss Pounce has suggested an extra long nap instead.

  • The Tea Room Presents A Haunted Afternoon Tea

    For one week only, commencing the twenty fifth, the Fifth Floor Tea Room will serve a Haunted Afternoon Tea. Chef Crumpet has prepared a tiered stand of ghostly delicacies: a meringue in the shape of a spectre, a cold fish pie with a face, and a sponge cake that hums quietly when no one is looking.

    The price is 12 treats per cat, or 20 for two. Tea will be poured by an attendant in a bedsheet who is, we are assured, entirely human. Customers are advised that the lights will flicker at four o’clock precisely. This is not a fault. It is Miss Pounce, in the lift, doing her best impression of a ghost.

  • A Warning Concerning The Staircase

    In recent weeks the grand staircase has been the scene of several mishaps, most notably the descent of a large tabby on a tea tray, and the unfortunate collision of two aunts. The management wishes it to be known that the staircase is not a slide, a playground, or a theatre.

    Patrons are requested to keep to the left, to hold the banister, and to refrain from racing one another to the landing. The brass rail has been waxed to a mirror finish, and we cannot be responsible for the consequences. A cat who falls upon the stairs will be assisted by Mr. Clank, who will carry them out gently and with an air of weary dignity.

  • The Millinery Counter Presents The Pillbox Collar

    Gentle patrons, the Millinery Counter on the Third Floor is delighted to announce the arrival of the Pillbox Collar: a small round hat that sits atop the neck, tied with a bow, and designed to be worn at an angle of no less than thirty degrees.

    Available in navy, claret, and a shade called Wilted Violet, each is stitched by hand by Miss Dorothea Needle, who has not slept since Friday. Prices begin at 8 treats. Fitting is by appointment, and cats are advised that the hat will be removed within four minutes. This is not a defect. It is a tradition. And Miss Needle has been informed that she may now have a nap.

  • The Autumn Window Display Is Revealed

    At nine o’clock this morning, the curtains were drawn upon the Autumn Window Display, the work of Miss Philippa Bright, our Head of Visual Arrangement. It depicts a woodland scene in which seven mannequin cats gather beneath a papier mache oak to share a picnic of cold sausages.

    Observe the delicate rustle of the paper leaves, the cunning placement of the thermos, and the faintly sinister look of the squirrel in the corner. Crowds gathered on the pavement within minutes. A small boy was heard to say, ‘Mummy, the cats have more food than we do.’ Miss Bright has taken this as a compliment, and a comment on society.

  • Quarterly Address By The Proprietor

    Ladies, Gentlemen and Distinguished Felines, I rise before you, as the third quarter draws to a close, to report that Fur & Fortune has welcomed 41,200 visitors, sold 6,314 cushions, and caused only four serious incidents involving the staircase and a hat stand.

    I extend my gratitude to our staff, from Miss Pounce in the lift to Mr. Clank at the door, and to the patrons whose custom keeps our brass bright. We stand on the brink of autumn with our heads high, our whiskers waxed, and our stock of tinsel stored securely in the cellar. Thank you. That will be all. Kindly mind the step.

  • The Great Stocktaking Of The Cellar

    Early next week, the cellars of Fur & Fortune will be subjected to the annual Great Stocktaking, an event of tremendous solemnity. Eleven clerks, armed with clipboards and tiny lanterns, will descend at dawn to count each crate, tin and tassel.

    Last year the count returned a puzzling surplus of seventeen teapots, a missing barrel of cream, and one extremely healthy rat who wished to be considered an employee. He was granted a staff badge and a small desk. He is now Assistant Manager of Lanterns. The cellar will be closed to customers from Monday, and all enquiries will be answered with a long, tired look.

  • A Recital In The Atrium: The Mews Quartet

    On Saturday at four o’clock, the Atrium will resound to the elegant strains of the Mews Quartet, four cats of the highest musical aspiration. They will perform selections from Mozart, Elgar, and a charming work of their own entitled ‘A Noise From The Kitchen’.

    The first violin, Mr. Tobias Whiskerley, plays a fiddle strung with the finest catgut, a detail which he assures us is purely metaphorical. The cellist, Miss Clementine Fluff, has not rehearsed since June. Tickets are priced at 2 treats and include a small cake. Please refrain from conversation, applause during movements, or accompanying the music with a howl.

  • The Furniture Hall Unveils The Reclining Throne

    Behold, upon a dais draped in crimson velvet, the Reclining Throne, now available in the Furniture Hall. Constructed from walnut and upholstered in a sumptuous plum fabric, it tilts to seven positions and features a hidden drawer for treats, a cup holder for milk, and a small brass plaque reading ‘Do Not Disturb Me’.

    The Throne was commissioned by an anonymous lady cat in Mayfair who demanded ‘a chair that would hold her disappointment’. It is priced at 340 treats, with an additional 15 for delivery by four footmen. Patrons may test the throne for ten minutes, though Sir Reginald has been observed testing it for ten hours.