My master is a wizard of some repute; anyone could tell you that simply by observing his library. Even if you had never seen his face before, seen him strut about in his fancy embroidered robes and pointed wizard hat (which went out of style ages ago), you would know he was a wizard if you perused the books he has collected. His private library is a font of knowledge, a den of arcane secrets passed down through generations of sorcerers, savants, mystics and soothsayers. Here, scribed on papers bound in leather, cloth and dragonhide, are all the tricks of the trade my master plies.
And it is here, in his library, that I spend the majority of my time these days, plotting his downfall.
Oh, it's not like my master has ever treated me unkindly. Quite the opposite: he took me into his home when I was alone, a poor sad victim of the streets. He keeps me fed, offers me a place to sleep, has nothing but kind words to say to me. He gives me free reign of his household and lets me come and go as I wish.
This is his biggest mistake.
You see, while I appreciate all my master has done for me, he does not see my ambition. The old fool treats me like an inferior, a pitiable being that is only there to make him look and feel better. When he invites his friends over, he shows me off as if I am some prized collectible. His ego is as huge as his library, but without the knowledge. At first, I did not resent him for this - after all, he is only human - but over time my ambitions grew, and I realized how my master is little more than a gloating fool, a doddering magician who doesn't deserve the knowledge he keeps.
Perhaps it is I who now have the ego problems, but at least I will take advantage of his printed works and use them to my own ends, not just performing cheap tricks before bureaucrats. My master truly lacks drive to be great.
I spend much of my time in the library these days. There is something truly wonderful about these dusty shelves, filled with all manner of tomes, manuals, journals and the like. They tower all the way to the ceiling, forming twisting canyons of thought, of ideas, of ancient secrets. Even I can feel the knowledge flowing through these canyons like water through a gorge. Its as if the library is a living creature, breathing not with air but with inspiration.
While my master doesn't mind me being there, I do most of my research when he is away. At first, I did not know where to begin. I observed carefully over my master's shoulder when he would read, sitting by the fireplace that he had enchanted to always contain a pleasant blaze. Then, when I was alone, I would go to these same books and read them myself. Granted, they were more advanced works, but I had all the time in the world to study them.
When I did find the practical books, the books for those just learning of magic, I had a difficult time getting them from the higher shelves...I am not blessed with height, as you might imagine. But I have a little ingenuity in me, and my master does keep one of those fancy rolling ladders close by. So I managed, and soon found myself curled up by my master's fire, with a small pile of books at my side. I feel a profound contentment when I read.
Now, in all this time, I have obtained a fair deal of arcane knowledge. I know of summoning circles, of the material components needed to cast certain spells. I have memorized the calenders, knowing that some magics can only be used when the stars are in the correct alignment. The hardest part for me was the complex hand movements required for certain spells, as well as the command words needed. I am...challenged in both those areas, I hate to admit. But it is a small trifle...I can improvise, work with the simpler magic until I can find a way to get over my lack of fingers and thumbs.
In my studies, I have also read more about my kind (for as you have surely guessed, I am not human). It is sad the way things have gone for me. Had I been born much earlier, I could have been revered, treated as an equal, received respect for hardly twitching an eyebrow. Sadly, those old civilizations are now gone, and my kind are forced into a life of servitude. We are admired like token objects at best, ignored or feared at worst. It is truly a miserable state of affairs for one as gifted and keen of intelligence as I. Humans think they are so superior...
Thus my mind was made up, and my schemes are falling into place. My master does not suspect a thing, and someday soon I will spring my trap and usurp his power. I'll lure him into the library - my refuge, my home, my real master. I'll have prepared many circles and spells beforehand, but he will not suspect a thing. I know these halls of books better than even he does, and it will be easy to confound him. Then...Oh, and then...!
But...patience. I still have much to learn. I have hurdles I must yet overcome. For now, I will play my part of the affectionate friend to my foolish master. I'll let him scratch my head, talk to me in that annoying voice he gets when he sees me. I'll even purr and mew for him, just to keep the ruse going.
And I will wait. Patience is a virtue. I can bide my time until a chance to turn the tables presents itself. Then we'll see who's drinking milk out of a saucer in the end!