Hume was the Chesire Cat’s cousin. Not striped. Not witty. And he was definitely not cruel.

Cheshire, or Cheshy, as he likes to be called around family, was unacceptably mean. One day, during a family get together, Hume remembered how Cheshy spoke trash about leading a some blond girl in circles through Wonderland. Cheshy smiled and chortled, his pink and maroon stripes glowed as he told cruel story after crueler story.

Hume lived in the city and, although Wonderland was all forest and countryside, he could not fathom how a country-bumpkin cat, like Cheshy, could become so city-minded with his sarcastic awfulness. Hume tried to confront him one day:

“That trick you played on those fat twins was awful!”

“How did you hear about that one?” Cheshy smiled his wide-wide grin. His mouth was larger than anyone else’s in the family — if anyone should’ve been made fun of, it was Cheshy.

Regardless of any argument, Hume was always wrong and Cheshy just pawed him away and kept up with his jokes and banter.