The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (4 page)

Druciah countered, “I have no need for a cat. There haven't been any rats around here in ages. No rats nor moles, mice nor voles. My castle is clear of vermin of any kind, unless of course you include present company.”

The feline glanced at the stumbling guards, assuming it was they, and not he, she referred to. “No rats!” he exclaimed as he ran across the shoulders of one of the guards. “I am glad to hear that. I am much too valuable an animal to waste my time chasing vermin. Plus they taste terrible, unless, of course, they are prepared by a really gifted chef. As far as I'm concerned, I could go the rest of my life without seeing another rat.”

Druciah seemed as though she wanted to say something, but the cat continued his rant.

“You ever try to have a conversation with a rat? They have absolutely nothing to talk about. And most of them are just awful people . . . and dirty. You don't want to know about it.” He landed delicately on the windowsill. “No grooming habits whatsoever.” He took the time to clean his front paws again with a few quick licks.

“And I swear, if I have to hear one more time about which sewers have the best . . . ” he jumped again, “ . . . selection of wriggly things to eat, I think I will just lose my lunch. You know, a rat will eat some really disgusting things.” His eyes flashed widely. “I mean really disgusting!”

The queen was by now starting to show signs of amusement. Whether this was from the things the cat was saying or from the sheer ineptitude of her guards would be hard to say. Nevertheless a smile began to form in the corners of her mouth, and if one listened carefully enough, he might have detected some soft chuckling.

The cat railed on.

“Why I knew this one rat that would never shut up.” The cat continued to avoid capture as he spoke. “He just kept yammering on about this, or jabbering on about that . . . and this went on all the time, believe me, all the time. It got so bad that I had to sneak around the cavern on tiptoes just so he wouldn't notice me. It was important that I not be seen because, if the rat caught even a sight of this bushy tail, it was over. The next three hours of my life would be booked up instantly—and that, my queen, was time I'd never be able to get back.

“Sometimes he'd wake me up in the morning just to tell me that he couldn't sleep. Can you believe it? And he never felt bad about it either. It was like somehow he had the right to wake me up to keep him company. From the way he tells it, he was some kind of bigwig at one time. Rats,” he sighed. “No thank you, I don't need ‘em.”

By now the queen's brief flirtation with amusement had faded, and she became extremely aggravated. “What is wrong with you guards? It's just a cat . . . and an overly talkative one at that. Just grab him quickly and get him out of my castle. I can't believe that I have such inept guards. You can't even capture a little cat!”

Despite his impressive display of catrobatics, the queen's quarry calmly said, “I don't understand you, queen. You live here all alone in this enormous cold castle of stone. I would think you would go insane. It's so cold and empty, and it has no soul. You have no one to talk to.”

The queen looked at her guards as if to say
I have them
, but the cat shook his head. “They don't count. You don't talk to them; you give them orders. The only people you allow around you are your guards and servants, and from what I see, they seem to stay here more out of fear than loyalty.” He jumped again. “It must be terribly lonely for you, being here in this huge and empty place. I'd think that by now you would be tired of being lonely and that you would welcome a furry little diversion like me.”

Druciah stiffened, more upset by the cat's insight than anything else. “You, Sir Cat, know nothing about me, though you seem to consider yourself an expert.” Still, she turned away. What he'd said obviously struck a nerve.

The guards kept grabbing at him, catching only thin air. It was quite comical they way they thrust and stumbled in pursuit of the wise and unwelcome animal. But then the cat saw the queen was visibly shaken and decided to end the game.

He propelled himself forward and came to rest gently on a table directly in front of her. “My name is Caterwaul,” he said. “I will share my wisdom with you if you let me stay with you here in the castle.” Tired of the chase, he bowed his head to show respect.

Staring upward at Druciah with his big yellow eyes, he added, “Look . . . I need a place to live and you need a friend. So what do you say? Do you want to give it a try?”

The queen appeared to be sniffling, as if fighting back tears, when she said, “Well, I must admit, good Sir Cat, you are a feisty one.” She rubbed her chin in consideration. Just then the guard with the woven grass sack dove toward the cat and captured him.

“I have him your majesty,” said the guard triumphantly, “I have him!” The guard was grinning from ear to ear. He considered it quite an accomplishment to have been able to finally put that cat in his trap. He was so pleased with himself, he appeared to be dancing; but when he checked the contents of the bag, it was empty. The cat was gone.

By some trick, Caterwaul now sat perched on Druciah's left shoulder. Gliding around her neck, he leaned forward gracefully and whispered in her ear, “I told you I was an enchanted cat.”

3

Life in the Castle

C
aterwaul settled right in and within a short time became a fixture in the castle. Wherever Druciah went, her black-furred companion followed close behind. When she was sitting, he would curl up at her feet and just rest like he had had not slept in years. They soon became very good friends.

Caterwaul had been right. Druciah, after all those years of loneliness, really needed someone to talk to. The cat showed he was a good listener and counselor too. Before long, they were inseparable. He found that he liked doing the things she liked. If the queen wanted to read, then Caterwaul would read as well. Usually he could be found curled up on a pillow next to her or, at most, only a few feet away.

But what he really loved to do was play games, and she proved to be a competent and enthusiastic opponent. For hours on end, they would play. Often it was card games with names like penguins, tiger's eye, or three crowns. More often than not, it was Caterwaul who was victorious.

Sometimes if they fancied a longer game, they'd invite Warwick Vane Bezel III and one of the guards for a tournament. With four of them playing, they might indulge themselves with an adventurous game of “One and Thirty.” Caterwaul loved it when Warwick joined in. He took special delight in watching the commander's brow furrow whenever he would fall behind. And since in these games, for Warwick, losing was a regular event, his face often looked like a shriveled apple left too long in the sun.

Of course losing did not sit well with a man like Warwick Vane Bezel III. He had a terrible temper. The secret policeman's hatred for Caterwaul grew with every defeat. Warwick knew the cat was laughing at him, and he did not like it one bit.

These tournaments could and often did extend deep into the night. They would sometimes lose track of time and only realize how long they had been playing when the light in the oil lamps began to fade.

Caterwaul liked other kinds of games as well. He was especially fond of board games, which required strategy. When he lived back in the forest, he and the Witch would spend hours upon hours trying to outmaneuver each other. One day he approached his new mistress with a query. “How would you like to see me move castles?” he asked.

She stared at him incredulously. “Surely that is not within your power. You cannot actually move my castle from one place to another?”

He smiled and said, “Of course not, my queen. I was just asking you if you might be interested in having a game of chess.”

Warwick Vane Bezel III had a long history of hating animals. One could not help but notice this, considering he had spent most of his life torturing and subjecting them to all sorts of cruelties. He really didn't like much of anything, but animals were high on his list of things he didn't like. Oh . . . and animals who were smarter than he was, he hated most of all.

It did not matter if the beast was enchanted or not, or that Queen Druciah was obviously fond of him. Warwick Vane Bezel III considered Caterwaul the castle's lowest occupant. He was always spying on the queen's new companion. He did not trust him at all and was determined to catch him doing something disloyal, which he could show the queen.

But Caterwaul was loyal, and after months living together in the castle, he and the queen were quite attached. Where the queen went, Caterwaul followed. And there was no doubt that he had a mellowing effect on her personality. Unfortunately it would never last long. Some sign of happiness from the villagers below or a bit of news from some far off corner of the kingdom would bring back her bitterness.

This time, it was a wedding announcement that knocked her out of balance. It was brought to her by royal courier one cold Thursday afternoon. It was no more than a few lines on a bit of parchment. It seemed one of her former courtiers, Count Mikhail Freeholder, was getting married in three days' time. This bit of news should not have surprised her, for the count had been one of her more enthusiastic pursuers, but he was also one of the most worthless.

Count Mikhail Freeholder was looking to catch himself a wealthy wife. Though he was an aristocrat by birth, he didn't have two coins to rub together, and the queen knew it. In fact, her pet name for him was “Count Freeloader.” She was never remotely interested in him, other than as the butt of a joke.

But that was before the suitors disappeared. It had been years since any man had called on her, and now, even this Freeloader's attentions would be welcome.

“So the count is getting married,” she said aloud to herself. Not if Druciah could help it!

“Warwick!” she shouted to the commander of her secret police. “I have a job for you.”

Warwick Vane Bezel III snapped to attention. “What is it you want me to do, your majesty?”

“Count Freeholder thinks he is getting married next week. I want you to find out who is providing the nuptial feast. Tell him that he will no longer be needed, because Queen Druciah wants to provide the catering for the whole affair.” She laughed evilly. “It is, after all, the least I can do for my old friend, Freeloader.”

She tossed him a pouch of coins. “Give the caterer this for his troubles, then find out whoever is making the bride's dress, and tell him that we won't be needing him either.” She spun around laughing, impressed with her genius. She handed him a piece of paper with instructions on it. “Make sure that you drop this off with our royal seamstress. Tell her that it's a gift for our future countess. I want it made to those measurements exactly and those exact color specifications. And she needs to be quick about it. Time is of the essence. I will need it in two days.”

“Oh, and Warwick,” she added, “on your way out, tell Orris, my chef, that I need to see him now.” She smiled and giggled with evil delight. “As I recall, the count is deathly allergic to eggs.”