The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (19 page)

Cueing up took some time. There were a great many cats in front of him in line. As he finally got close to the entrance, he noticed an incredibly cute, soft-looking, chocolate-brown kitty out in front. She was holding some sort of list on a clipboard. Her hair was puffed up and perfumed. Caterwaul thought she smelled fantastic.

“Hi. I am Pudding,” she said as Caterwaul approached the door. “What's the name?” The music and noise coming from inside was a little loud so it was hard for Caterwaul to hear.

“I'm sorry,” Caterwaul laughed. “Did you just ask me if I wanted some pudding?” he shouted over the music.

“No . . .
I'm
Pudding,” she said laughing.

“Well, in that case, I would say the answer is most definitely yes. Pudding is delicious, especially chocolate.” He flirtingly extended his paw to her. “I'm Caterwaul.”

Flattered, the brown cat batted her eyes at him, but then suddenly became all business. “Mr. Caterwaul, I'm afraid that I don't have your name on my list.”

“What?” asked Caterwaul, distracted by the sounds and lights.

“Are you on the invitation list?” she asked.

“No, I am sorry. I don't have a formal invitation. I was told to come out tonight by a friend, a nice foreign gent named Gerhard, whom I met a few days ago. Hopefully you know him? He wears a hat.” Caterwaul said loudly over the music, and he motioned awkwardly to the top of his head. “I didn't realize tonight was a private party,” he said.

“Oh! Gerhard . . . of course I know Gerhard. He's a riot. We love Gerhard around here, although maybe not so much his breath. Pee yew. His teeth could sure use a good brushing . . . with some of the awful things he'll pop in his mouth. But he's all right. If he told you to come here tonight, then you are most definitely welcome.

“This is a birthday party for my cousin Muse. She is the most beautiful cat in the village. She's not here yet, but I guarantee that you'll know her when you see her,” said Pudding.

“Oh, it's a birthday party? No one told me that either. I'm afraid I don't have a gift, but maybe I could show her a magic trick or two. I'm pretty good at those kinds of things,” Caterwaul boasted.

“Magic? Oh wonderful!” exclaimed Pudding, jumping up and down. “Muse absolutely loves magic. This is going to be an exciting night. Please make yourself welcome, Mister Caterwaul. We have plenty of food and plenty to drink. We had the milk shipped in all the way from France. Those French cows are the best. Did you know they all speak French over there? It's true . . . I swear. There's just something about the milk from a French cow that makes an extra tasty cocktail, if you ask me.”

Pudding walked just inside the door with Caterwaul to show him where the food was. “They tell me that the horse's dovers are just to die for too,” she said. “I don't think they're made out of real horses, though; it's just what everyone calls them.

“You really should try the imported caviar too. It's one-hundred-percent bluegill. As far as I'm concerned, it's nothing but the best for my cousin.” She was tremendously excited.

“Am I forgetting anything?” she paused, chewing on her top lip in deep thought. “Oh and yes, we can't forget that there is Pudding . . . That's me,” she giggled, winking at Caterwaul and pointing to her chest before going back to the door.

The music was excellent, just as Gerhard said it would be. Caterwaul wasn't sure if it was because the musicians had once all been human players, as Gerhard had suggested, or if they were just a bunch of cats imbued with natural talent. One thing was certain: the felines providing the entertainment for this bash really knew what they were doing. They should all be commended for their exceptional ability.

The partygoers seemed quite pleasant, which was very nice seeing how of late he had been dealing almost exclusively with really rotten characters—Coy and Huxley being the exceptions, of course.

It was refreshing for Caterwaul just to be able to relax and enjoy himself for a change. After all, he'd been involved in what seemed like nonstop action since arriving in town. He muttered to himself aloud, “I wonder where the birthday girl is?”

Just then, as if on cue, walking into the old windmill was Muse. Pudding was right. There was no mistaking this animal. She was so beautiful that his heart skipped a beat. His blood started pumping so fast it was as if his ticker was trying to jump out of his chest.

And to make things even better, Caterwaul could see that she was one-hundred-percent, solid white. What amazing luck—here she was at last. Caterwaul could hardly believe his eyes.

Though Muse was surrounded by an entourage of cats, Pudding went straight up to her and gave her a hug. Taking her cousin by the paw, Pudding led the birthday girl straight to where Caterwaul was sitting on a cushion. Caterwaul jumped to his feet as they got close, because that's what gentlemen do when they are approached by a lady.

“Mr. Caterwaul,” said Pudding, “allow me to introduce you to my cousin Muse.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Caterwaul, “I hope you do not find it forward of me to say that you are even more beautiful than I had been led to believe, and they told me you were the most magnificent cat in all the land.”

“My, you are a charmer, aren't you?” said Muse with a smile. Her eyes were piercing and blue. “Remind me, cousin, that I need to come back to spend some more time with this one.” She glanced around the room and noticed a number of felines that she just had to talk to.

“Until later then, Mr. Caterwaul.” She made what appeared to be a curtsey, and he gently bowed his head. As she slid away, she looked back toward where Caterwaul was sitting and smiled.

He grinned back at her and waved his right paw. Muse thought that was cute, and she started to laugh. As he looked at her, her fur appeared to glimmer in the glow of the lighting.

Caterwaul was floored. This Muse was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. He stumbled backward for a second, off balance; for he knew he had been struck right through the heart by Cupid's arrow. He took a deep draught of the imported French milk. He couldn't help but notice that Pudding was right. Those French cows indeed made a delicious cocktail.

He addressed his reflection in the milk.
“Il est tre bon monsieur, merci!”

Caterwaul tried mingling with the other cats, but his eyes kept being drawn toward Muse. Wherever the birthday girl was, she was surrounded by cats. It seemed everyone wanted to be near her. “There is no way this one is getting away,” he said to himself aloud. But as the night went on, it didn't look like Muse was going to come back again. She was too occupied with her friends and flatterers.

Then something happened to put the game ball back into Caterwaul's hands. Several cats who were among those rescued from the cage had arrived at the party. As soon as they saw Caterwaul, they started pointing and whispering in the ears of the other cats. Pretty soon, word spread among the guests that there was a genuine hero in their midst.

One by one, they approached Caterwaul and asked him to tell the story of what happened. Then they started coming over to him in groups. Before long, he was surrounded by fawning cats. He listened as cats introduced him as the “heroic cat who risked life and limb to save hundreds of cats from certain death.” Every cat wanted to talk to him and shake his paw. The story spread quickly around the windmill in a fire of exaggeration, so that with every telling both the number of cats rescued and the level of peril increased.

Caterwaul couldn't help but notice that Muse started looking toward him more often now. She excused herself from the table where she had been sitting with a group and strolled toward Caterwaul and the throng. When he saw her approaching, he begged the gathering's pardon and promised to reveal to them the entire sordid tale if they would only give him an hour or so alone. Grumbling, the cats agreed, turned, and left him.

“Don't you know it is bad manners to upstage a girl at her own birthday party?” asked Muse only half jokingly. “So . . . they tell me that you're some kind of a hero. What did you do, help get a little old human lady down from a tree?”

“Yes,” said Caterwaul playing along. “Did you see me? I was wonderful. You know how it is with those humans . . . always getting into jams they can't get out of. Curious animals, they are.”

She smiled and looked down. “I know how I was when I was human.”

“When you were . . . you were human?” he asked her stammering.

“Yes . . . does that surprise you?” she asked him in return.

“Well . . . as a matter of fact, it does actually. I mean you move about so gracefully, I would swear you were a real cat.”

“I am a real cat,” she said. “I'm just as much a cat as you are or anyone else in this windmill, for that matter.”

“I'm sorry . . . That's not what I was trying . . . Oh, you know what I mean. Most newcomers . . . they don't walk right or act right. You know . . . they're not really ‘cat-like,'” he explained, “but you don't seem to have any of those problems . . .”

“Adjusting?” she anticipated his next word.

“Yes, that's it exactly.”

“Well, that's probably because I actually like being a cat. I prefer it, in fact.” She motioned for him to walk with her. “Most of us ‘newcomers' as you call us, do not act like cats because we don't want to be cats. We are absolutely terrified by what has happened to us. And how can you blame us? One minute we were living our perfectly uneventful lives as human beings in the village, and then one day, we chanced a look at a mirror—and presto, human no more. Instead we had been mysteriously changed into cats.”

She smiled one of those serious half-smiles and looked directly into his eyes. “So it's no wonder that most of us don't make the best cats. Because we're trying with every ounce of our strength and dignity to hold on to what we consider those last shreds of whatever it was that made us human.”

“But not you?” asked Caterwaul.

“No . . . not me.” She started to move away, hopping up on a handrail. He followed her. “I was never all that good at being human. I much prefer the way my life is now, as Muse the cat.” She had a sad look on her face, but it was an inviting one. He moved toward her and put his arm around her.

He knew there was a lot more to her story than she was letting on, but he didn't press her on it. Caterwaul was quite content just to sit there beside her. If she wanted to open up further, later on, he would be glad to listen. At the moment, however, the time for conversation had passed. She tilted her head gently and laid it on his shoulder.

18

The Party Crashers

“S
o when are you going to show me your magic tricks?” Muse asked him.

“Huh?” asked Caterwaul, who wasn't really listening. He was too busy enjoying himself just sitting there next to this unbelievably beautiful female.

“Magic,” she repeated herself. “My cousin Pudding tells me that you can do magic.”

“Oh . . . it's nothing more than a few little tricks mainly,” he answered, not wanting to reveal that he possessed any depth of skill.

“Do you like magic?” he asked her.

“My father used to do quite a bit of magic for me when I was younger. I must admit that I've always had a soft spot for magicians,” she smiled. “What trick do you plan to do?”

He started thinking of a number of quick and easy tricks he might be able to perform to impress her, but he thought none of them was good enough. Then it dawned on him—he might have found a way to kill two birds with one stone.

“I was thinking of sawing you in half,” he said jokingly, and she laughed.

“Oh no,” she said. “That wouldn't do. How would I get all of the mess out of my beautiful coat?” They were both laughing.

“Now what if I said that I could perform a trick that would get the both of us into Cathoon Castle and have the royal chef make us a grand five-course meal in honor of your birthday?” he asked her with confidence.