October 2, 2015 by David.Groveman
Anyone who owns a cat is aware that they are regal creatures. The King’s cat is a short story written for a younger audience that follows the adventures of the King’s favorite cat and her favorite King. With her King’s life in jeopardy and a busy schedule of eating and sleeping already on her agenda, can this regal cat save her Kingdom?
I sat before the barrier and pondered my options. It was too heavy for me to push and far too stout for me to rend asunder with my claws. So I sat, my stomach rumbling, knowing that all the food in the universe lay just on the other side.
What I needed was a tool. I had many tools in my collection but had not thought to bring one with me. It was an oversight I regretted now as I was faced with an obstacle that clearly required one. I could go and fetch a tool, but going and fetching were tasks far beneath one like me. So I sat and I waited until a suitable tool came by.
After waiting a short while, that seemed like an eternity, I was pleased at the sight of one such tool. It was an awkward and gangly thing and it did not smell particularly pleasant but I approached it all the same. “Mrrrrow!” I purred as I brushed myself along its knobby leg. It acknowledged its subservience to me with a gentle scritch behind the ears.
“Now what are you doing here?” It blathered incoherently, “Are you trying to get back in the kitchen?” It continued, not making a shred of sense.
I explained as carefully as I could, “Mee mrrrow rr,” but the tool seemed to not understand my simple needs in this case. So I rolled my head against the barrier and looked up, hoping the senseless tool would understand my actions if not my words.
“If I let you into the kitchen again, Cookie will kill me.” I assumed I was understood despite his nonsensical gibberish because he began to stroke my coat in long even brushes so I purred and stretched out my claws to let the tool know I was pleased with it.
“I’ll see what I can do,” The tool stood and strode away from me but instead of holding the barrier aside for me he shooed me with his foot and left me where I had begun.
“Merp rroow!” I demanded of it, but the tool was gone and had failed me completely. “Reeow! Reeow!” I called after it in the hope that it might hear my cries and come back for me. Yet the tool was gone, probably forever.
I sat, once more, and used my paw to clean behind my ear where I’d been scritched. The tool had failed me and I would not leave the stain of his failure upon my perfect fur. Once the ear was clean, I proceeded to the rest of my head and worked my way to my back. Suddenly the barrier shifted and the knobby tool returned. “Meep!” I shouted, and “Rowrowl” Hoping desperately that it would be held open for me to enter but again I was pushed aside by a tools paw-like appendage.
“Easy, easy girl…” it proceeded to make his noises that I couldn’t understand. I sprung my claws to show my full displeasure and prepared to attack but then I stopped short. The tool had brought something. He was holding it quite high and I could only smell it so I climbed up his knobby leg, my claws piercing into the limp fabric that clothed him, “Ow! You are hungry!”
The tool had brought a herring, one of the dried ones that were so hard to knock down with my paw, and a dish of milk. “Rrrrreerrow!” I thanked it. Then, to show that it had done well, I allowed it to stay and stroke my fur as I feasted. The tool prattled on making noises like “Who’s a pretty pretty?” and “You naughty little girl.” I humored him as best I could and wondered if tools in other kingdoms were less stupid. I ate at a leisurely pace and danced across the tool’s shoulders and lap. In return, it adored me.
I left the tool with a, “Brrremp!” scampering off and leaving it to whatever previous task it had been about and made my winding way towards my throne room. It called something after me but it continued to make no sense. My castle was busy with tools bustling about with great and tantalizing bundles of fabric and great trays of food that they would playfully try to prevent me from sampling from. Normally I might have followed these tools about to make sure they did their tasks well and that each silk and satin was kissed with my milk-white fur, but I longed for his lap and so I trotted directly to my throne room.
There he sat, in my favorite purple velvet robes. The robes held patches of soft white fur where I’d rested upon them before. I trotted past the rows of tools who would approach and bow before us and bounded gracefully into his lap. His kind gentle hand reached down and firmly massaged behind my ears, just as I loved. Here was my king and I curled myself on his lap and released a deep and satisfied purr.