Blue Cat & The Golden Mouse By Ramsay Wood

Blue Cat & The Golden Mouse two cat tale samples from bookmooch.com

Bl ue Ca t An incomparable queen, gifted and beautiful to an extraordinary degree, once lived on an island to the East. Her Kingdom flourished. Her ministers were honest and her subjects were happy. Nearly a thousand handsome suitors, all of noble birth, had sought her hand, but Queen Ailla’s heart seemed made of stone. The only living creature she ever graced with affection was her white cat, Velvetpaws, who habitually sat poised on a silken cushion in the royal lap, enjoying endless caresses. Ignoring a succession of haughty, would-be suitors who looked on in envious fascination, Queen Ailla would stroke Velvetpaws’ luxuriant fur by the hour murmuring endearments. One by one the suitors withdrew, defeated by a blue-eyed cat. As is the manner of men everywhere, the people of Queen Ailla’s land took to imitating their sovereign by also keeping a favourite cat, and thus the word ‘copycat’ came into being. The fashion

developed until the island became a feline paradise. All human affection was lavished upon cats. Life continued in this way until one night Queen Ailla dreamed a strange and powerful dream. In a mysterious landscape she saw a blue cat with azure eyes. Around its neck hung a diamond-studded collar which flashed in the light. Blue Cat came close and gently rubbed his head against her cheek, purring . . . Queen Ailla woke with this image before her. She couldn’t get Blue Cat out of her mind. For days she wandered listlessly through the palace trying to fathom her vision. For the first time Velvetpaws was neglected. Off in a corner he slept quietly and uncaressed upon his special cushion. In desperation Queen Ailla finally summoned a famous magician whose speciality was dream interpretation. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked. ‘What must I do?’ The magician hesitated before answering. He coughed to clear his throat and shuffled his feet. ‘I am afraid, your Royal Highness,’ he mumbled into his beard, ‘I’m afraid,’ he continued gently, ‘that the dream means you must find a blue cat within a year or the kingdom faces disaster.’

By royal proclamation the magician’s words were relayed to the nation. People looked everywhere. The nooks and crannies of cottages, barns, houses, mansions, shops, palaces, temples, fields, forests, woods, caves, grottoes, copses and gardens were repeatedly searched. But nothing: there wasn’t a blue cat to be found. What’s more, no one remembered having seen or heard of such a creature. A huge reward was offered, but even that didn’t help. The months passed. Queen Ailla grew steadily thinner and developed a twitch, which greatly alarmed her ministers. They met to beg of their sovereign an extraordinary favour. After much highlevel discussion, a further proclamation was issued: ‘In the interest of national safety, Queen Ailla graciously consents to offer her hand in marriage to the man who within the next sixty days finds the blue cat of her dreams.’ Scores of young bachelors, rich and poor alike, decided to try their luck. Many prepared for foreign trips. Surely, they reasoned, a blue cat must exist somewhere. Ferries to the mainland teemed with eager adventures, each intent on seeking a blue cat and his fortune. But while these hopeful ones scattered around the world, there was one who

stayed behind, a handsome young rascal named Brislon – a draper by trade. He was not keen to marry a queen, particularly one renowned for such heartlessness to men. But Brislon was fed up to the back teeth with all this nonsense about ‘the blue cat of her dreams’ which had disrupted the peace for so many months. So he concocted a clever plan which involved certain risky preparations, and some weeks later, immaculately attired, Brislon presented himself for admittance to court. He carried a large, lidded willow basket. ‘And for what conceivable reason,’ imperiously demanded the Royal Chamberlain while he and several guards peered in vain between the neat interlacings of the basket trying to catch a glimpse of what might be inside, ‘could the likes of you want to see our poor, distressed Queen?’ ‘I have the blue cat,’ was all Brislon said. ‘For Her Majesty’s eyes only,’ he added hastily. ‘Now let me in!’ Reluctantly having done so, to everyone’s amazement, Brislon did indeed produce a blue cat from his basket, a brilliant creature of exquisite furriness, with azure-coloured eyes and wearing a sparkling diamond-studded collar. At the sight of her

dream come true Queen Ailla swooned back upon the cushions round her throne. Later she revived and, true to her promise, married young Brislon. There was great rejoicing throughout the land, and in the days that followed Brislon and Blue Cat were much pampered by Queen Ailla. As she increasingly absorbed the sunny joys of marriage, the stabilizing warmth from its loving companionship, so she in turn beamed more and more of her attention upon her handsome husband. Thus Blue Cat was left more and more to his own devices. And one day, while scampering across the palace roof, he slipped on a loose tile and tumbled into a tub of laundry in the courtyard below. When he emerged spitting and raging from the suds he was noticed by more than one member of the royal household to be patchycoated, with great streaks of white smirching his famous blueness. Ah, yes – Blue Cat was Velvetpaws dyed, and not, it was now obvious, indelibly. Queen Ailla was furious. Brislon was summoned. ‘You villainous imposter,’ she began, ‘you wretch, you bumptious trickster,’ she continued. ‘I’ll

have your head for this! I’ll teach you to tamper with the dreams of queens!’ Brislon simply smiled and asked calmly: ‘Most beautiful Queen, until this moment have you ever been unhappy in my company?’ His serenity startled her and she paused to consider. ‘No, but what does that have to do with it? You’ve tricked me.’ ‘Sometimes, Your Royal Highness, trickery allows us to understand ourselves better, even when we are its victim. For months your dream had no other form than a pulsating obsession, it undermined your health and caused a great deal of useless hurry and scurry throughout the kingdom. And while the magician revealed Blue Cat’s secret meaning, it was I who gave him functional substance, producing happiness for all – for you, for myself, for the people and even for Velvetpaws. Thus I should be thanked and not condemned. I risked my life to make this true, for if sooner caught it would not have worked. But I wasn’t and it did, and only blind obedience to uncaring principle can now reverse the joyful trend that blossoms up before us.’

His words stunned Queen Ailla into speechlessness. She felt her anger evaporating under this sudden flash of truth, and abandoned all reproach. For what was the sense of it? Indeed she was happy with this Brislon, her husband – the handsome trickster. She held out her hand and he kissed it. ‘So be it,’ she said. ‘I do thank you for what you have done. But I have one small request before we close the matter.’ She stooped to pick up the sopping Velvetpaws and handed him to Brislon. ‘Since it makes no difference now,’ she laughed, ‘could you please dye him rose-coloured this time?’

The Gol d e n Mouse An evil goblin once plagued a small fishing village in Southern China. His name was Pasang and his habits were particularly obnoxious: they involved the abduction of small children. Pasang would watch for happy children having fun – larking about, laughing and playing hide and seek, say, among the beached sampans with their stark dragon’s eyes painted on either prowside. Assuming the form of a child, a pathetic sobbing, snuffling toddler just that bit smaller than the rest, Pasang would come among them, rubbing his eyes, stumbling, not meaning to interrupt their pastime, it would seem, yet certainly appealing to their sympathy. ‘And what’s the matter with you?’ one of the children would ask. Wailing incoherently, Pasang would burst into tears and point off in the distance beyond the dunes or towards some bushes, indicating some incomprehensible injustice – perhaps a bully or an unfriendly stray dog. The other children gathered around and one, usually the nearest, would console

him, giving the goblin reassuring hugs or smoothing his hair and cooing endearments. Nothing however could placate Pasang. ‘Come along, then,’ the bravest child would eventually say, enlisting one or two others to put the matter right, only momentarily abandoning their game, they thought, to follow this poor little crybaby off in the direction he was indicating. These children were never seen again. Pasang however was seen again. Three times in a year he struck, using the same ploy to lead away two or three children, leaving behind others to report what they had seen. On one occasion he was overheard blubbering out his name to a little pigtailed girl. Thus the stories of Pasang grew. Roused by the frantic parents, the village elders blamed the trouble on a lame boy named Ho Tsing, an orphan in their care who acted as Supervisor of Children. He watched over them and played with them whenever he could, settling their petty disputes and being their friend. He had a cat named Gounda who was very popular. One of the cat’s best tricks was stalking prey, real or imaginary. ‘Gounda, Gounda, Gounda!’ Ho Tsing would call out. The cat would freeze.

‘I hear a rat!’ the boy would say, or ‘I see a mouse!’ or ‘Look at that spider!’ The cat would skitter off, leap around a twig, a beetle or a leaf, bat it about, prance along on her hind legs, cartwheel, attack, attack until all the watching children were clapping and laughing with delight. The lame boy’s cry of ‘Gounda, Gounda, Gounda!’ was famous in the village; it meant merriment. Nevertheless it was this lad that the village elders dressed down at one of their private evening meetings. ‘You have neglected your duty and indirectly caused considerable grief’, one of them announced, sniffing slightly. But masters, with respect,’ answered Ho Tsing, ‘how could I, a lame boy, stay with all the children at the same time? Their play has never been confined to one spot.’ ‘Well it will be from now on!’ another elder declared. ‘Aye, aye,’ agreed the others. ‘And this time,’ added the second elder, ‘you are responsible for every child. Woe betide you if we lose another one to Pasang!’ Ho Tsing thought to himself as he stood clenching his crutches. He realised he had neither

father, mother, brother nor sister to help him and that these villagers considered him a burden. He saw too that he must act boldly now, like a man, to uproot their contempt. ‘Masters,’ he said, ‘I will do better than that. I shall rid you of Pasang forever. We must, however, draw up an agreement in writing tonight.’ ‘What?’ the elders laughed. ‘You? Haha! How? Haha!’ ‘Excuse me, but never mind how,’ Ho Tsing insisted. ‘If I fail you can exile me from the village, as you probably will anyway should Pasang strike again. If I succeed, however, I wish to be given a house and ten acres of farmland.’ ‘This is preposterous,’ said the elders. ‘What if we refuse?’ ‘Then I shall take my cat and leave this village tomorrow. The story of your injustice will spread and you will still have to deal with Pasang.’ ‘Let’s not be hasty now,’ the first elder said, raising his hand to quell the angry mutterings that began after Ho Tsing’s last speech. He whispered with the others for a long time before agreeing. They had no idea how to be rid of Pasang and nothing to lose. They put aside a portion of the village’s land

together with a small house and drew up deeds in favour of Ho Tsing dated a month in advance, failure to dispatch the goblin in the appointed time to render the document null and void. They gave him a signed copy. Ho Tsing perused it carefully and signed too. Then he swore them to secrecy (it was part of his plan); the elders promised to tell no one. Ho Tsing was put in charge of a central playground to which children were escorted by their parents, elder sisters or brothers. ‘Now, children,’ Ho Tsing announced on the first day. ‘You know we are here because of Pasang and we know his tricks. Do not wander outside this area and please keep in sight of one another at all times. Remember that Pasang can assume any form he wishes except that of a mouse. So beware of anything strange except a mouse!’ Ho Tsing made this same announcement several days running. After a week, the shrill voices of so many happy children playing together in one place reached the ears of the redoubtable Pasang – whose appetite was aroused. Taking the form of a dragonfly, he hovered over the scene, waiting for an opportunity. Ho Tsing’s announcement about the mouse enraged him.

‘Am I not Pasang the Magnificent,’ he said to himself, ‘the Greatest Seaside Goblin of Them All? Does this callow cripple seek to impugn my reputation? I will show this limping upstart what I am capable of!’ and he buzzed off to a corner of the playground where he transformed himself instantly into a mouse – not an ordinary mouse – no; that was not good enough for Pasang, who was a perfectionist as well as a goblin – but a frisky, pretty, golden mouse with a long lovely tail and a tiny red bell around its neck, an amazing mouse that pranced among the children who squealed and chased it, never having seen anything quite so remarkable. ‘At last!’ thought Ho Tsing. ‘Gounda, Gounda, Gounda! I see a mouse!’ And that was that: end of Pasang, end of story. Of course some of the children cried, but later they were able to understand about the golden mouse and Pasang, about how things are not always as they seem.