If Baguette wanted to stop time so he could travel from the present into the past, his yellow cat eyes had to stare into the eyes of time for a very long time. And as he stared, he had to quietly purr a purraby about the place he wanted to go. At first, time would slow down, then it would begin to fall asleep, and finally it would stop altogether . . . Granted, of course, the cat did everything just right.
Baguette did everything just right. He climbed down from the attic into the yard, walked through a breezeway and ended up on a big city street. Baguette had never been there before but he could feel that the eyes of time were somewhere nearby. He quickly jogged two blocks and found himself in a square. And there it was, in the center of the square: a big gray clock tower. Baguette sat down across from the tower and stared intently at the clock. Then he began his purraby.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I long to travel far.
Hear me purr my purraby,
As I look you in the eye.
There’s a time I want to go,
Somewhere long, long, long ago.
Go to sleep now, purr, purr, purr,
Twinkle, twinkle, all ablur.
I will travel to Catlantis
To the island of cat bliss.
Sleepy, dreamy, meow, meow, meow,
Au revoir, goodbye, ciao, ciao.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
Oh, Catlantis is so far . . .
The cat stared at the clock and sang, while the occasional night-time passerby would point his finger at him.
“What a strange cat!” he’d say. “Sitting in the middle of the square and ogling the clock! Not moving a muscle, only purring!”
Baguette continued to stare at the clock and sing. Soon the hands on the clock slowed down, and the hands on the watches of the people in the street slowed down, and the people themselves slowed down, and the cars slowed down and even the plane, blinking its red light up in the sky, slowed down. And then everything stopped: the hands on the clock, the hands on the watches, the people, the cars, the plane . . .
Baguette looked around. The cars were standing stock still at the intersection, even though the traffic light was burning green—welcoming them to go ahead. Two people were frozen in funny poses: one was pointing at him and the other was standing on one leg—his other leg was suspended in midair above a puddle the person was just about to step over.
Baguette came a little closer to the people and saw that their eyes were closed. Then he looked up and saw that the airplane’s red light had stopped blinking—it hung motionless in the night sky. The cat was sure that all the passengers in the airplane were fast asleep in their seats. The pilot, too, was asleep in the cockpit, and the copilot and the dogs and cats traveling in the baggage compartment in cages . . . Everyone was asleep. Because time had fallen asleep.
Only the ginger Baguette was awake. He knew that he had to hurry, because soon everyone would wake up. He took a final glance into the frozen eye of time and stealthily took off across the square in the direction of the past.
At first, Baguette walked effortlessly, just like always. But soon everything around him—the houses and the trees, the square, the big street and the sidewalk beneath him—everything began to quiver, to melt, to dissolve . . . That’s when it became much harder to walk, as if the air had thickened and solidified, while the ground had turned into jelly.
And then, everything disappeared. Baguette couldn’t see a thing. All he could sense was a cold, gray emptiness all around him, an emptiness that made it impossible to walk since his paws had nothing to grip. All of a sudden Baguette felt like he was drowning. He was slowly sinking to the bottom of some unknown body of water. Just then, it finally dawned on him—he was in the ocean. The Ocean of Time. If I don’t start swimming, I’ll be stuck here forever! thought Baguette. So he began to swim. He began paddling energetically with all four paws, even helping with his tail. He continued swimming in the motionless ocean, going farther and farther into the past, until at last he saw a glimmer of light in the distance.
Baguette swam towards it. The light grew brighter and brighter, finally forming a blindingly bright orb. Baguette shut his eyes tightly, pressed his ears to his head and dived into it. The shining orb covered him in warmth, grabbed him and gently tossed him ashore . . .
CHAPTER 12
The Catlanteans
Baguette opened his eyes. He was lying on a warm golden beach, basking in the rays of the midday sun while lapping sapphire waves gently tickled his back paws.
Catlantis! thought Baguette and sniffed the air. It was filled with the honey-sweet fragrance of tropical herbs and flowers. Baguette got up, did some cat stretches—he arched his back, then rounded his back, arched, then rounded—and looked around. Fragrant flowers were everywhere—red, orange, periwinkle, blue, yellow, violet, white and pink, big and small, with thorns and without them, with small leaves that looked like lace and with huge leaves that looked like elephant’s ears. Huge chocolate-colored butterflies and tiny colorful birds flew happily from flower to flower.
“The Catlantic flowers!” whispered Baguette. “Now all I have to do is to pick a bunch and . . .” Baguette started in the direction of the big red flowers, then turned towards the little yellow buds, then noticed a thorny stem crowned with a velvety blue flower, then decided to walk over to the pink flowers with golden centers, when finally he stopped in thought.
“Which ones do I want? Which of these flowers give cats nine lives?” He sat down in the sand, scrunching up his eyes in thought.
“Maybe my ancestral memory will help me out? I’ll concentrate really hard and I’ll remember. I’m sure that the flower will appear before my inner eye. I just have to concentrate really hard . . . Yes, I’ll remember it, I’m sure I will . . .”
But the flower never appeared before his inner eye; instead, what appeared was a frankfurter. A big, pink frankfurter that the cat was dying to eat and also a fish head—a juicy trout head or maybe a salmon head . . . Baguette was very hungry.
Suddenly, something slippery plopped down on Baguette’s tail. Shuddering, Baguette recoiled, then cautiously looked back. In the spot where he had been sitting lay a fish. A giant whole fish, freshly caught—well, freshly jumped—from the ocean. A moment later, a shrimp landed next to the fish. The next wave brought a handful of juicy open oysters. Baguette licked his lips and looked around. The beach was covered in generous gifts from the ocean gods: mussels, squid and octopus were toasting in the sun, huge crabs were feebly moving their pincers, fish of all types and sizes stared blankly from their giant eyes.
“Lunch! Lunch!” came a loud and beautiful voice from up above.
Baguette began to eat greedily but after only a few moments he heard rustling coming from behind him. He turned around and his jaw dropped—the fish tail in his mouth fell to the ground.
Stretching sleepily, unimaginably magnificent creatures were coming out from the undergrowth. They were almost like cats, only twice as big as cats, twice as grandiose as cats, fluffier, stronger and more elegant than cats. Some were white, like fresh mountain snow; others were gray, like the sky before a thunderstorm; some were black, like the deepest part of the ocean; others were ginger, just like a carrot; others striped and still others spotted. Their coats shone in the sunlight and their eyes sparkled with a happiness that comes from not having a care in the world. Their tails were proudly lifted towards the heavens because they were not afraid of anything or anyone. They were the Catlanteans, the wonderful Catlanteans, the descendants of the god Pussiedon and the multicolored panther.
The Catlanteans came out from the undergrowth and began to eat. Baguette fearfully pressed himself into the sand.
“Look, what a precious little kittlantean!” A gray Catlantean pointed to Baguette.
“He’s so little! But he’s beautiful and ginger, just like me,” said another Catlantean finishing off a shrimp.
“Such a baby and already he’s trying to eat solid fish
!” said a striped one.
“I’m not a baby!” said Baguette, offended. “Sure, I may be smaller than you, but I’m an adult cat, a heroic cat who has come to you from the future . . .” His words were drowned out by the cheerful laughter of the Catlanteans.
“Of course you are!” laughed the Catlanteans. “You’re our little hero! You came from the fu-fu-hahaha! Who’s your mother? And where’s your father?”
“I’m an orphan.”
“There aren’t any orphans on Catlantis! Don’t be silly, little kittlantean, tell us who your parents are.”
“I was raised by humans. The Petrovs.”
“Humans?” The Catlanteans were surprised. “Who are humans? We’ve never heard of this animal, they don’t live here on Catlantis.”
“Humans walk on their hind legs. They don’t have claws or tails or fangs; they don’t even have fur, and in order to not get cold they have to wear the fur of other animals . . .” Baguette began to explain.
“Animals like that don’t exist! That’s too funny . . . You’re quite the joker, our little ginger one!”
“I’m not little!” Baguette spat back. He quickly buried his fish scraps in the sand and jumped into the bushes.
It seems they aren’t so wise after all, these Catlanteans! They don’t even know basic facts! thought Baguette, watching the Catlanteans from the undergrowth.
Meanwhile, the Catlanteans finished their feast and a white Catlantean with prominent whiskers spoke to the crowd: “Brothers and sisters! As tradition dictates, let us give thanks to the gods of the ocean for this delicious and filling lunch!” With these words, he spread out his front paws, tucked his tail and bowed his head in front of the ocean. The other Catlanteans followed his lead—that is, everyone except a black Catlantean.
“Catlanteans!” cried out the black Catlantean to everyone’s surprise. “To whom are you bowing down? In whose honor are you tucking your tails?”
“We’re bowing down to the ocean gods. They feed us and we tuck our tails in their honor.”
“Who else do you bow down to every day?” asked the black Catlantean.
“We also bow down to the gods of the sky and the gods of the earth,” merrily answered the Catlanteans. “They give us food and we’re thankful for it, so we tuck our tails in their honor.”
“We’re thankful,” mocked the black Catlantean. “Wake up, brothers, wake up, sisters! We are the magnificent Catlanteans! Why should we thank anyone? Why should we grovel? Why should we bow and tuck our tails? We’re only receiving that which is rightfully ours.”
“You’re wrong,” protested the white Catlantean. “The food of the sky, ocean and earth does not belong to us. We receive it as gifts from the gods.”
“From the gods? Where are they, these gods? Why don’t they show themselves? Why don’t they bring us these gifts themselves?”
“Yes, why not? Are they better than us?” A nervous energy began to spread among the Catlanteans.
“Hey, gods!” yelled the black Catlantean. “Where are you? Why don’t you show yourselves? Maybe it’s because you look down on us? Or maybe you don’t even exist! Hey-o! Gods! Come out!” All the Catlanteans froze in anticipation, but nothing happened.
“You see,” triumphantly continued the black Catlantean. “The gods don’t exist. That is to say, we’re gods. Fish jump out of the ocean for us of their own accord, birds voluntarily fall from the sky and mice decide to come out of their burrows. We’re gods—the only gods! We don’t need to thank anyone!”
“Yes, yes! We’re gods!” the rest of the Catlanteans joined in. “The only gods! We don’t need to thank anyone!” As the Catlanteans sang and danced they didn’t notice that the blue sky had become gray, the sun had hidden behind a cloud and the smooth ocean waters had turned into frothy waves.
“Look, brothers and sisters!” cried the white Catlantean. “Look what’s happening! The gods are angry with us! Stop dancing! Stop dancing immediately and bow down! Tuck your tails and beg the gods for forgiveness!”
“No way!” insisted the Catlanteans. “We’re the only gods! We won’t bow down or grovel ever again!” At that very moment a loud clap of thunder rang out. Baguette, still sitting in the bushes, decided to tuck his tail and bow down, just in case. An icy wind began to blow; thunder struck again, and with a silvery streak of lightning a downpour gushed from the sky.
“Brothers and sisters, look! Look how furious the sky gods are!” said the white Catlantean.
“Gods?” said the Catlanteans coolly. “It’s raining and windy. So what? The weather just took a turn—that happens. What gods?” As soon as they said this, a gigantic murky wave came crashing onto the island’s shore. As the wave rushed back to sea, the soaking, seaweed-covered Catlanteans looked at the frothing ocean in bewilderment.
“That’s strange, I’ve never seen waves that big before,” said the ginger Catlantean.
“It’s the gods of the ocean—they’re very angry with us!” insisted the white Catlantean. “Brothers! Sisters! Please, come to your senses and beg for forgiveness!”
“Never! We’re the only gods. We refuse to tuck our magnificent tails ever again!” said the Catlanteans stubbornly.
So that’s why the cat-aclysms began! That’s what caused the cat-astrophe. The Catlanteans became haughty—they angered the gods, Baguette realized.
“We’re the only gods!” cried the Catlanteans. “We’re the only ones!” They began to dance again, but the earth began to tremble beneath their paws.
“The gods of the earth are angry too!” said the white Catlantean. “That’s why the earth is trembling.”
“It’s just trembling because of our dancing!” laughed the Catlanteans. But in that instant a huge crack appeared on the earth’s surface with a shattering rumble.
“Earthquake!” yelled the Catlanteans in shock, scattering in every direction. “Help us! Save us! We beg of you!” But it was too late for begging. Quaking and trembling, the magnificent Catlantis had begun to sink. The Catlanteans began to run amok in fear, Baguette along with them, but there was no safety in sight.
“You’ve angered us!” a deafening voice was suddenly heard coming from the ground, from the ocean and from the sky. “We’re furious—you horrible, insolent cats! You don’t deserve Catlantis. Scram! Shoo!”
The wonderful Catlantis was sinking. Distraught Catlanteans were jumping into the water or trying to dig their way into the ground for safety, but the smartest ones climbed to the tops of the trees. Baguette followed suit and scampered up a tall, thick oak.
“Hold on tight, little kittlantean,” he heard someone say. Baguette turned around and saw a ginger Catlantean sitting on a nearby branch. One of his paws was tightly gripping the branch, the other was clutching a bouquet of white flowers.
“Are those the Catlantic flowers?” asked Baguette. “The ones that give nine lives?”
“The very ones.”
“Grandfather,” said Baguette (after all, the ginger Catlantean was one of his forefathers, his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-and-so-on-grandfather, but to simplify, he just called him Grandfather). “Grandfather, may I please have a flower from your bouquet?”
“You’re right, kittlantean,” answered the ginger Catlantean. “You’ll need this flower in that future of yours—the one with funny creatures who don’t have claws and tails. Here!” And the ginger Catlantean held out a white Catlantic flower.
In that very moment, the earth quaked one last time and the island submerged entirely under water. The place where Catlantis was only seconds ago was now just a giant vortex of water.
The murky ocean water took hold of Baguette and began spinning him towards the center of the vortex. Pitifully meowing and gripping the Catlantic flower with all his might, Baguette was streaming towards the black spinning eye of the vortex.
If I don’t stop time, I won’t make it back to the present—to my home, to the wonderful Petrovs and to my beloved Purriana! thought Bague
tte. But how can I stop time? There aren’t any clocks here! Poor me! Oh, poor, tragic, heroic me! I’ll die in this horrible vortex, this spinning, eye-like vortex! Wait . . . Eye-like? Like an eye! Why, it’s the eye of time! Baguette realized happily. It looks like a clock! And I, the ginger cat, I’m like the hands on a clock going around and around the eye. And, continuing to spin, Baguette began his purraby.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How far I’ve come, how very far.
Hear me purr my purraby,
As I swirl around this eye.
Poor Catlantis! Poor cat heaven!
Poor Catlantis—drowned forever.
Go to sleep now, sleepy time,
As I purr this sleepy rhyme.
I’m a ginger kitty cat,
Swimming in a vortex that
Swirls and swirls, round and round,
Help me, help me, not to drown.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
I have had to travel far . . .
As Baguette sang his purraby, the water in the vortex began spinning slower and slower and slower, until it fell asleep and stopped moving altogether. After he was sure that time had fallen asleep, Baguette stopped singing, grabbed the Catlantic flower in his teeth and began to swim, paddling with all four of his paws and even helping with his tail.
He swam and swam through the thick dark Ocean of Time; he swam, clutching the flower with his teeth; he swam, not knowing where he was going. In his haste to sing a purraby, he had forgotten to mention his destination.
Nonetheless, he really hoped that he would swim out of the ocean and end up in exactly the city square where he had started, not far from home. So when he saw a light ahead of him, he bravely swam right into the shining orb. The shining orb covered him in warmth, grabbed him and gently tossed him into the square . . .
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