CHAPTER 13
Panna Catta
Unfortunately, it was a different square. Instead of asphalt there was cobblestone, and instead of cars there were carriages being pulled across the square by whinnying horses. Sitting behind each horse was a person with a switch. He’d use it from time to time to whip the horse and sometimes even people dressed in rags—those who hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t stepped out of the way. In the distance, instead of familiar multistory buildings,Baguette saw a castle that was surrounded by a gray stone wall perched menacingly on a nearby hill. Instead of the big city street, Baguette saw a winding dirt road leading down the hill from the castle. The road was bumpy and muddy. And instead of the usual shops with signs like “Flowers,” “Tobacco” or “Ice Cream,” there was a row of carriages and wooden stalls. They were filled with all sorts of barrels, kettles and pots, baskets with fruits and vegetables, trays of herbs and wooden slabs with hogs’ heads staring blankly at Baguette. Street vendors dressed in aprons and caps were walking around the stalls, periodically yelling something in an unknown language. Actually, after listening carefully, Baguette realized the language wasn’t so strange after all—it was French, his mother’s native tongue.
Behind the row of stalls was a single lonesome flower stand. Wilted bouquets of violets and roses were draped across the florist’s lap and a few trampled tulips lay on the ground beside her. She was dozing peacefully and since she wasn’t yelling, no one was buying her goods. Only a slim, spotted cat was sniffing around her flowers.
When he saw the flowers, Baguette was reminded of the Catlantic flower. He looked down at the cobblestone street— the white flower was lying beside him, whole and unharmed. Yet, there was something strange about it. Upon closer inspection Baguette realized that the flower had become somewhat transparent. Looking through one of the petals, he could easily see the gray cobblestones and even a lost horseshoe nail. In fact, he could see the nail more and more— it was as if the flower were melting before his very eyes. Baguette lifted the transparent flower and looked through it at the various stalls, at the castle wall, at an ash-gray cloud . . .
“Don’t disappear!” he whispered to the flower.
But the flower nodded its barely visible head in farewell, or perhaps simply drooped, and dissolved into thin air, leaving behind only a soft, pleasant aroma. A second later the aroma had disappeared as well.
“Shoo! Out of here!” Someone roughly kicked Baguette.
“Outta the way!” A whip cracked in the air, painfully catching Baguette’s ear.
“Scram, you ginger stray!” one of the vendors scolded, throwing a cabbage core his way.
Pressing his ears to his head, Baguette jumped out of the way in fright.
“Come with me,” he heard a voice say from behind. Baguette turned around and saw the spotted cat who had been sniffing at the flower stall.
“Come on! They don’t like stray cats here!” The spotted cat led Baguette away from the square, into the twisting, smelly side streets of the unfamiliar town. Avoiding people’s feet and horses’ hooves, they zigzagged between small stone houses with red tiled roofs, heading towards a destination unknown to Baguette. Finally, they made their way out of the labyrinth of streets and found themselves in front of the hill on which the castle was perched. Motioning for Baguette to follow her, the cat began to climb the hill. Baguette obeyed. When they reached the stone wall surrounding the castle, the spotted cat pressed herself flat against the ground and quickly crawled through a thin crack underneath its heavy metal gate. Baguette did the same and found himself in a quiet and beautiful park. Carefully trimmed rose bushes grew alongside the park’s paths. Past the bushes, on the shores of a sparkling pond, stood the castle. Birds were chirping happily in the treetops.
“You’re safe here,” said the spotted cat.
“Thank you,” said Baguette politely. “But who are you? I didn’t have a chance to ask you back in the square.”
“My name is Panna Catta Catricia Catilda de Purr de Purrie Claire de—”
“Holy claw!” interrupted Baguette. “What a name! What were your parents thinking?”
“They were thinking of my great future. My father is the Cat King of France and my mother the Cat Queen of Italy. . . Well, was the Queen, until she was given to the French Duke.”
“So now she’s the wife of the Duke?”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“How dare you! My mother is the wife of my father, the Cat King.”
“Wait. I’ve gotten a little lost in your family tree,” said Baguette smiling—he didn’t really believe any of it. “You said your mother was given to the French Duke.”
“Yes, the human French Duke. He lives in this very castle,” she said, pointing to the castle, whose tower poked out above the treetops. “My father is the Cat King of France, a pure-bred gray cat—he’s the Duke’s favorite. When the Duke received my mother as a gift, he blessed her marriage to my father and I was born. I am the Princess Panna Catta Catricia Catilda de Purr de Purrie Claire de—”
“Princess?” asked Baguette quizzically. He emphatically looked her over, noticing her elegant but dirty paws and muddy coat. “But would the Princess, the lovely Panna Catta Catilda de whatchamacallit . . .”
“You may call me Panna Catta.”
“Would the lovely Princess Panna Catta allow herself to look like that?” finished Baguette.
“If she wanted to look a certain way, then yes, she would allow it.” Offended, Panna Catta let out her claws—to Baguette’s surprise they were quite clean and well manicured.
“So, you’re a princess but you want to look like a stray?” asked Baguette, looking uneasily at her claws.
“Not always,” replied Panna Catta, retracting her claws. “Sometimes I get bored sitting in the castle and playing with my Bolognese puppy companion. So I get myself dirty on purpose and go into town incognito.”
“Incog . . . What’s so neat-o?”
“In-cog-ni-to,” repeated Panna Catta. “It means ‘in secret’— so that no one in town will know I’m really a princess. Because if the stray cats see a princess they start bowing and flattering me and warning me about possible dangers . . . How boring! Incognito is better.”
“I get it,” said Baguette. Then he hastily added, “Your Highness.”
“See! You’re doing it too! Let’s do away with the formalities, OK?”
“OK,” agreed Baguette. He looked hopelessly at a rose bush growing near the wall and thought about the Catlantic flower—the one he brought all the way from Catlantis, the one that had dissolved into thin air. Like fog. Like a dream.
“Don’t be sad. You can’t bring back the Catlantic flower,” the spotted Panna Catta consoled him.
“Yes, it disappeared, just like a dream . . . Wait a minute! How do you know about the flower?”
“I heard.”
“You heard what?”
“You.”
“But I didn’t say anything!”
“I heard your thoughts. I have white, gray, black and ginger spots—I’m a spotted cat. Spotted cats can hear without using their ears.”
“And what did you hear?”
“Well . . . You’re a ginger cat . . .”
“That’s obvious, you can see that!”
“Hush! I need to concentrate,” Panna Catta shushed him in annoyance. “So . . . because you’re a purely ginger cat you were sent back in time to Catlantis to get the Catlantic flower that gives cats nine lives. You got the flower but then it disappeared. Also, you’re lost. You don’t know where you are or what century you’re in.”
“Exactly. You’re exactly right . . . I don’t know where I am, what century I’m in or why the flower disappeared.”
Panna Catta licked her paw and began cleaning herself. “I can help you with that.”
CHAPTER 14
The Loyal Cat
“OK, let me explain,” said Panna Catta. “You’re in Fran
ce. It’s the Middle Ages—the fourteenth century to be exact. And the flower disappeared because you can’t bring anything back from the past. Something that belongs in one time cannot live in another.”
“How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows that. It’s written in the Cat-echesis—the great Catlantic Codex—on the very last page. You can’t take anything out of the past.”
“But if it’s written in the Cat-echesis, why did the striped oracle send me to Catlantis to get the flower?”
“How should I know?” huffed Panna Catta. “Although, wait. I think I understand what’s happened. The last page of the great Catlantic Codex was ripped out only a few days ago. We all remember what it said, but all of you—living seven centuries in the future—of course you’ve all forgotten!”
“Who ripped the page out and why?”
“A criminal. A bad cat,” said Panna Catta vaguely.
“Hey,” Baguette looked at Panna Catta with hope, “in your so-called Middle Ages, do you have Catlantic flowers? I mean, do you still remember what they look like and where they grow?”
“Of course we remember,” nodded Panna Catta. “And of course we have them. But you won’t be able to take them from here into the future, just like you couldn’t take them from Catlantis.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that. Can you take me to the flowers?”
“I don’t need to take you anywhere. There’s a catnip garden right here, inside the Duke’s park.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
“No, I’ll pick a flower and bring it to you. You wait here. I can’t take you any closer to the castle—if my Bolognese puppy companion sees you, she’ll tell my father. And I’m not allowed to bring stray cats to the castle.”
“I’m not a stray! I’m a free house cat . . .” But Panna Catta had already disappeared behind the trees. Soon Panna Catta returned with the flower in her teeth. Baguette took the flower—it was as white and as aromatic as the flower from Catlantis.
“Thank you,” said Baguette, smelling the flower. “Hey, since I smelled the flower, I’ll have nine lives! Right?”
“Well, if you stay here in the Middle Ages . . .” Panna Catta looked at Baguette flirtatiously. “Then yes, you’ll have nine lives.”
“And if I don’t stay? If I return home?”
“Then, having nine lives isn’t in your future. After all, you smelled the flower here, in the past. The flower’s magic won’t be effective in your time. And the flower will disappear again . . . I already told you that.”
“We’ll see if it disappears or not!” Baguette insisted stubbornly.
“Maybe you should stay,” said Panna Catta sweetly. “Do you want me to take you to the castle and introduce you to my father? I can tell him that you aren’t a stray but a foreign cat prince.”
“Why?”
“I like you,” said Panna Catta timidly. “In fact, I like you so much, dear ginger cat, that I, the Princess Panna Catta Catricia Catilda de Purr de Purrie Claire de . . . anyway, you get the idea . . . I want to marry you. We’ll live nine long, happy lives together in this wonderful castle. We’ll sniff the Catlantic flowers, eat fried quail, listen to the violin, play tag with my Bolognese puppy companion . . .”
“No,” quietly said Baguette.
“No?”
“No,” repeated Baguette, this time with conviction. “You’re a very beautiful spotted cat, but I can’t stay here with you. I have to return home.”
“You’re refusing me?!” Panna Catta’s green eyes flashed with rage, she let out her claws and arched her back. “Me? The Princess Panna Catta Catricia Catilda de Purr de Purrie Claire de . . . Anyway . . . Me, the spotted Panna Catta? Don’t you know that if I say the word a pack of rabid dogs will be released to attack you? How dare you! You . . . Wait, what are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Yes, you aren’t saying anything but your thoughts are racing.” Panna Catta retracted her claws, sat down in the grass and squinted. “Yes, yes . . . I understand . . . Why didn’t you tell me you had a fiancée? What’s her name? Oh, what a beautiful name, although it’s quite short . . .” Baguette silently watched Panna Catta. Finally she opened her eyes and looked sadly at Baguette.
“Your thoughts told me that you have a fiancée whose name is Purriana and that you love her very much. You’re staying loyal to her.”
“It’s true,” said Baguette, preparing for the worst.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll let you go. Love is a respectable explanation.”
“Farewell, spotted Panna Catta, and thank you for the flower. I’m going back to the square—I saw a big clock there—I’ll lull time to sleep and—”
“Not now!” interrupted Panna Catta. “Please, don’t stop time right now. It’s almost nightfall and tonight, exactly at midnight, there’s to be a trial in the square. Time has to be running as usual. Please wait until the trial is over, then you can do whatever you want. Promise me you’ll wait.”
“I promise. But why is this trial so important to you?”
“Because the Council of Six is presiding over the trial. My father, the Cat King of France and a pure-bred gray, is not only a member of the Council but also a witness for the prosecution. I don’t want your purraby to stop my father in mid sentence. This trial is very important to all of us.”
“All right, all right, I’ll wait until the trial is over. Who’s being charged?”
“A witch,” answered Panna Catta. “And her cat.”
CHAPTER 15
The Trial
A full moon hung high above the square. It was yellow and very round, like the eye of a frightened cat.
Meanwhile, on the square itself a crowd was awaiting the trial. There was just one human being; the rest of the crowd was cats, Baguette among them. The cats had settled in comfortably, sitting and lying on the abandoned wooden stalls—those that earlier in the day had been packed with wares of every kind. The human, a man of medium height in a gray coat, was standing off to the side with a notebook in his hand.
In the center of the square, right below the clock, sat the two defendants: a raven-haired woman with hazel eyes who was wearing a bright red dress, and a big black cat. Across from them towered an empty wooden platform. Everyone was silent.
“Please rise. Court is now in session, the honorable Council of Six presiding,” a loud voice boomed across the square. Stretching to their full height the cats all stood up in their wooden stalls. Only the black cat, the defendant, remained seated at the feet of the raven-haired woman.
“Rise, Black Tony! Rise!” yelled the cat crowd.
“Not a chance,” said the black cat calmly.
“Disrespecting the Council!” meowed a striped cat.
“Yes, disrespecting the Council!” echoed the other cats.
Disrespecting the Council, the man in the gray coat neatly wrote in his notebook.
“Here they come. Here comes the Council of Six. Tuck your tails in honor of the wise Council of Six,” boomed the same voice. Five cats proudly walked onto the platform: one white, one gray, one ginger, one spotted and one striped.
“That’s the Council of Six?” said Baguette.
“Yes,” said a whitish-ginger cat be- side him.
“But why are there only five of them?”
“You really don’t know?” said the cat in surprise. “The sixth member of the Council is the defendant—his name is Black Tony. There he is, sitting next to the witch.”
“That young raven-haired woman is a witch?”
“Actually, she’s one hundred and one years old. She just looks really good for her age,” said the cat. “Now shh! They’re about to read the charges.”
“And so,” loudly began the eldest member of the Council of Six, the white cat, “the defendant, Black Tony, former member of the wise Council of Six, is being tried on six charges. The first charge: inciting revolution. The second charge: attempting to seiz
e absolute power. The third charge: conspiring with a human—from which follow the last three charges. The fourth charge: breaking our Catolic vow of silence—you revealed mystical feline secrets to a human. The fifth charge: damaging Catolic property—you ripped the last page out of the Cat-echesis, the great Codex of the Catlanteans, and gave it to a human. And finally, the sixth charge: theft of the Catlantic flower—which you also gave to a human.”
“I plead not guilty!” yelled Black Tony.
“To which charges?”
“To all of them.”
The white cat frowned. “All right, then, we will go through the charges one by one. I must warn you, everything you say can and will be used against you. The first charge: inciting revolution. Black Tony, you tried to convince the Council of Six that six rulers is too many. You are quoted as having said, ‘One is enough. Then there will be no disagreements or arguments.’ Did you say these things?”
“I did,” said Black Tony, “and the Council agreed with me. You all agreed that one ruler is better than six.”
“Irrelevant,” said the members of the Council in unison.
“The second charge,” the white cat continued unfazed. “Attempting to seize absolute power. You tried to convince the Council to vote for you as the sole leader. Is this true?”
“Yes,” said Black Tony, “and you all did the same. Each of you tried to convince the others to vote for you as the sole leader.”
“Irrelevant,” said the members of the Council in unison. “The third charge: consorting with a human. Black Tony, after you failed to be elected as the sole leader—since every member of the wise Council of Six wisely voted for himself—you asked a woman for help. This woman”—the white cat pointed his paw at the raven-haired woman—“is a witch!”
“Objection!” said the woman. “I am not a witch.”
“She’s not a witch,” said Black Tony. “Witches are old, ugly and have warts on their noses—while she’s young and beautiful.”
“Objection overruled,” said the white cat. “According to our sources this woman is one hundred and one years old. Only witchcraft could make her so young and beautiful.”
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