Puss Returns, a short fairy tale

Puss returns

Luke Millerson, also known as the Marquis of Carrabas, also know as ‘my son-in-law, the Heir Apparent’ to King Floriano, also known as ‘darling’ to Princess Mafalda, was worried.

His cat, who was responsible for every other name he possessed beyond the first, was looking old.  Luke stroked Puss, who climbed onto his lap.  He did not bother with boots and the rakish hat since he had got Luke installed as the loving husband of the princess, because they weren’t comfortable for a cat.

“Oh Puss!  What is wrong with you?” asked Luke, gently doing Puss’s ears.

“Old age, my boy,” said Puss.  “I’m older than you, remember; I have been sleeping beside you since you were born, as I did with your brothers, until they started pushing me off.  You never did.  It’s old for a cat, even a magical cat.”

“Oh Puss!” Tears stood in Luke’s eyes.  “I was hoping you would enjoy many years of being pampered as Milord Mouser of the ogre’s castle.”

“I’ve enjoyed the pampering, and I confess in my old age, it’s been pleasant.  But it’s time to move on.”  He hesitated.  “Princess Mafalda is with child.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure; I can smell it.  We cats have infinitely superior noses to the silly things you humans have, even if not as developed as dogs.  But then, dogs have no spare brains to think about anything but smells.”

Luke took no notice of the insult to the castle dogs, which were working dogs, bred to hunt.  It was just Puss’s way, and he slept with the dogs without contretemps anyway.

“Thank you for telling me,” said Luke.

“I’m doing more than telling you,” said Puss.  “I’ve a mind to be reborn as the baby.”

“How can you if she’s already with child?” asked Luke.

“And when does the church decree that a child is a child?”

“When it quickens, or moves, in the womb…oh!”

“Exactly.  At the moment it’s nothing but a few lumps of flesh no bigger than a dewclaw.  But if I time dying just right, I may be with you longer, though I won’t remember a lot until I grow up.”

Luke broke down at that point, and cried into Puss’s fur.

Puss put up with it.

“Oh Puss, it won’t be the same.”

“No; but I can’t live forever, you know, but your family needs my brains to survive.”

“That’s true enough,” sighed Luke.

A month later, Luke woke up to find Puss stiff and dead on his feet on the big four-poster bed he shared with his wife; and Mafalda gasped and put her hand to her belly.

“Oh, my darling, the baby stirred!”

“I am glad,” said Luke, who was pretty certain this was a sign from Puss, who was stirring the baby well before most people felt a child quicken.  He buried Puss in the castle grounds, with a magnificent tombstone of marble, and tried to be more pleased about the baby than he was distraught for missing Puss.

***

In due course, Princess Mafalda was delivered of a baby boy, whose eyes quickly changed from kitten-blue to rich green.  They named him Tybalt, because it suited a prince amongst cats; though Luke had not confided to his wife what Puss had intended.  And Tybalt grew up to be a clever boy, and a great magician, and was court magician for many years before first his grandfather, and then his father, succumbed to old age and died.  And then he ruled for himself and his reign was a golden period of wisdom and peace and plenty.  His heirs were all magicians too, and did well by the kingdom, but the reign of King Tibbles was like none other, and his people lived happily ever after.