For Cat
S. T.
For my mum and dad
N. K.
Maximilian peered through the basket at the oily river and wrinkled his powdered nose. The smell of the city was harsh and sour, and everywhere seemed to be made of noise. He was not used to this.
Maximilian was used to silver dishes, velvet cushions and the very finest salmon soufflé. Maximilian was used to his beloved Countess Arlington fussing over him at least six times a day and eight times on Saturdays. Maximilian was not used to being stuffed into a smelly cat basket and sent off with one of the maids late at night and without so much as a sniff of his supper.
The maid in question, a rather clumsy girl with rosy cheeks, pressed her face to the basket. Maximilian fixed her with what he hoped was a regal stare and miaowed his “a terrible mistake has been made, take me back home at once” miaow.
The girl made little shushing noises. “Don’t worry, you silly scrap,” she whispered. “I’m not really going to drown you, no matter what she says.”
Maximilian frowned. He didn’t know what drowning was, but the way the girl said it made him think it wasn’t something nice like salmon mousse or tummy tickles. He could not think why the silly child had brought him out on such a cold, damp night to sit by a smelly river. Countess Arlington would be worrying about him by now. Maximilian started to scratch at the basket, taking care not to snag any of his beautiful fur.
The girl looked out over the river. “I don’t know quite what I’m going to do with you though,” she said. “And I have to go back soon.”
Maximilian let out a low, rather ungentlemanly growl and lay down with his chin on his paws. It was rude to growl, but the girl was being extremely stupid. Everyone, in fact, had been behaving rather stupidly today, ever since his little adventure with the soil and the mouse and the maid.
Maximilian lived in Arlington Grove, the most fashionable townhouse in London. To be precise, Maximilian lived on a red velvet cushion in the drawing room of Arlington Grove, the most fashionable townhouse in London. His cushion was set into the window seat to catch the afternoon sun and was extremely comfortable, but he had never seen the rest of the house.
Until this morning.
This morning the maid had left the drawing-room door ajar after changing the pink roses in the vases and Maximilian had followed her out and explored. He found a spider in a plant pot and pounced on it, scattering soil across the cream carpets. He left muddy footprints on the crisp white bed sheets in the guest rooms. He scampered down a long staircase to the kitchens, where he had great fun chasing some mice till one ran into the middle of the room and a maid holding a pan full of fat screamed and dropped it all over him.
Maximilian was quickly returned to the drawing room, covered in soil and dripping with greasy fat. Countess Arlington took one look at him, shrieked and ordered him to be washed with disinfecting soap that stung his eyes and got into his nose and ears. Clean and dry, he was put back on his cushion to sit quietly while the maids fussed around, clearing up the mess he had made.
Later on, the butler had stuffed him into the cat basket and the maid had brought him down to the river.
Maximilian stared at the girl, who was looking from side to side as if deciding what to do. He was getting colder and damper and had had rather enough of being cried at. It was time to take matters into his own paws. Somewhere out in the city was his home and Countess Arlington, and Maximilian wanted to be in that somewhere, not trapped in a basket by a smelly river. The cat basket was held shut by a small bar threaded through two loops on the front. Maximilian squeezed a paw through the latticed willow of the basket, wincing as a sharp piece of wood scratched the soft pad on his paw. After a little wiggling he managed to get close to the bar. He gave it a little tap and, as it clattered to the ground, sprang at the basket’s lid. It flew open and he leapt out. He heard a gasp behind him, but there was no time to lose and, ignoring the girl’s cries of “Come back, you silly puss!” Maximilian fled as fast as he could out into the night.
The city at night was a very different place from one cushioned and perfumed room. For one thing, there seemed to be feet everywhere. Rough, booted feet that kicked out at him, hobnailed clogs that threatened to crush his tail, daintily shod feet in T-bar shoes that stepped quickly away in alarm as he dashed past. The streets were packed to bursting. Maximilian could not believe how noisy the world was. Sounds came at him from every direction, and all of them were loud and harsh and not at all welcoming to a cat on his own for the first time in his life.
He ran till his paws were red and sore, and then he looked for a place to hide and rest. The city was a most confusing place. Whichever way he went seemed to lead back to the river, a great expanse of water that glistened in the moonlight and smelled like… Maximilian tried to think of what it smelled like, but his whole life he had been surrounded by perfume and talcum and dried pieces of flower called potpourri. The only smell he knew he didn’t like was flea powder and even that smelled better than this. It was a smell that had something fishy in it, but not the sort of fish that Maximilian thought he would want to eat.
Maximilian decided to ignore the fact that his tummy was feeling empty. There was a bridge a little way ahead of him where a cat might, if a cat were lucky, find somewhere soft to lie down. He was tired and had missed at least two of his daily catnaps, so it was time to catch up.
More important even than a catnap, it was time for one of his tail grooms. Maximilian was a beautiful cat, but he was particularly proud of his tail. It was long and white and gloriously fluffy. Countess Arlington said that it was like a feather duster (not that she had ever had cause to use a feather duster). She called Maximilian “my fluffy angel”, which he loved. Having such a magnificent tail does not come by luck or accident, however, and it was sheer hard work, and eight grooms a day, that kept Maximilian’s looking so wonderful. He sneaked a look back at it. It was a little bedraggled and grubby on account of the damp puddles he had run through, and he was going to have to give it particular attention to bring it up to his usual standard.
There was nothing soft to lie down on under the bridge, only hard brickwork and dust that made Maximilian shudder with dismay. How he wished that he was back on his comfy window cushion, with the soft velvet pile that lay in just the right direction for his fur. He padded around, testing the ground with a paw to see if there was anywhere that was clean.
“Well, pick a place and be quick about it,” said a voice somewhere in the dark. “Some of us have been hunting all day.”
Maximilian froze. The maids at Arlington Grove had been very fond of telling him he was spoiled and that out in what they called “the real world” cats were not treated as well as he was. One rather spiteful girl in particular would delight in holding him up to the window to point out stray cats in the street below. They looked scruffy and ill cared for with their scraggy tails and matted fur. “Proper cats, that’s what they are. Not pampered balls of fluff. They’d make mincemeat of you, my lad,” the girl would say, shaking Maximilian so roughly that his fur would feel quite out of sorts. What if this were one of those strays, come to make mincemeat of him?
“I put that a little bluntly,” said the voice. “There’s plenty of space, but I’m really very tired.” From the shadows at the edge of the bridge there emerged a sleek black cat. It had one startlingly green eye and both of its ears were torn, but its coat was glossy and well kept and it moved with elegance and poise.
“I’m sorry,” Maximilian said, relaxing enough to remember his manners. “Am I trespassing?”
The black cat cocked its head to the side and studied Maximilian with its one eye. Maximilian began to feel rather self-conscious. He pul
led his tummy in and tried to stand up a little straighter. Eventually the cat said, “You’re a little on the posh side for this part of town.”
Maximilian nodded. “I’m just … visiting,” he said.
“Hungry?” asked the cat.
Maximilian was about to say “no”, but before he could, his tummy let out a groan that most emphatically meant “yes”. The black cat smiled and fetched something small and furry from a mound in the corner. “Mouse,” it said. “Quite fresh.”
“I’ve never had mouse,” Maximilian said, nosing the furry scrap.
The black cat nodded. “I suppose you’re one of those big city cats who only eat the best salmon. How did you end up here?”
In between tasty morsels of mouse (such a delicious meal) Maximilian told the black cat all about Arlington Grove, and about life with his beloved Countess, and how much she would be missing him. Maximilian told the cat about the Countess’s dinner parties and the concerts she would host in the drawing room of Arlington Grove and about how she liked to hold cocktail parties where her elegantly dressed friends stood around the grand piano singing songs from musicals and making the sound that he made when someone stood on his tail.
The black cat’s one good eye narrowed a little. “It sounds like a very comfortable life,” he said, “if a little … small.”
Maximilian bristled. Life with the Countess had been wonderful. What would a stray alley cat know anyway?
“One room was never enough for me,” the black cat said. “A cat needs space to feel alive.”
“One room was plenty for me,” Maximilian said, ignoring how much fun it had been to scamper through the corridors of Arlington Grove and how disappointed he had been when the butler caught him. “There was always plenty to see from the window, more than you could ever imagine.”
At this the black cat raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said. “I wonder. Can you climb?”
An hour later they were on the rooftops. Maximilian had marvelled at the deftness with which the black cat (whose name was Oscar) scaled the buildings, leaping across window sills and turning in mid-air to catch the edge of a drainpipe. Maximilian had followed slowly, opting for the safety of fire-escape staircases and needing to be coaxed into jumping from one rooftop to another.
“Are you a cat or a human?” Oscar said at the fifth jump. “Hurry up. We’re almost there.”
Maximilian glared at him. He did not like being laughed at and he was sure that all these acrobatics had made his fur scruffy. What must his glorious fluffy tail look like? He paused at the edge of a rooftop and examined it for dirt smudges. “Almost where?” he said irritably.
“You’ll see,” said Oscar, flipping himself backwards over the edge and landing on the guttering of the roof opposite. He disappeared over the top of the curved roof and from the other side Maximilian heard his voice call out, “You’re going to miss it if you don’t hurry up!”
Maximilian followed carefully, trying not to slip on the tiles. At the top he paused.
Beneath him, the great city spread like a carpet of lights twinkling in the darkness. Up on the rooftops it was quieter. The noise of the streets softened and blurred into a gentle hum. Above them the moonlight glowed behind the clouds, picking out their billowing shapes in the inky purple sky.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Oscar said. “The first time I came up here I just sat and stared at it for hours. The best part is coming soon though. Just sit quietly.”
Maximilian did as he was told. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to look out at the city. He had lived his entire life in one room and now here he was, sitting on the top of a building watching the whole world pass by below. He stared out at the lights and wondered which ones were shining from his old room and whether he would ever get home again. It was a thought that made his heart feel heavy.
The city hummed on, its drone rising and falling. Then, above the muffled hum of the streets, Maximilian heard a single musical note, sweet and clear, cut through the night air. Another note joined in, and the two chased each other up and down the scales as if the notes were bouncing around the stars above. The music grew louder and swelled, more and more instruments joining in, till the whole sky seemed to be full of it. It was the most beautiful sound Maximilian had ever heard. He felt as if he was being lifted off the rooftop. He looked down to check that his paws were still in contact with the slates and heard Oscar laugh.
“That’s how I felt the first time I heard it,” the black cat said.
Maximilian pricked up his ears, eager to absorb every note. “What is it?” he whispered. “Where are we?”
Oscar smiled. “We are at the Theatre Royal,” he said. “The home, my friend, of the finest acting, the best ballet and the most exquisite music in the whole wide world. I come here every night to sit and listen or to watch the show.”
“Watch?” Maximilian said, puzzled. “How?”
Oscar motioned towards the centre of the roof where there was a great glass dome, shimmering with light. Maximilian padded over to it, looked down and gasped at the sight. A great cavern of a room opened up below him, packed with society ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. They were seated row upon row before a gleaming stage on which dancers in sparkling costumes whirled and jumped as the music played on.
“That is the theatre itself,” Oscar said, joining him at the dome.
“Have you ever been inside?” Maximilian asked.
Oscar shook his head. “My days of being an indoor cat are long gone,” he said. “Besides, this is not an establishment that welcomes cats.”
Maximilian stared down at the finery beneath him and had an idea. The Countess often liked to go to the theatre. She would put on her best frock and her most dazzling jewels and set off for the evening, and be gone for hours. She and Count Arlington would return after midnight, with a programme decorated with tassels and embossed with the name of the theatre. Countess Arlington would stay up drinking champagne in the drawing room while ignoring the Count’s yawns. She would tell Maximilian what a wonderful time she had had and who she had seen in the glamorous boxes, and whose dresses or jewels had been inferior to hers. Could she be down there somewhere, dressed in one of her beautiful gowns?
“I want to go inside,” he said. “If we can find a way.”
The Theatre Royal was even grander than Arlington Grove. The front facade was cream stone with no fewer than nine marble columns, up which snaked carved lilies and ivy. At the top, supported by the columns, was a great triangular frieze where statues of nymphs and shepherds played music on lutes and harps. Light poured out of the front of the building through rows of round windows, and the shadows of theatregoers could be glimpsed gliding elegantly to and fro inside. The entrance was a row of six doors with leaded glass, guarded by liveried doormen in bottle-green top hats who reminded Maximilian of the stern footmen at Arlington Grove.
Maximilian and Oscar stood in the shadows across the street. They had been waiting for the right moment for Maximilian to sneak past the doormen into the lobby, but the doors had remained firmly closed. Oscar tilted his head as if listening for something. From inside the building came a pattering sound like light rain.
“Ah,” he said, “applause. We must have reached a break in the show. Some people might leave now if they have dinner invitations they simply cannot miss. Keep watch. The doors will open soon.”
As if to confirm Oscar’s words, one of the doors swung open and a gentleman dressed in top hat and tails stepped out, swinging a silver-tipped cane.
“Now’s your chance, if you’re sure about this?” Oscar said.
“I am,” said Maximilian, his eyes fixed on the door.
“I shall leave you then, and wish you good luck with your adventure,” said Oscar. Really, he did have the most perfect manners. “I’m often on the roof, if you want to come and say hello. It’s been a delight to meet a cat with such good taste.” And he padded off into the night, a sleek shadow mingling with the others
in the street.
Maximilian watched him leave, then when one doorman was distracted by a woman in a long mink cloak asking him to call her a cab, he bounded up the steps, slipped through the open door and passed into the lobby.
The sight made his whiskers curl. The lobby was packed with society ladies in tasselled evening gowns, and gentlemen in evening suits. The beautiful music had been replaced with high-pitched chatter and the clink of glasses as waiters slipped easily through the crowd, trays of champagne held high. Maximilian moved forward, feeling his paws sink into the luxurious red carpet.
Ahead of him was a sweeping staircase, the long mahogany handrail shining almost as brightly as the gold fretwork on which it rested. Standing on the middle stair was a woman in a knee-length teal satin gown, a mink stole flung over one shoulder. Maximilian’s fur stood on end. The Countess had a dress very much like this. He let out his “here I am and I should like to go home, please” miaow and was halfway up the stairs when the door at the top opened and a man with the bushiest moustache Maximilian had ever seen announced in a booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for the second act.”
Still chattering, the crowd surged forwards and Maximilian found himself swept up the stairs, desperately avoiding being trampled underfoot as the theatregoers hurried back to their seats. The door at the top of the stairs grew closer and closer and before he could let out a miaow of alarm he was inside the great theatre itself.
Maximilian looked around. The audience was excitedly settling itself into row upon row of claret velvet seats. Above him he could hear the shuffles and chatter of people taking their seats in three great half-circles of galleries that curved round above the stage. Everything was richly decorated with gold and lit by hundreds of lamps. Maximilian looked up to the great glass dome in the ceiling and squinted to see if he could spot the shadow of Oscar looking down on him.
The Disappearing Diva Page 1
