Soon the kittlanteans grew into Catlanteans and gave birth to their own kittlanteans, who gave birth to more kittlanteans, and so on and so on. White, gray, black, ginger, striped and spotted Catlanteans populated Catlantis, and every Catlantean lived nine long and happy lives. The Catlanteans inherited wit and beauty from their ancestress, the multicolored panther, and magical abilities from the god Pussiedon. The Catlanteans could travel through time and space in a matter of seconds, they could see without using their eyes, they could hear without using their ears and they understood the fundamentals of both white and black magic.
On the island of Catlantis it was always summer, and the fragrant herbs and flowers grew year-round. The warm waters of the Catlantic Ocean lapped at its shores. Their turquoise waves brought fish, shrimp and oysters from the depths of the ocean and left them on the shore—gifts to the Catlanteans from the ocean gods. Three times a day, delicious birds would fall from the sky—leftovers from the sky gods’ feasts. And by order of the earth gods, mice would voluntarily leave their burrows and wait patiently for the Catlanteans to catch them.
Day after day the Catlanteans swam, sang, wrote poetry and lounged in the sun. They ate the gifts of the ocean, sky and earth. They thanked the gods and brought up little kittlanteans. Everyone lived in peace and happiness—that is, until the cat-aclysms began. The island was struck by hurricanes and downpours, earthquakes and tornadoes, twisters and gales . . . and then came the cat-astrophe: the island began to sink. In only a few hours the beautiful Catlantis sank all the way to the bottom of the Catlantic Ocean!
Almost all the Catlanteans sank along with the island. Only a few survived—those who, at the very beginning of the cat-astrophe, scampered up trees and dug their claws into the bark. The storm winds ripped the trees from the ground and hurled them far into the ocean. The trees swayed on the waves and the surviving Catlanteans clung to them for dear life, watching from a safe distance as their wonderful, cherished island sank beneath the waters.
When the island finally disappeared, the Catlanteans all burst into tears.
“This is the end!” cried one.
“Our homeland is gone!” cried another.
“We’ll drown!” lamented some.
“We’ll be eaten by sharks!” sobbed others.
Only six Catlanteans remained calm. One was white, like fresh mountain snow, the second gray, like the sky before a thunderstorm, the third black, like the deepest ocean, the fourth ginger, like a carrot, the fifth striped and the sixth spotted. Silent and intent, they were looking at the horizon, each clutching a bunch of Catlantic flowers saved from their lost island.
“It seems we alone have kept a cool head at this unprecedented hour,” said the ginger Catlantean. “We’re the only ones who thought to save the Catlantic flowers, the flowers whose fragrance gives us nine lives.”
“Yes, yes,” replied the white Catlantean. “Now we must preserve these flowers for all our brothers and sisters.” He watched the trees as they floated by—frightened Catlanteans clung to them like wet leaves.
“Why would we do that?” said the black Catlantean. “If we share there will be less for us.”
“No! We should take pity on them, they all need our help!” said the spotted one.
“She’s right,” agreed the striped one. “I can see it clearly with my third eye: if we do not want to disappear from the face of the earth, the surviving Catlanteans must help each other.”
“And so we shall,” declared the gray Catlantean. “We shall help all of them. We shall find our way to the mainland and replant our Catlantic flowers somewhere new and wonderful.” Looking around, he added: “Preferably, somewhere far from water.”
“We will become the wise rulers of a new country!” said the ginger one.
That is when the Catlanteans created the Council of Six—the famous Catlantic council, which to this day consists of the six wisest representatives of each Catlantic breed: white, gray, black, ginger, striped and spotted.
Soon enough, the surviving Catlanteans reached solid ground. They inspected every corner of the world, planting a Catlantic flower in each one. They walked the earth six times over but never found a country as wonderful as the one they had lost. Resigned to their new life, the Catlanteans scattered about the world. They tried to keep away from large expanses of water, settling in woods, bogs and cities, making homes in basements and attics, colonizing dumpsters and human homes. In short, the mighty Catlanteans turned into the most ordinary of cats. Unlike their ancestors, who had loved splashing about in the ocean, they shuddered even at the tiniest spray of water. The memory of the great vortex that swallowed up their wonderful island remained forever in their hearts.
But the saddest thing of all was that the cats gradually began to lose the magical abilities they had inherited from Pussiedon. They forgot how to travel in time and space, how to see without using their eyes and to hear without using their ears and how to practice white and black magic.
That is when the wise Council of Six gathered atop Mount Aracat in faraway Catmandu. They waited until there was a full moon and prayed in desperation to their ancestor, Pussiedon.
“O Father!” yelled the members of the Council. “As you can see, we’re now just ordinary cats! We barely resemble the wonderful Catlanteans. Yes, we still have the Catlantic flowers and we still have nine lives—but who needs all those lives when we’ve lost our homeland and are now losing our magical powers? Take pity on us, O powerful Pussiedon, take pity on your children! Please, leave us with something from the wonderful Catlanteans!”
And the mighty Pussiedon took pity on the cats. He left each breed with one magical ability.
Striped cats were left with the ability to see without using their eyes: that is, they could look into the past and foretell the future.
Spotted cats were left with the ability to hear without using their ears: that is, they could read people’s minds.
Ginger cats were left with the ability to time travel: that is, they could travel between the past, the present and the future.
Gray cats were left with the ability to cross the frontiers of space: that is, they could travel from east to west to north to south in a mere instant.
White cats were left with the ability to practice white magic.
And black cats were left with the ability to practice black magic.
That night the Council of Six thanked Pussiedon. As the sun rose they left Mount Aracat—each one of them possessing a single magical power.
To this day, most, though not all, cats have one of these magical powers.
CHAPTER 9
The Prediction
The oracle finished her story and stretched gracefully in her rocking chair. Baguette and Purriana sat on the floor silently pressed up against each other.
“But why?” Baguette finally broke the silence. “What brought the cat-aclysms to Catlantis? What caused the cat-astrophe? Everything seemed so perfect . . .”
“That, I do not know,” answered Great-great-grandmother. “The legend does not tell us.”
“But you’re an oracle,” Baguette said with surprise. “You’re a striped oracle who can see without using your eyes, you can look into the past and foretell the future. Why don’t you look into the past, into the time of Catlantis, and answer my question: what caused the cat-astrophe?”
“That was too long ago,” answered the oracle. “I cannot look that far into the past. But I am hoping that you, Baguette, will be able to.”
“Me?” Baguette asked in shock.
“Yes, you. This is the very feat that you must accomplish in honor of your beloved. You must travel into the past, to the wonderful Catlantis.”
“But why?”
“Because of the Catlantic flowers,” answered the oracle, “whose fragrance gave the Catlanteans nine lives. As I told you, the Catlanteans took these flowers from Catlantis and planted one in each corner of the world. For many centuries, every cat in the world would make a pilgrim
age to the sacred catnip gardens—where the Catlantic flowers grew— breathe in their fragrance and so acquire nine lives. But then, in the fourteenth century, cats forgot the way to the gardens and they forgot what the Catlantic flowers looked like.”
“What do you mean, forgot?” Baguette asked doubtfully. “I mean exactly that: forgot. You see, the flowers were put under a magical hex and ever since then all the cats of the world have searched for the catnip gardens to no avail. You must help all of us. Before you can marry Purriana you must accomplish this feat: you must travel into the past— to the island of Catlantis—where you must pick a Catlantic flower, or better yet a whole bunch, and bring it back to the present. Then every cat will once again have nine lives.”
“This is all very lovely,” said Baguette, “and I’m very happy for all the cats, I mean, I’m happy for them in advance, that they’ll all have nine lives again. Only, maybe some other cat can bring this flower back from Catlantis? And in the meantime I’ll quickly catch a mouse, present it to Purriana and we’ll get married. Deal?”
“No, Baguette,” the oracle shook her head. “No other cat can get the flower. Only you can—you who are ginger, truly ginger, nothing but ginger and the worthy descendant of your breed. All the cats of the world have been awaiting you for many years.”
“All the cats of the world? Awaiting me?” Baguette fearfully pressed himself into the floor.
“Yes, you, Baguette. Back in the fourteenth century, when the way to the catnip gardens was forgotten, an old striped French oracle predicted that the flower would be found many centuries later by a ginger cat whose name begins with the letter ‘B.’ Her prediction was recorded in the Cat-echesis, the great Codex of the Catlanteans.”
“The letter ‘B’? That’s it?” protested Baguette. “Why, there are plenty of names that start with ‘B’: Boris, Bobby, Boots—”
“There is one more prediction,” interrupted Great-great-grandmother. “My prediction.”
“Yours?”
“Yes,” said Great-great-grandmother huffily, arching her back. “If you must know, I am a member of the Council of Six. I am an oracle. I can see without using my eyes. I’m privy to many secrets.”
“And what secrets have you seen?”
“Recently, I saw that the cat who will bring back the Catlantic flower is ginger. His name starts with the letter ‘B’ and ends in the letter ‘E,’ and he—”
“I know plenty of names like that,” interrupted Baguette. “Babe, Boogie, Bernie—”
“And who lives on the twelfth floor—”
“Who knows how many cats live on the twelfth—”
“In the neighboring house—”
“There are any number—”
“And who has already once traveled in time, venturing into the past. So it is you—most definitely you.”
And to this Baguette had absolutely no retort. It was definitely him.
“And since it is definitely you, I asked my great-great- granddaughter to inspire you.”
“You asked her? You mean, it wasn’t her idea? So, she doesn’t love me? It’s just because I’m ginger and you need some flower?” Baguette looked sadly at Purriana.
“Don’t say such things, my darling,” answered Purriana. “I won’t lie, at first it was for that very reason. But now, after all the beautiful letters you’ve written me, after all the purrenades you’ve sung to me, after we’ve rubbed noses in the moonlight—now I’ve truly fallen in love with you. I really do want to marry you—but first you must accomplish this feat and bring my great-great-grandmother a Catlantic flower.”
“Will it be dangerous?” timidly asked Baguette.
“Very dangerous,” said Great-great-grandmother. “Catlantis existed a very long time ago, a thousand years ago, or maybe even a million. You may not be able to reach it. You may drown in the depths of time. Or you may reach it and then drown in the depths of the Catlantic Ocean—the one that swallowed up the island . . .”
“Well . . . then maybe we can just forget about this flower? I mean, we’ve gotten by without the thing . . .” Baguette turned to Purriana. “Let’s just get married. Sure, we’ll only have one life—but at least it’ll be a properly guaranteed one.”
“No, dear, that won’t work,” said Purriana sadly. “Great-great-grandmother is very old and soon she’ll pass away. She says it’ll be in the middle of spring—and she knows these things better than anyone.”
“My condolences to your great-great-grandmother, but I still think we should—”
“Don’t interrupt me, ginger. It’s rude,” said Purriana. “Listen to me and you’ll understand. My great-great- grandmother predicted that the ginger cat from the twelfth floor would bring back the Catlantic flower before she passed away. She told the Council of Six.”
“So?” asked Baguette.
“One time, Great-great-grandmother made a wrong prediction. It only happened once but it was wrong all the same. As the striped member of the wise Council of Six she cannot afford to make another mistake. If she’s ever wrong again, if the ginger cat from the twelfth floor—that is, you— doesn’t bring back the flower by the middle of spring, it’ll mean that the descendants of the striped Catlanteans have lost their ability to see into the future. And the entire breed of striped oracles will disappear from the face of the earth. So the wise Council of Six has determined.”
“Disappear from the face of the earth? What do you mean?”
“I mean that soon, there’ll be no more striped cats,” explained Purriana. “I’ll have to marry a black cat and all the striped cats of the world will have to do the same. We’ll be the last striped cats in the world because when we mate with black cats we’ll give birth to black kittens, since black is the most powerful color of all. Only you, Baguette,” Purriana looked at him through tears, “only you can save the striped cats of the world from this terrible fate.”
“To be honest,” said Baguette in a quivering voice, “I don’t really care about all the striped cats of the world. But you, O Wonderful Cat, I’m not letting any black cat have you. You’ll be mine—even if I have to risk my life to accomplish the greatest and most heroic feat in all of feline history. And so,” Baguette arched his back, “and so, I agree to set off for Catlantis to find the flower.”
“Thank you, my love,” whispered Purriana.
“Stay safe, courageous ginger Catlantean!” wished the oracle.
“Oh, Madame, you’re too much.” Baguette waved his paw. “I’m no Catlantean: I’m just an ordinary cat, an ordinary lovesick cat.”
“I’ll wait for you,” said Purriana, rubbing her soft pink nose against Baguette’s strong masculine nose.
“I’ll be back,” said Baguette, leaving the attic with dignity.
But there was something he failed to see: just outside the attic there was a cat with his ear pressed to the door. It was Noir.
CHAPTER 10
The Trash Man
No one—not Baguette, not Purriana, not even the oracle— noticed Noir at the door because he was as black as the deepest ocean, as black as coal, as black as night. None of them knew that Noir had heard their conversation.
After Baguette had left the attic, Noir quickly ran down the fire escape, silently jogged to his alley, jumped onto the dumpster and stared at the round yellow moon with his round yellow eyes.
“In the name of night darkness!” he yelled. “In the name of underground gloom and oceanic murk! I, black sorcerer and descendant of the black Catlanteans, order you to come forth! Come forth, O Trash Man! Rise up from the filthy dumpster, emerge from the trash—from candy wrappers and meat scraps, from potato and carrot peelings, from uneaten chicken bits and expired cans of fish! Come forth to serve and obey me! To follow my every order! Come forth immediately! Meowbra-catabra! Meowbra-catabra!”
At that moment, one of the dumpster lids opened to reveal the Trash Man. He was wearing a dirty brown trench coat, an old cap with a rusted gold star and military boots that went
up to his knees. His eyes were invisible behind the blurred lenses of huge horn-rimmed glasses. The Trash Man climbed out of the dumpster and dusted himself off.
“I’m here, Boss,” said the Trash Man in a hoarse, sickly voice. “I’ve come to follow your orders.”
“Glad to see you,” said Noir. “It’s about time I got some help around here. Here’s my first order: there’s this local cat—he’s ginger, goes by the name Baguette—now he’s about to travel back in time to get a very important flower. Your job is to catch him as he’s returning and steal the flower.”
“And what if he comes back without the flower?”
“Well, then . . . then we’ll play it by ear.”
“Sounds good, Boss. It’ll be done, Boss.”
“Great. By the way, if you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself,” said Noir, motioning towards the dumpster.
“Thanks, Boss,” said the Trash Man. He smiled, revealing yellow teeth. “Don’t mind if I do.”
And he proceeded to dig through the trash enthusiastically.
CHAPTER 11
The Eyes of Time
In order to travel from the present into the past, Baguette had to stop time. He had to put it to sleep. Make it stand still. He had to turn time into eternity.
Once time was asleep, the cat had to walk through it quietly—quietly and carefully, so as not to wake it. Because if time woke up, it wouldn’t let the cat go—Baguette would be stuck between the past and the present, in the depths of time, all alone, forever.
Stopping time isn’t easy: time runs very fast, so fast that you can’t even see it. The only thing you can do is look into its alert, round eyes. We look into the eyes of time every day and they look back at us. Time has thousands of eyes—because the eyes of time are clocks. Wall clocks, wristwatches, grandfather clocks, any and all sorts of clocks.
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