A Gift For Joey
Page 3
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THE CAT WHO WAS KING
In the fair land of Felina, in the year of the Great Comet, the old king died, leaving no sons or daughters to rule his kingdom. After mourning the king and laying him to his royal rest, the high ministers of Felina gathered. In the main hall of the late king’s castle, they discussed who should ascend the throne as the next king. After much fruitless debate, Minister Margaret rose from her seat and declared, “We should name as king the first to walk through that doorway.” At her words, into the room stepped an ordinary house cat.
“Your Majesty,” spoke Minister Margaret, and she offered the cat a solemn and graceful curtsy. At first, everyone paused in astonishment. Then, they followed her lead, except for Count Rogund, who refused to participate in this outrageous scene.
“This is preposterous!” Count Rogund boomed in protest. “A cat cannot be king! It is madness!”
“You must bow before your new king,” Minister Margaret warned, “or be sent to the dungeon, as our law dictates.” Observing no support forthcoming, Count Rogund bowed, but only slightly, and with obvious displeasure.
The ministers placed the puzzled cat on the king’s throne, where he at once curled up to take a nap. However, a long, noisy line of people had gathered outside the throne room, disturbing the cat’s key intention.
“Your Majesty,” spoke Minister Margaret, “your people desire your wisdom.”
The first in line, a poor farmer named Horace, stepped forward saying, “Please, O King, should I plant corn this year?”
The cat—being but an ordinary house cat—paid him no mind. He just wiggled his white whiskers and let out a bored “me-oww.”
Farmer Horace, however, was most pleased, for he was certain the cat was giving his approval to plant corn, and he hastened off to do just that.
The bored, and now terribly thirsty cat, startled the next farmer in line by leaping from his plush cushions and dashing out to the royal barn, where he proceeded to lap fresh milk from a bucket. Everyone was certain—and quite pleased—that the king was telling this farmer to raise milk cows, which, of course, the farmer did.
It came to pass that the farmer named Horace, who planted corn, grew a magnificent crop. And the farmer who raised cows soon possessed a herd that spread out from hilltop to hilltop. Everyone desired their sweet corn and rich milk, and in no time, the two farmers acquired a modest wealth indeed. In fact, it appeared that all who had sought the new king’s advice encountered a similar good fortune. Word spread quickly throughout the kingdom about the cat’s great wisdom, leading to adoration and love from the king’s grateful people.
However, not everyone in Felina loved the king. One day, while napping on his royal throne, the cat heard a slight noise. He half lifted one weary eyelid to check out the disturbance. At that instant, a weighted net descended from above the throne, immobilizing the startled cat.
“Got you!” cried Count Rogund, clapping his hands together with malicious glee. Locked into a cage, the unlucky cat found himself whisked away to a secret cell in the cold castle dungeon.
“Our fine king has run away,” a sneering Count Rogund announced to the stunned populace soon afterward. “I knew it was a mistake naming a cat to be king. Perhaps you should have named me king, instead. I would not have run away.”
Many months passed, and memory of the cat who had been king began to fade. The people lined up to receive the wisdom of the new king—Rogund.
King Rogund, they soon discovered, was not the wisest of rulers. One farmer desired to raise a crop of wheat in an area of questionable soil. King Rogund granted his approval, but hard work only coaxed a field of hardy weeds from this endeavor.
King Rogund advised a fisherman to build his new home at the river’s edge for easy access to his livelihood. Seasonal flooding washed away the man’s house and boat dock, leaving nothing behind but the man’s least favorite rocking chair and an irritating old parrot named Zeke. Zeke’s only spoken words—repeated incessantly—were the now sadly inappropriate, “King Rogund is wise, awk!”
One day a wicked wind blew in frightening news. A clan of ruthless warriors from the neighboring country of Barsa had built up a mighty force to take Felina as its own. The intruders arrived with little warning, forcing the people to flee their homes and farms and retreat to the safety of the castle. His frightened subjects pleaded with King Rogund to save them.
“I will turn back these invaders!” King Rogund promised. And indeed, he led a ragged group of farmers, craftsmen, cooks, and stable hands from the castle to meet the enemy. With the first encounter, however, King Rogund discovered he possessed no stomach for personal peril, and hurriedly fled the scene. His leaderless army collapsed, and the invaders jeered as they chased the Felina peasants back to the safety of the castle walls.
Meanwhile, the true king remained trapped in his narrow cage in a filthy dungeon cell. His thirst and hunger were monstrous, for King Rogund often neglected to feed the poor cat, and trusted no one with his knowledge of the former king’s whereabouts. The cat’s main sustenance came from lapping accumulated dew on the cage bars and the occasional meal of unfortunate spiders.
One day, by complete happenstance, the desperate cat swung a paw at the rusting cage lock—and it sprung open! The cat leaped from the cage, up to the cell window, and out to glorious freedom.
The famished cat at once spotted the invading troops of Barsa carting off the treasures of the poor folks of Felina. Of course, that did not concern the cat. His keen eyes focused on something much more interesting—the cows of Felina being led away.
With thoughts of warm, fresh milk foremost in his mind, the cat dashed after the retreating cows. A startling, thunderous roar rose from the castle. “It is our king! Our beloved king has returned!”
Disturbed by the uproar behind him, the cat, wanting only to get some fresh milk to drink, increased his speed toward his goal. Already, people had begun flooding from the castle, shouting and cheering on their returned monarch. “Look at our brave king!” they exclaimed with astonishment and pride. “He leads us against our enemy!”
With that encouragement, the farmers, craftsmen, cooks, and stable hands followed their king, and with a rousing effort forced the startled invaders to flee all the way back to Barsa.
The grateful people raised high their hero king and placed him back on the throne where he belonged. The ministers of Felina ordered the false king, Rogund, to labor evermore as the royal cow milker.
From that day on, Minister Margaret made sure there was always a fresh bowl of milk near the throne, so the beloved king would never hunger or thirst again. As a result, the cat stayed, and the kingdom of Felina prospered. And for all the years of his reign, people spoke in awe and with reverence of the cat who was king, a wise, brave, and honorable leader.
Of course, being but an ordinary house cat, the beloved monarch knew and cared nothing about any of this. He filled his days doing what he always did, what any cat would do—lap milk from his bowl, nap upon his soft throne, and pay no attention to anything else, whatsoever.
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