Nightshade.
A Cat Story
Chapter One
Who knows what cats think?
The cat had never been given a name, not a human name at least and cats do not give themselves names, that we know of. He was black all over, except for a white bib just under his chin and one completely white ear. He lived with The Witch of the Dark Forest. That is to say he lived around the cottage in which she lived. He was not a Witch’s cat like some you may have read about who rode on broomsticks and so on. This cat was just an ordinary everyday cat. He was a good mouser and he kept the birds away from the Witch’s seed beds without doing too much damage to the soil himself and so he was tolerated. The only time he was even really taken any notice was when the Witch was making up one of her potions. Now, as you may well know, cats do have one nasty habit. They shed hairs, all the time and everywhere, even in places they never go. The first person to land on Mars will find a cat hair stuck to the inside of his (or her) helmet.
Under normal circumstances, the Witch made sure that all her cats and every other animal were outside when she mixed up her potions. A stray cat hair could have played havoc as the mixtures were very finely balanced combinations of herbs, roots, berries, pieces of this and bits of that. These ingredients were carefully measured and mixed at the right time to the accompaniment of strange sounding words and odd arm waving. Now these potions were not all nasty ones. Some were for making plants grow, some for making hair grow. Some of them were to cure people of nasty illnesses or to make someone fall in love with you. However, most of them were much less pleasant and were for things I would rather not think about.
This day the Witch was making a particularly nasty potion which she used to turn frogs into princes. Any Witch worth her money could turn a prince into a frog, but to do it the other way round took real skill. Just as the mixing and spell casting were almost complete she had been disturbed by a commotion outside her cottage. She had stormed outside to find three young men arguing over the rather poor picnic lunch which their mother had packed for them when they had set off to seek their fortunes in the wide world.
In a foul temper for being disturbed the Witch said “If greedy pigs you be, then greedy pigs you SHALL be!” There was a flash of light and three fat porkers dashed off squealing. The Witch made an odd gesture with her fingers and the three pigs slowly came back and allowed themselves to be penned up.
”Good,” chuckled the Witch. “Sausages, Bacon and Ham.”
I hope that was the names she was giving to the pigs, but I think she may have meant what she said.
Meanwhile, she had left the door to her cottage open. Naturally, the black cat went inside. I do not know what he was thinking, if indeed he was thinking. Since cats do not talk, who knows what, or if, they think at all. At a guess I would say he was merely looking for somewhere to curl up for a nap before lunch. He found an old blanket in a dark corner and curled, with his paw over his white ear and very soon was fast asleep.
The Witch came back in grumbling to herself about stupid boys and carried on with her potion making. She did not notice the single black cat hair that drifted across on the draught made as she slammed the cottage door. The hair dropped gently into the mixture and disappeared beneath the surface The Witch added the final ingredient, said the last incantation and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Now something you should know is that if a Witch’s spell is made wrongly then it backfires, so to speak. The single black cat hair was enough to spoil the mixture. It is no good asking me what happened to the Witch for I have no idea. The odd thing is that even though nobody saw this happen, the news of her disappearance spread through the Forest as quickly as birds can fly. Everyone, even the trees gave a sigh of relief.
When the news reached the King of that particular part of the Forest, he immediately sent a troop of soldiers with firewood to burn down the Witches cottage.
”Seal it up and burn it all to ashes!” That was the order he gave. Then having second thoughts, the king said. “That is if the rumour is true. If the Witch is there, then give her the firewood as a gift from me to help her through the winter.” The Witch’s cottage was not far from the Palace and so the soldiers did not take long to arrive.
In the meantime, the flash of light and the puff of rather unpleasant smelling smoke woke the cat. He stretched, washed, fluffed out his coat and went to the door. It was closed. After a few scratches at the base of the door he gave up and wandered around the room. Since the Witch was not there to stop him he jumped up on to her work bench. As cats will, he sniffed at all the bottles and packets and jars. Some made him sneeze and one made him hiss. Then he reached the pot in which the Witch had been mixing her potion. It was too tall for him to sniff so he stood with his paws on the rim. That was a mistake. The pot was not very stable and tipped over pouring its contents all over the startled animal. With a hiss and a spit he jumped down and fled to a corner. He was covered from head to toes in what can only be described as ’goo’. As he did he knocked over a small cage in which sat a very unhappy looking green frog. The cage door burst open and the frog hopped out.
Just like any good cat, he began to lick himself clean. Fortunately for him, the goo was not so unpleasant that it made him ill, but it was not exactly to his taste. As he licked he thought to himself. “Good job that was not hot.” Then he thought, as he licked some more, “It could do with a bit more mouse in it.” Finally he thought. “This is odd, I am thinking!”
So like all cats do when they are confused, he washed himself all over again.
All this sniffing, investigating, tasting and washing gave the fast galloping soldiers time to arrive.
The Captain of the band knocked politely on the door. Of course there was no answer. He knocked again louder. As before there was no answer. Finally the Captain hammered with his sword butt on the cottage door and shouted, “Open in the name of the King!” The door stayed firmly shut. So, taking his life in his hands the brave soldier opened the door and looked in. He did not notice the small green frog which hopped out as he came in.
The cottage only had one room and he quickly could see that the Witch was not in there, just as quickly, he closed the door again. No one wanted to hang around in case the Witch returned. The cat watched the door open and thought about racing through it, but he was not fond of legs with boots so he stayed where he was and listened carefully to what was going on outside.
The soldiers stacked the wood all round the cottage and pushed dried grass here and there to help it get started. When the Captain was satisfied he produced a tinder box and lit a torch that he handed to the sergeant who walked round the cottage setting fire to the thatch and the dried grass. Very soon there was a satisfactory blaze going. The soldiers stood round watching it, to make sure that the whole place was completely destroyed.
Inside, the cat began to get a little worried. The place was beginning to get warm and he did not like the smell of smoke. He went to the door. “Would one of you humans mind opening this door,” he shouted. Now a cat’s mouth and tongue and teeth are not designed for speech so this request came out as a rather quiet cross between a meow and a purr. The soldiers would not have opened the door even if they had heard. Indeed, they may well have fled the scene thinking the Witch had returned.