My Father the Cat Read online

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _Henry Slesar, as we have said before, is a young advertising executive who has rapidly become one of the better known writers in the field. Here is an off-trail story that is guaranteed to make some of you take a very searching second look at some of the young men you know._

  my father, the cat

  _by HENRY SLESAR_

  He wondered if I'd told her everything, and, faltering, I had to admit that I hadn't. She was wonderful--but human.

  My mother was a lovely, delicate woman from the coast of Brittany, whowas miserable sleeping on less than three mattresses, and who, it issaid, was once injured by a falling leaf in her garden. My grandfather,a descendant of the French nobility whose family had ridden the tumbrilsof the Revolution, tended her fragile body and spirit with the sameloving care given rare, brief-blooming flowers. You may imagine fromthis his attitude concerning marriage. He lived in terror of the vulgar,heavy-handed man who would one day win my mother's heart, and at last,this persistent dread killed him. His concern was unnecessary, however,for my mother chose a suitor who was as free of mundane brutality as ahusband could be. Her choice was Dauphin, a remarkable white cat whichstrayed onto the estate shortly after his death.

  Dauphin was an unusually large Angora, and his ability to speak incultured French, English, and Italian was sufficient to cause my motherto adopt him as a household pet. It did not take long for her torealize that Dauphin deserved a higher status, and he became her friend,protector, and confidante. He never spoke of his origin, nor where hehad acquired the classical education which made him such an entertainingcompanion. After two years, it was easy for my mother, an unworldlywoman at best, to forget the dissimilarity in their species. In fact,she was convinced that Dauphin was an enchanted prince, and Dauphin, inconsideration of her illusions, never dissuaded her. At last, they weremarried by an understanding clergyman of the locale, who solemnly filledin the marriage application with the name of M. Edwarde Dauphin.

  I, Etienne Dauphin, am their son.

  To be candid, I am a handsome youth, not unlike my mother in thedelicacy of my features. My father's heritage is evident in my large,feline eyes, and in my slight body and quick movements. My mother'sdeath, when I was four, left me in the charge of my father and hiscoterie of loyal servants, and I could not have wished for a finerupbringing. It is to my father's patient tutoring that I owe whatevergraces I now possess. It was my father, the cat, whose gentle pawsguided me to the treasure houses of literature, art, and music, whosewhiskers bristled with pleasure at a goose well cooked, at a meal wellserved, at a wine well chosen. How many happy hours we shared! He knewmore of life and the humanities, my father, the cat, than any human Ihave met in all my twenty-three years.

  Until the age of eighteen, my education was his personal challenge.Then, it was his desire to send me into the world outside the gates. Hechose for me a university in America, for he was deeply fond of what hecalled "that great raw country," where he believed my feline qualitiesmight be tempered by the aggressiveness of the rough-coated barking dogsI would be sure to meet.

  I must confess to a certain amount of unhappiness in my early Americanyears, torn as I was from the comforts of the estate and the wisdom ofmy father, the cat. But I became adapted, and even upon my graduationfrom the university, sought and held employment in a metropolitan artmuseum. It was there I met Joanna, the young woman I intended to make mybride.

  Joanna was a product of the great American southwest, the daughter of acattle-raiser. There was a blooming vitality in her face and her body, alustiness born of open skies and desert. Her hair was not the gold ofantiquity; it was new gold, freshly mined from the black rock. Her eyeswere not like old-world diamonds; their sparkle was that of sunlight ona cascading river. Her figure was bold, an open declaration of her sex.

  She was, perhaps, an unusual choice for the son of fairy-like mother andan Angora cat. But from the first meeting of our eyes, I knew that Iwould someday bring Joanna to my father's estate to present her as myfiancee.

  I approached that occasion with understandable trepidation. My fatherhad been explicit in his advice before I departed for America, but on nopoint had he been more emphatic than secrecy concerning himself. Heassured me that revelation of my paternity would bring ridicule andunhappiness upon me. The advice was sound, of course, and not evenJoanna knew that our journey's end would bring us to the estate of alarge, cultured, and conversing cat. I had deliberately fostered theimpression that I was orphaned, believing that the proper place forrevealing the truth was the atmosphere of my father's home in France. Iwas certain that Joanna would accept her father-in-law without distress.Indeed, hadn't nearly a score of human servants remained devoted totheir feline master for almost a generation?

  We had agreed to be wed on the first of June, and on May the fourth,emplaned in New York for Paris. We were met at Orly Field by Francois,my father's solemn manservant, who had been delegated not so much asescort as he was chaperone, my father having retained much of the oldworld proprieties. It was a long trip by automobile to our estate inBrittany, and I must admit to a brooding silence throughout the drivewhich frankly puzzled Joanna.

  However, when the great stone fortress that was our home came withinview, my fears and doubts were quickly dispelled. Joanna, like so manyAmericans, was thrilled at the aura of venerability and royal customsurrounding the estate. Francois placed her in charge of Madame Jolinet,who clapped her plump old hands with delight at the sight of her freshblonde beauty, and chattered and clucked like a mother hen as she ledJoanna to her room on the second floor. As for myself, I had oneimmediate wish: to see my father, the cat.

  He greeted me in the library, where he had been anxiously awaiting ourarrival, curled up in his favorite chair by the fireside, a wide-mouthedgoblet of cognac by his side. As I entered the room, he lifted a pawformally, but then his reserve was dissolved by the emotion of ourreunion, and he licked my face in unashamed joy.

  Francois refreshed his glass, and poured another for me, and we toastedeach other's well-being.

  "To you, _mon purr_," I said, using the affectionate name of mychildhood memory.

  "To Joanna," my father said. He smacked his lips over the cognac, andwiped his whiskers gravely. "And where is this paragon?"

  "With Madame Jolinet. She will be down shortly."

  "And you have told her everything?"

  I blushed. "No, _mon purr_, I have not. I thought it best to wait untilwe were home. She is a wonderful woman," I added impulsively. "She willnot be--"

  "Horrified?" my father said. "What makes you so certain, my son?"

  "Because she is a woman of great heart," I said stoutly. "She waseducated at a fine college for women in Eastern America. Her ancestorswere rugged people, given to legend and folklore. She is a warm, humanperson--"

  "Human," my father sighed, and his tail swished. "You are expecting toomuch of your beloved, Etienne. Even a woman of the finest character maybe dismayed in this situation."

  "But my mother--"

  "Your mother was an exception, a changeling of the Fairies. You must notlook for your mother's soul in Joanna's eyes." He jumped from his chair,and came towards me, resting his paw upon my knee. "I am glad you havenot spoken of me, Etienne. Now you must keep your silence forever."

  I was shocked. I reached down and touched my father's silky fur,saddened by the look of his age in his gray, gold-flecked eyes, and bythe tinge of yellow in his white coat.

  "No, _mon purr_," I said. "Joanna must know the truth. Joanna must knowhow proud I am to be the son of Edwarde Dauphin."

  "Then you will lose her."

  "Ne
ver! That cannot happen!"

  My father walked stiffly to the fireplace, staring into the gray ashes."Ring for Francois," he said. "Let him build the fire. I am cold,Etienne."

  I walked to the cord and pulled it. My father turned to me and said:"You must wait, my son. At dinner this evening, perhaps. Do not speak ofme until then."

  "Very well, father."

  When I left the library, I encountered Joanna at the head of thestairway, and she spoke to me excitedly.

  "Oh, Etienne! What a _beautiful_ old house. I know I will love it! Maywe see the rest?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "You look troubled. Is something wrong?"

  "No, no. I was thinking how lovely you are."

  We embraced, and her warm full body against mine confirmed my