MOTHER MICHEL'S CAT

We have previously told you the very true story of Mother Michel and her cat Moumouth, or rather the story of Duchess Frogpond and Moumouth. Well, here is a new version of the story, touching on the illustrious character of Mother Michel as well as her colleague Father Lustucru. Lustucru lived on the first floor and Mother Michel lived on the ground floor below him. Lustucru was stupid, and Mother Michel had become mean. Lustucru was interested in nothing but his starling, Justin, whom he trained to sing the tunes of the opera "The White Lady," and only a little less interested in his poodle, Gamin, who certainly could have sold some wits to his master .

Mother Michel loved nothing in the world except for her cat Ratapon, a superb Angora that had replaced Moumouth, who had died a long time ago. Mother Michel (though perhaps her name should be spelled "l'amere" Michel - bitter Michel - rather than "la mere") spent her days spoiling Ratapon with sweets and embellishing Ratapon's spirit, so much so that she barely had any affection left over for her parakeet Cocotte. Meanwhile, Father Lustucru spent all his time teaching his starling, Justin, all the arias of his favourite opera. Lustucru instinctively hated Ratapon, and Mother Michel had a poor opinion of Lustucru's poodle, Gamin.

On one of the beautiful first days of spring, when the air was alive, the sun was shining, the trees were green and the birds of the sky were singing, Father Lustucru lowered Justin's birdcage into his garden. Ratapon, also cheered up by the spring scents, was frolicking under the first leaves when he saw the starling in his prison. Ratapon stood up, nose in the air, eyes lit up, tail in the wind, and ready to jump as he seemed to calculate the interval of the bars, the width of the door and the solidity of the obstacle that separated him from the frightened starling. Lustucru, unaware and peaceful, as walking around with his hands in his pockets, whistling the air:

"Come, kind lady!
Look, I'm waiting for you!"

When Lustucru noticed Ratapon his heart stopped and his three remaining hairs stood on end under his cap. He rushed forward screaming "Where is my broom?"

Ratapon spun round and round, faster than a star and Mother Michel gathered him up. He curled himself tighter and tighter, making himself small against her. She shielded him with her body, and raised her arm with a Demosthenes-like gesture and cried at Lustucru.

"You, bandit!" Insurgent! Disruptor of order! Your hands have taken up weapons! You will go to court for this!"

"But it was your cat, Mother Michel, your cat who was making an attempt on my bird!" protested Lustucur.

"What do you mean?"

"He ambushed him!"

"Ambush! Ambush! Sir, I'll have you know that Ratapon and ambushes have never gone through the same door! It's not a question of an ambush, but of your seditious broom, which will bear witness against you, sir, when you go to trial, because that's where you'll go, or my name's not Mother Michel!"

Lustucru was dismayed. Then, coming to his senses, he set his dog after Mother Michel. "Faster, Gamin! Chase! Chase! Be bold, my friend! Avenge your comrade Justin. Give that tomcat a good beating. Chase! Chase!"

Gamin, a dog versed in the military art, charged at full speed against Ratapon, following all the rules of strategy. Alas! sad tale! should we tell it? Gamin, who had taken to the campaign so well, gave in to a ruse of war crudely hatched by the enemy. Oh Gamin! A saveloy treacherously handed to him by Mother Michel was enough to completely change his courage! He went over to the enemy, ears low, nostrils dilated. Gamin the brave poodle was no longer recognisable! The scent of the saveloy fascinated him; it even prevented him from raising his muzzle and seeing his adversary, who, tail in the air, back arched, purred and pawed at his wicked mistress. Beware Gamin! your military honour has been threatened!

Gamin was further dishonoured when he was seen panicking, jumping and screaming in pain, grotesquely dragging after him the piece of evidence which had served as his master's weapon; ears turned down, bewildered, pursued by the insulting laughter of the horrible Mother Michel and the ironic purr of the triumphant Ratapon. Oh Gamin, if your master could see you in this state he would tear his hair out... if he still had any.

Lustucru was no longer a sweet and stupid man, a docile sheep; he had become a frenzied ram, bellowing and foaming with rage. He jumped at the old woman's throat. He didn't know himself anymore. Just like Homer's heroes, he showered his victim with sarcastic insults before striking her down; because the good man imagined in good faith that he was going to strike her down! He was beside himself with rage. When they get riled, they are terrible, those enraged sheep. Father Lustucru shouted:

"My poor Gamin! My poor Gamin!" And addressing the hidden Mother Michel he cried "It was you who put him in this state, you old scoundrel!" What would you say if I did the same thing to you? Ah! I've got you, you witch! You just wait! You'll pay for your wickedness; yes, you'll pay for your horrible Ratapon."

The enraged Lustucru was truly magnificent to see, despite his old cloak whose cords swept the air behind him; oh yes, he was a magnificent sight! But he had said too much, and Mother Michel became furious. She took the offensive and grabbed her slotted spoon, and marched on the unarmed Lustucru.

The old lady had worn her bonnet close to her head when she fussed over her cat, but now the bonnet flew from her ugly head, and, in her fury, she cared little for it. She was a dreadful sight, her hair blowing in the wind, out of breath, running with long strides and brandishing her weapon. Neither the frightful witches that Shakespeare made dance around their cauldron on the Scottish moor on that moonless night, nor the dreadful Furies who, in the dramas of Aeschylus, made pale spectators faint, nor the head of Medusa which petrified those who stared at it for a single moment, none of them could equal the frightful Mother Michel in ugliness.

Eventually the opponents resumed, in apparent calm, their respective positions and life continued. Lustucru wrote to his old military comrades, Major Tranchatable and Commander Becavin, to invite them to dinner and to listen, during dessert, to Justin's flourishes. From downstairs he heard a sardonic laugh, some frenzied applause, a strangled hiss, and a horrible feline curse. He looked up from his spidery scrawl and shuddered in horror. Would you believe it - Ratapon had Justin in his jaws and was swallowing him!

Lustucru rushed downstairs, four steps at a time, armed with his old sabre; he got there too late to hear Justin's last breath, but was in time to avenge him. With a sure and quick hand, driven by anger, he went straight to the point and plunged his weapon into Ratapon's flanks. One two! Ratapon was skewered right up to the hilt.

In the hands of the nearest caterer, Ratapon became a casserole. This revenge with small onions and red sauce consoled Lustucru a little for the loss of Justin. Tranchatable, the greatest eater in the suburbs, and Becavin, who had no equal for drinking heavily, sat with their backs to the fire and their feet under the table, when the late Ratapon made his entrance in this new form, carried solemnly by a budding kitchen-help. Nearby, Mother Michel fell backwards when she saw, hanging from a tree in the garden, the black-skin that had once contained her favourite cat. It useless to cry. It was pointless to have regrets. She did not even have the consolation of erecting a tomb for the remains of her friend, whose small bones were just then being crunched by Gamin's fangs.

It was her eleventh Angora and she wouldn't have any more. Ratapon, eleventh of that name, would be the last. That way, at least, we will no longer have the opportunity to say of her: Mother Michel has lost her cat!

MOTHER MICHEL AND HER CAT

Poor Mother Michel has lost her cat,
Shouts from the window "please give him back!".
Father Lustucru replied with a boast,
Oh! Mother Michel, your cat is not lost!

Poor Mother Michel then said to he:
If you've found my cat - return him to me!
To Mother Michel replied Lustucru:
For a reward, I'll return him to you.

Poor Mother Michel then told him this:
Give me my cat and I'll give you a kiss.
But Lustucru only wanted her gold -
Said: As a rabbit, your cat has been sold!

Then Mother Michel flew into a rage,
Called him a horror, and home he was chased,
You stole it from me, you thug and you thief!
You'll surely be hanged when I've informed the police!

Then Father Lustucru at once replied:
Your vagabond is at Father Killjoy's –
He's in the attic, with the cats gone to war,
With a straw gun and with a wooden sword!

Mother Michel to the wine shop did trot,
And there drowned her sorrows by drinking a tot
Lustucru saw her and laughed like a drain,
Said - she'll have lost nothing by her delay.

Killjoy saw trouble when his neighbour arrived
Drunk on his doorstep with rage in her eyes
I've come for my kitty, my treasure in fur,
Have you seen it old man? Where is it? Answer!

Father Killjoy grew angry, his temper did rise
And old Mother Michel - she was spoiling to fight,
But Gregory stepped in as he passed in the street
Stopping the match before she got sorely beat.

A stone's throw away, her cat's on the tiles
Mewing and calling and puffed up with pride,
He saw sweet Minette, his lady-love fair
And Raminagrobis then bristled his hair.

With stealth and silence old man Lustucru
Snatched up the tomcat to make a nice stew,
And wringing its neck in a low voice he hissed
I'm going to enjoy making him a cooked dish.

Greg'ry saw the villain snap the cat's spine,
And - Mother Michel having paid him with wine -
Ran to the rascal, demanded a duel
Came back alone, having killed Lustucru!

Mother Michel was happy her cat was avenged,
So the very next day she and Greg'ry were wed,
Her heart now content she gave him the fur -
Gave him the cat's skin to make a coat collar.