Stories

The Priceless Cats

This is an Italian version of the 12th-century British folk tale, “Dick Whittington and His Cat”, with a somewhat different ending.

Among the ancient Romans there was a proverb that those who are greedy never have enough, and since the Romans were Italians, the proverb still holds true. In the golden city of Venice they tell a tale that proves this time-old saying.

There once lived in the city by the sea two merchants who were neighbors. Both were rich. Both had grand palaces on the green, shimmering canal, with proud gondolas tied to cinnabar-and-yellow-striped poles. And both had lovely young children who were friendly and played with one another. As for the merchants, one was as different from the other as a black pebble from a shining ruby. One was hard and sharp and greedy, wanting whatever he saw, whether he needed it or not, while the other was generous and good, working to help not only himself but others as well. The two merchants knew each other and spoke to each other, but when it came to business, Mr. Greedy-Wolf was wary and watchful, not trusting anyone, not even himself

So time went by, with these two buying and selling, working and growing. There came a day when Giovanni, the good merchant, set out on a far journey to trade for spices, which were much sought after in Europe then. He loaded his vessels with toys and corals and silks and beautiful glassware to exchange for pepper and cinnamon and vanilla and curries and other scented spices that grew on the islands far away.

Don Giovanni sailed for days and weeks and then came to the rich East, where he traded from island to island, with benefit to himself and satisfaction to the islanders. One sparkling morning he came to a harbor that was as still as a graveyard, with masts hanging like tombstones. The streets and the markets were quiet as the night.

The merchant and some of his men walked about, disturbed only by their own footsteps. Where were the hustling and bustling townspeople dressed in colorful clothes? Where were the smells of spices and the cries of vendors that usually filled the air of a busy city? Finally the traders from Venice met two men who took them before the King. The ruler sat on his throne with a sorrowful face and head bowed low. Courtiers stood around, no different from the King.

“Can we trade with your people, Your Majesty?” the Venetian merchant said. “We have rich goods from our land that we would gladly exchange for spices.”

“Master merchant,” said the ruler, “our spices are ravaged, our grain is destroyed, our food is ruined. It is a wonder we are alive, because of the terrible plague that has come over our land. Everything is slowly being destroyed – even our clothes.”

“And what is this terrible plague that has brought your land such unhappiness, Your Majesty?”

“Gnawing rats and scuttling mice! They are in our homes and clothes and in our fields and roads. We have set traps for them and we have strewn poison in the pantries, but that has done more harm to our animals than to our pests. There seems to be no remedy for this curse.”

“Have you no cats?” the merchant asked.

“Cats? What are cats?”

“Why, cats are furry little animals like small dogs, and they are the mortal enemies of mice and rats, destroying them wherever they find them!”

“Where can I find these cats?” the King cried. “I’ll pay anything for them!”

“Your Majesty,” Don Giovanni said, “you do not have to pay for cats. We have many of them on our ship, and I will gladly give you a present of some; I am certain your pests will soon be gone.”

The King thanked the merchant, almost with tears in his eyes, and within an hour the merchant brought two fine cats; one, a black Tom as fierce as he was big, and the other a lovely tiger-striped lady cat who was famous for having many kittens and catching even more mice. The King and the islanders looked with awe and wonder at the two animals, for they had never seen cats before, and when they saw them set to work at once on the mice and rats, they were so overjoyed that they wanted to sing and dance.

The King was grateful from the bottom of his heart and wanted to prove this to the merchant, so he showered him and his crew with bales of spices and gleaming jewels, with sweet-smelling sandalwood and carved ivory, beautiful as a song.

When the merchant and his crew sailed home, they were so happy and contented that even the wind and waves knew it and led their vessel swiftly back to Venice. And the joy of Don Giovanni’s family was great when he reached home, and great was the excitement of his fellow merchants of Venice when they saw his royal cargo.

Don Giovanni met Don Cesare, his neighbour, before the golden church of San Marco, that treasury of beauty in the world. They spoke of this and that, about the journey and the trading, and then Don Giovanni told Don Cesare how he had traded the richest merchandise of all for just a pair of common cats. Don Cesare’s tongue nearly hung out with greed and envy when they parted. Thereafter, day and night, Don Cesare could think only of how Don Giovanni had gained a treasure by giving away two worthless cats that any Venetian would pay to get rid of. He had no peace, and he was more restless than a horse with a thorn in his side. Green jealousy and greed ate into him like fire in dry grass, until he could stand it no longer. He had to go to that island and bring back as big, if not a bigger, treasure than had Don Giovanni.

He fitted out a splendid ship filled with the best of goods, golden vessels, brocades, carved corals. With such gifts the generous King should give him twice – no, three times – as many riches as he had given Don Giovanni. Soon Don Cesare reached the island. He told the King he was a friend of Don Giovanni. The King received him with open arms, only too happy to welcome a friend of the man who, by his generous gift, had rid the island of the terrible pests.

Don Cesare told the King he, too, had brought him gifts – gifts much more valuable than those of Don Giovanni. Then he presented his gifts of golden cups and carved corals, rich brocades and gilded embroideries – the richest Venice could show to prove his friendship. Truly the emperor was overwhelmed by this show of unselfish generosity. He was a simple and an honest man, and appreciative as well, and he thought hard how he could repay the friendship shown by Don Cesare. Try as he would, he could think of nothing rich enough and fine enough. In the end he called together his counsellors to decide what to give to Don Cesare in return for the lavish presents, which, the King thought, Don Cesare had given out of the kindness of his heart.

Each elder had his say. In the end, one rich in wisdom arose and said, “Oh, King, this man from Venice has given to you and to us things that will be a joy to look at for years to come. Truly, we in our little island have no gifts to equal his. We could give him spices and perfumes and woods, but these are simple things growing freely in our land. They come and go every year. But there is one thing we possess now that is of great value in this world. . . .”

The King set a day for the great royal audience to present the merchant with his reward. All the counsellors came, and as many people as the room could hold, and then the merchant appeared before the King. He came with light steps and greedy thought, thinking of the riches he would reap now – riches that would surely be greater than those Don Giovanni had received. There were blowing of trumpets and beating of drums and many fol-de-rol speeches of friendship on the part of the merchant.

In the end the royal master said, “Don Cesare, you came to our land and gave me kindly gifts freely from the goodness of your heart. That is a fine thing for a man to do. And, as the saying goes, from seeds of goodness grow rich purple plums of goodness. I and my counsellors thought for a long time how to reward you properly for such unselfish generosity, and finally we decided on the most valuable gift we have.

“When my people and my land were in their greatest distress, a countryman of yours saved us by giving us a gift. It was a gift more precious than gold or diamonds or spices. We have been unable to think of anything more wonderful than the same gift for you. We know it will bring you the same joy and peace it has brought to us. Soldiers, bring the golden cage with the royal gift for Don Cesare!”

Then two soldiers came in with the golden cage in which two little kittens were playing in a way that was a joy to behold. The soldiers stopped with the cage before the merchant. The King smiled happily, as did the courtiers and the people. The merchant looked at the kittens, but he could not say a word, and when he saw everyone beaming and smiling at him, he had to smile, too – a smile that stretched from ear to ear. . . . Soon after he sailed homeward.

 

Gagliuso and His Cat

The familiar “Puss in Boots” story originally came from India and there were four different versions (discounting minor variations) between the early 16th century and middle of the 18th century. The most famous version was written by Charles Perrault in the l590s. Gagliuso is a version written in the early 1500s by Gianbattista Basile and ends very differently from the more familiar Perrault version.

A Fairy Tale From The Pentameron

Once upon a time there lived in Naples a poor old man named Gagliuso, so squalid and destitute that he was as naked as a worm. Feeling himself at the point of death, he said to his two children, Oratiello and Pippo, “My sons, I am summoned to pay the debt of nature. Believe me, Christians as you are, that my only regret in quitting this sad abode of toil and pain is that I leave you without a farthing. Alas! you will have less than a fly could carry off on his foot. I have led a dog’s life; I have dined off an empty stomach, and gone to bed in the dark. But in spite of all, I wish on my deathbed to leave you some token of my love. Oratiello, my firstborn, take that wallet hanging on the wall, and may you find in it every night what I have often sought in vain all day, a crust of bread. As to you, my youngest, take the cat. My children, remember your dear father.” With these words, he burst into tears, and a little while after said, “Farewell, it is night.”

Oratiello buried his father at the public expense; after which he plucked up his courage, and went down to the bay to help the fishermen draw the seine. But Pippo, looking at the cat, cried, “See what a fine legacy my father has left me! I cannot keep myself, and here I have two mouths to feed!”

The cat heard these lamentations, and remarked, “You complain without cause, and have more luck than sense. You do not know your good-fortune, for I can make you rich if I set about it.”

Pippo felt that she was right. He stroked the cat three or four times, and warmly besought the favour of Dame Puss, who took compassion on the poor lad. She went out every morning, to the bay, or the fish-market, where she managed to lay hold of some large mullet or superb sword-fish, which she carried to the king, saying, “Your majesty’s slave, Signor Gagliuso, sends this fish, with his compliments, as a small gift to a great prince.” Upon which the king, with the pleased air of one receiving a present, would answer, “Tell this stranger gentleman that I am infinitely obliged to him.”

Another time the cat would scour the fields and marshes, and when the hunters shot down a blackbird, lark, or woodcock, would snatch up the game, and hurry with it on the same errand to the king. She used this artifice so long that at last, one morning, the king said, “I am under so many obligations to Signor Gagliuso, that I should like to make his acquaintance and thank him for all his courtesy.” The cat replied, “Signor Gagliuso’s blood and life are at your majesty’s disposal. My master will wait upon you tomorrow morning without fail.”

Morning having come, the cat hastened to the king, crying, “Signor Gagliuso begs you to excuse him for not presenting himself before you. Some of his rascally valets ran off with his clothes last night; the thieves have not left him a shirt to his back.”

On hearing this, the king ordered a quantity of linen and wearing apparel to be taken from his own wardrobe and sent to Gagliuso. Before two hours had passed our hero entered the palace, escorted by the cat. The king received him most graciously, and seating him by his side, ordered a magnificent feast to be served him.

While they were at dinner, Gagliuso turned from time to time to the cat, and said, “Look here, Puss, keep an eye on our things!” to which she answered, “Hush! hush! don’t speak of such trifles.” The king asked what troubled Gagliuso, whereupon the cat said that he would like a small lemon, when the king sent to the garden for a whole basketful. But Gagliuso continued to repeat the same thing, while the cat tried to hush him, and when the king insisted upon knowing what was the matter, invented one excuse after another to conceal her master’s meanness, in thinking that anyone there would be likely to steal his hat and cloak.

At last, after sitting long at the table, talking of one thing and another, Gagliuso asked permission to withdraw. Left alone with the king, the cat extolled her master’s merit, wit, and good sense, and above all, the immense wealth that he possessed in the Roman Campagna and Lombardy. He was just such a son-in-law as a crowned head might desire.

The king, asking what his fortune might be, the cat declared that it was impossible to reckon the value of the goods and chattels of this Croesus, who did not know himself what he was worth. But if the king wished to be sure, it was a very easy matter; he had only to send some trusty messengers across the frontier, and they would learn for themselves that there was no wealth in the world like Gagliuso’s.

The king summoned his faithful counsellors, and ordered them carefully to inquire into the affair. They followed the cat, who, as soon as they had crossed the frontier, ran on before, on the pretense of preparing refreshments. Wherever she found a flock of sheep, cows, horses, or swine, she said to the shepherds, or keepers, “Look here! there is a company of robbers coming to plunder everything they find. If you wish to escape and save your property, you must say, ‘All this belongs to Signor Gagliuso!’ and they will not touch a hair.”

She repeated the same thing at all the farms along the way, so that, wherever the king’s messengers went, they heard the same song. All that they saw belonged to Signor Gagliuso. Tired of asking the same question, they returned to the king and told him wonders concerning Signor Gagliuso’s possessions. On hearing this the monarch promised the cat a heavy fee if she would make the match, and her friendly tongue bobbed back and forth like a shuttle till it had woven the whole intrigue. Gagliuso offered himself, and the king gave him a fat dowry with his daughter.

After a month’s merry-making Gagliuso told his royal father-in-law that he wished to carry his bride to his estates. The king accompanied them as far as the frontier, after which they went to Lombardy, where, by the cat’s advice, Gagliuso bought a vast domain with the title of baron. Master Gagliuso, on seeing himself as rich as a prince, thanked the cat in the warmest way imaginable, telling her over and over again that it was to her that he owed his wealth and grandeur.

The wit of a cat had done more for him than all his father’s sense. She might dispose of the property and life of her dear master as she saw fit. And when she died – would to heaven that she might live a hundred years! – he pledged her his word that he would have her embalmed and put in a golden casket, which he would keep in his chamber, that he might always have her cherished remembrance before his eyes.

The cat was greatly puffed up with all these fine speeches. Before three days had passed, she stretched herself at full length along the garden terrace, pretending to be dead.

“Husband! husband!” cried Gagliuso’s wife, “what a great misfortune! The cat is dead!”

“The deuce take her,” answered Gagliuso; “better that she should die than we.”

“What shall we do with her?” asked the princess.

“Take her by the paw and fling her out of the window.”

On hearing this funeral oration, which was not exactly what she was looking for, the cat jumped up, and cried: “So these are your thanks to me for cleansing you of your filth! This is your gratitude for stripping you of rags fit for nothing but a wad for a distaff! This is the way you reward me for feeding you, you scoundrel! for clothing you, you wretch! But it is wasting soap to wash an ass’s head. Accursed be all that I have done for you. You are not even worth the trouble of spitting in your face. A fine gold casket you have made ready for me! A splendid funeral you have ordered for me! Well, puss, you have sweated, laboured, and worn yourself out, to be paid in such coin! Fool that you were, not to know that service is no inheritance. The philosopher was right who said, ‘He who goes to bed an ass will get up an ass.’ The more one does, the more one may do. But fine words and foul deeds deceive wise men and fools alike.”

With these words she started for the door. Gagliuso followed and attempted in the humblest accents to soften her. His labour was in vain; she would not return, but went straight onward, without turning her head, saying, “Beware of enriching a pauper; he is sure to turn out a villain.”

How Cats Came To Live With The Hopi

A long time ago a Hopi boy went out to hunt. It was winter and the snow lay on the ground in the valley where he searched for game. To his surprise he found some tracks in it that were like no tracks he had ever seen before, and he followed them. The tracks led out of the valley and ended at a large rock.

The boy put his hand into the opening under the rock and pulled out a strange animal by its leg. He tied its legs together and started back with it to his village. When he reached home, he asked his father what the animal was. The boy’s father replied that it was a cat and that it ate mice, rats and rabbits.

On hearing this, the boy went back into the valley and caught a rabbit which he brought back to the cat. He kept the cat confined in a niche in the wall of his home and continued to feed it for four days. In this way the cat became tame and cats have lived in Hopi houses ever since.

Found at: Moggycats Cat Pages

The Cactus Cat

By William T Cox, from “Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods, with a Few Desert and Mountain Beasts,” published in 1910, we have this description of the Splinter Cat, (Cactifelinus Inebrius).

How many people have heard of the cactus cat? Thousands of people spend their winters in the great Southwest – the land of desert and mountain, of fruitful valleys, of flat-topped mesas, of Pueblos, Navajos, and Apaches, of sunshine, and the ruins of ancient “Cliff-dwellers.” It is doubtful, however, if one in a hundred of these people ever heard of a cactus cat, to say nothing of seeing one sporting about among the cholla and palo verde. Only the oldtimers know of the beast and its queer habits.

The cactus cat, as its name signifies, lives in the great cactus districts, and is particularly abundant between Prescott and Tucson. It has been reported, also, from the valley of the lower Yaqui, in Old Mexico, and the cholla-covered hills of Yucatan.

The cactus cat has thorny hair, the thorns being especially long and rigid on its ears. Its tail is branched and upon the forearms above its front feet are sharp, knifelike blades of bone. With these blades it slashes the base of giant cactus trees, causing the sap to exude. This is done systematically, many trees being slashed in the course of several nights as the cat makes a big circuit.

By the time it is back to the place of beginning, the sap of the first cactus has fermented into a kind of mescal, sweet and very intoxicating. This is greedily lapped up by the thirsty beast, which soon becomes fiddling drunk, and goes waltzing off in the moonlight, rasping its bony forearms across each other and screaming with delight.

The Splinter Cat

By William T Cox, from “Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods, with a Few Desert and Mountain Beasts,” published in 1910, we have this description of the Splinter Cat, (Felynx Arbordiffisus).

A widely distributed and frightfully destructive animal is the splinter cat. It is found from the Great Lakes to the Gulf, and eastward to the Atlantic Ocean, but in the Rocky Mountains has been reported from only a few localities.

Apparently the splinter cat inhabits that part of the country in which wild bees and raccoons abound. These are its natural food, and the animal puts in every dark and stormy night shattering trees in search of coons or honey. It doesn’t use any judgement in selecting coon trees or bee trees, but just smashes one tree after another until a hollow one containing food is found.

The method used by this animal in its destructive work is simple but effective. It climbs one tree, and from the uppermost branches bounds down and across toward the tree it wishes to destroy. Striking squarely with its hard face, the splinter cat passes right on, leaving the tree broken and shattered as though struck by lightning or snapped off by the wind.

Appalling destruction has been wrought by this animal in the Gulf States, where its work in the shape of a wrecked forest is often ascribed to windstorms.

The Greedy and Ambitious Cat

There was once an old woman who lived in a village. She was half-starved, extremely thin and meager and lived a thrifty life in a dark and gloomy little cottage. This miserable creature had as her only companion a cat as wretched and lean as herself. The cat never saw bread or other people and she had to make do with trying to catch the mice that left their paw prints on the dusty floor of the miserly dwelling.

If the cat was extraordinarily lucky and managed to catch a mouse, she was like a beggar that had discovered treasure. Her face and eyes lit up with joy and she made her treasure – the mouse – last a whole week! In fact she was so admiring of her luck and so distrustful of her own happiness that she said to herself, “Is this really happening or is it just a dream?” for the old woman and the cottage were so miserly that even the mice went elsewhere.

One day, the poor cat was half-dead from starvation and she climbed up onto the roof of the cottage in the hope of finding something to eat. From there she saw a neighbor’s cat walking along the neighbor’s wall as proudly as a lion and so fat that she could hardly walk. The old woman’s cat was astonished to see one of her own kind so plump and large.

In a loud voice, the thin cat called out to her pussy neighbor, “In the name of pity, tell me where you go to get your skin so well stuffed! Why, you look as if you came from one of the Khan of Kathai’s feasts!”

The fat cat replied “Where else should one feed so well but at a king’s table? I go to the house every day about dinnertime; there I lay my paws upon some delicious morsel or other, which serves me till the next. I leave enough for an army of mice, which under me live in peace and tranquility – after all, why should I murder a tough, stringy mouse, when I can easily dine on succulent venison?”

On hearing this, the thin cat asked the way to this house of plenty and begged her plump neighbour to take her with her next time.

“Most willingly,” said the fat cat, “there is plenty for all and I am naturally charitable and you are so thin that I heartily pity your condition.”

Having made the promise, the cats parted company and the thin cat returned to the old woman’s cottage where she told the old woman about the meeting with the fat cat and the plentiful food. The old woman prudently tried to persuade her cat not to go to the house of plenty and warned her to be careful of being deceived, “Believe me, the desires of greedy and ambitious people are never satisfied until their mouths are stuffed with the dirt of their graves. Sobriety and temperance are the only things that truly enrich people.” Said the old woman, “You poor silly cat! Those who travel to satisfy their greed and ambition don’t recognise the good things they already possess. Those who aren’t contented with their lot are never truly grateful for what they do have, but always want more.”

The poor starved cat, however, was so envious of the fat cat’s good fortune and of the king’s table, that the old woman’s good morals and judicious advice went in one ear and out the other. The next day, the thin cat went with the fat cat to the king’s house.

Alas! Before the cats arrived, the king had become weary of having his food stolen or spoiled by a plague of cats. The night before, several grimalkins had robbed the king’s larder and the king had ordered his servants to kill any cats that came near.

The old woman’s cat, however, was pushed on by hunger and entered the house. She immediately saw an unattended dish of meat in the kitchen and seized it. She took the stolen meat under the dresser and, for the first time in years, she filled her lean belly with good food. As she was enjoying the feast, one of the kitchen overseers found his breakfast had gone missing. Seeing the cat eating the stolen breakfast, he threw a knife at the poor creature. Unluckily for the cat, the knife struck her full in the breast.

However, nature had given the cat nine lives instead of one, and the poor puss feigned being dead until the overseer left. She then began to crawl away. Seeing her own blood flowing freely from her breast, the poor cat pledged “Just let me escape this mishap and should I ever become discontent with my own home and my own mice and come looking for morsels from the king’s kitchen then may i lose all of my nine lives at once!”

By Pilpay, an Oriental author circa 300 BC

How Pussy Willows Got Their Name


Many springtimes ago, according to an old Polish legend, tiny kittens were chasing butterflies along the edge of the river and fell in. The mother cat, helpless to save them, started crying. The willows at the river’s edge swept their long, graceful branches into the water towards the kittens. The kittens gripped the branches tightly and were rescued.

Each springtime since, goes the legend, willow branches sprout tiny fur-like buds where the tiny kittens once clung.

 

The King of the Cats

Here’s a great cat story from Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland, by Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde, published in 1887.

A most important personage in feline history is the King of the Cats. He may be in your house a common looking fellow enough, with no distinguishing mark of exalted rank about him, so that it is very difficult to verify his genuine claims to royalty. Therefore the best way is to cut off a tiny little bit of his ear. If he is really the royal personage, he will immediately speak out and declare who he is; and perhaps, at the same the, tell you some very disagreeable truths about yourself, not at all pleasant to have discussed by the house cat.

A man once, in a fit of passion, cut off the head of the domestic pussy, and threw it on the fire. On which the head exclaimed, in a fierce voice, “Go tell your wife that you have cut off the head of the King of the Cats; but wait! I shall come back and be avenged for this insult,” and the eyes of the cat glared at him horribly from the fire.

And so it happened; for that day year, while the master of the house was playing with a pet kitten, it suddenly flew at his throat and bit him so severely that he died soon after.

A story is current also, that one night an old woman was sitting up very late spinning, when a knocking came to the door. “Who is there?” she asked. No answer; but still the knocking went on. “‘Who is there?” she asked a second the. No answer; and the knocking continued. “Who is there?” she asked the third time, in a very angry passion.

Then there came a small voice–“Ah, Judy, agrah, let me in,–for I am cold and hungry; open the door, Judy, agrah, and let me sit by the fire, for the night is cold out here. Judy, agrah, let me in, let me in!”

The heart of Judy was touched, for she thought it was some small child that had lost its way, and she rose up from her spinning, and went and opened the door–when in walked a large black cat with a white breast, and two white kittens after her.

They all made over to the fire and began to warm and dry themselves, purring all the time very loudly; but Judy said never a word, only went on spinning.

Then the black cat spoke at last–“Judy, agrah, don’t stay up so late again, for the fairies wanted to hold a council here tonight, and to have some supper, but you have prevented them; so they were very angry and determined to kill you, and only for myself and my two daughters here you would be dead by this time. So take my advice, don’t interfere with the fairy hours again, for the night is theirs, and they hate to look on the face of a mortal when they are out for pleasure or business. So I ran on to tell you, and now give me a drink of milk, for I must be off.”

And after the milk was finished the cat stood up, and called her daughters to come away.

“Good-night, Judy, agrah,” she said. “You have been very civil to me, and I’ll not forget it to you. Good-night, good night.”

With that the black cat and the two kittens whisked up the chimney; but Judy looking down saw something glittering on the hearth, and taking it up she found it was a piece of silver, more than she ever could make in a month by her spinning, and she was glad in her heart, and never again sat up so late to interfere with the fairy hours, but the black cat and her daughters came no more again to the house.

Borrowed from: Widdershins

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“Time spent with a cat is never wasted.”

― Colette

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