WHILE THE CAT'S AWAY The story.... Good oak boards they were, scrubbed weekly by the servants and worn smooth by generations of silk silpper'd Nabobs, Princelings and Emissaries as they came to pay their respects; sup; dance and receive audience within the House of Knucklegrind, Coldbreath & Smutt (Moneylenders, Fixers and Scriveners to Royalty - at Home and Abroad, no appointments necessary). Yes, Solomon ruled his little kingdom (and a sizeable part of the Kingdom beyond) with a firm and steely grip and with just such a grip did he protect his wealth and investments with earnest severity. A dour and grim man his smiles came with a price attached. Indeed he was one of those fellows who knew the price of everything and yet the value of nothing. Laughter, Joy and the Pursuit of Pleasure had somehow passed him by. His spies would report, on a regular basis, the prospects (or otherwise) of the repayment of his loans (by the 'inflated instalment plan') and the necessity, or otherwise, of dispatching Ben Crumplehead (Poisoner, Strangler and Ferret Fancier for Hire) to exact a revenge or administer a warning chop or two ('pour encourager les autres'). Burly guards would stand by the entrances to Knucklegrinds, filleting blades flashing ostentatiously in the sun. The Chamberlain could reckon his Lordship's wealth at any given moment to the last groat, shekel or peppercorn. His stock and cattle were fenced in, his larder locked, his cellars bolted, no one laughed without his say so- nor spake, nor ate. Not even the lowliest mouse - indeed that was why he owned such ferocious cats. 'They all earn their keep.or else, ' Sour Osbert would say of the cats (and of everything else within his household for that matter). Yet what the eye does not see.. For, if truth be told, the world of Solomon Kucklegrind was something of a stage set, a facade and a fantasy. Oh yes, he saw glinting knives and heads on poles and the bowing & scraping of servile lackeys. But he did not see the lewd and cruel cartoons on the privy wall, the relabelling of vino plonko as Chateau Brillient '52, the money bags two thirds filled with sand nor did he hear the all night raves down in the dungeons (it was Smallturd the Court Torturer who had suggested that remotest spot as being the 'in place' for the coven of deceivers to hang out on a Saturday night -and a Sunday night for that matter, ..and sometimes a Wednesday, most Fridays, always a Wednesday .and like or not a Monday and Tuesday. 'If old Miseryguts hears the noise he'll just think I'm doing a bit of late night overtime on some poor Earl or Duke,' he reasoned - and he was right). Still amongst all this treachery the vile cats Bodkins and Shafter remained loyal to the Court of Knucklegrind. Sour and malevolent they scratched, gnawed and spat on the hand that fed, housed and stroked them. And this was the way Solomon liked it. The mice, however, did not. For it seemed to them that the rest of the world was in constant deceitful hilarity whilst they were forced to struggle in fear & dread, in the half-light and gloom of meagre cellars, foul drains and unspeakable sewers in the age old game of cat & mouse. It seemed somehow unfair that for them - and only them - the cat never did seem to be away. But Nemesis came for Bodkins & Shafter, and ultimately Solomon & the entire Knucklegrind Dynasty in the form of a cat called Pussygolightly. The ignoble history of the House of Knucklegrind could only be perpetuated by there being an heir to the sour, mouldy and malodorous Throne and a new Guardian of the Intrigues and Keeper of the Debts. Towit Solomon needed a son. Love doesn't come into affairs such as this - and, as one would expect in such elevated circumstances, the proposed Marriage was more a matter for lawyers and accountants than sonnets and roses. And the possibles and the maybes came and went and the sums were done and offers made. It was hard to please the old tyrant. The bargain had to be good. And then came simple Lady Fortune out of nowhere, whose prettiness enchanted and whose sweetness enraptured the stalest of hearts and stirred regions long forgotten and grown over. Looking into that fresh face he saw a coy eye, something in her lips and a sway of the hips that promised more.much more. A change came over the old man. Of course Solomon thought it was love. The negotiations were hastily smoothed over and all of a sudden one Wednesday morning there she was on the doorstep, clutching just a small overnight bag and her cat, Pussygolightly. And that was when it all began. Bodkins and Shafter ceased their senseless slaughter just for a moment: and never returned to it. So lovely was the advent of this new feline that dim recollections of feral happiness were awakened from kittenhood, ideas of dreamy, fluffy pink contentment floated before their unlovely, scarred and bloodshot eyes. She led them a dance around the parapets and attics, provoking and teasing until the raised level of testosterone caused their loyalty to falter.... And then no sooner had they arrived than the cat was away. Or more precisely the cats were away. For by Thursday morning Pussygolightly was no longer there. And neither was her mistress. Bodkins & Shafter were in hot pursuit (in the wrong direction). Sad Solomon rose a cynical eyelid at the end of a deep and painless sleep to see the empty place beside him in the bed, the rifled draws, the broken jewellery box, a door hanging open at the empty safe. By lunch time the full extent of Miss Fortune's treachery was discovered - and in the various desperate diggings and rootlings around in the treasury and store rooms so were the deceptions of most of the rest of the dishevelled, bleary eyed & half-masted Court. (Twelve days later the Bergomeister of Fiddlenobf tallied the absent Bride's description with that of the infamous Barbaria Primavera, Fraudster to the Stars, wanted throughout Ruritania for her nefarious schemes & plottings). They sought her here, they sought her there, they sought her mostly almost everywhere. But find her did they not. Nor did they find Pussygolightly. (Bodkins & Shafter were never to return. Having exhausted themselves in the search they found their new surroundings, at the point where they finally came to rest, most congenial. Opening a small café on the banks of the River Ouse, under the shade of Linden trees, surrounded by picturesque vineyards they went on to serve coffee and dainty pastries, macaroons and iced fancies into advanced & happy decrepitude). The Court, in it's entirety was dismissed: but with little cash left to embezzle the dull & dusty house held little further interest & they moved as one body one night, like some massive leech in search of a fresh host. Penniless, friendless Solomon was asked to leave by the Mayor and one evening he locked the massive doors for the final time and, posting the key's through the Land Agent's door, took up the handles of his hot chestnut cart and exited into the gloom, rattling over the cobbles until the noise mingled with the sound of the wind and howling dogs. He never looked back. 'Pah! - What could you expect!' was all he muttered. But as for the mice: well, as they say 'it's an ill wind that blows nobody good'. And as far as they were concerned this new Palace had now come at last to its most rightful owners. Old matchboxes were dragged from half forgotten corners, and jam jars from recesses to reveal age old instruments and costumes. There was a frantic polishing and dusting and a gathering of stores, gleaning of cellars and cupboards. The fiddles and bag pipes struck up and while the cat's away they play on. So if you find yourself in some quaint and ancient town to the East of Europe this Summer, in some Square, drinking coffee or perhaps a glass of chilled Hock look around you and should there be some tumbledown old edifice before you you might do well to leave your postcard writing for a moment & trouble yourself to wander over: listen hard at one of the barred windows or bolted doors if you can. Is that music you can hear?..
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