It certainly is a delightful day, thought Don as he sat in his living room with his French friend, Jacques. Perhaps we should be talking outside instead of inside.
But they remained inside for some reason. Meanwhile, the Frenchman was asking the Londoner, "Where is your son? I haven't seen him"
"He's up in his room, doing a book report", Don answered.
"On what?"
"Oh Dick Whittington"
"Ah, yes. The London boy with the matagot."
"The what?" Don asked.
"A matagot." Jacques answered. "That's what Dick's cat was."
"I see." said Don. "What's a matagot?"
"A matagot," explained the Frenchman, "is a magician cat, with magical powers. According to an old French legend, if you catch one properly, and treat it as you should, it would bring you good luck and great fortune."
"Ah." Now Don was interested, for he had seen for himself a black-and-white cat that could do magic tricks, including pulling seven kittens out of a hat. Could that be a matagot?, he wondered. But all he said out loud was, "Go on. What do I have to do?"
"Well," Jacques continued, "First, you must find a matagot, of course. When you do, you must lure it towards you with a plump chicken. When it comes, pick it up and take it home without looking back. As for how to treat it, all you have to do, is give it the first mouthful of food, and the first sip of water, or whatever you're drinking, at every meal. If you do this correctly, the matagot will give you a gold coin each morning, and good luck to boot."
"I see." said Don. He and Jacques chatted a while longer, until the Frenchman decided to leave. After they had exchanged "au revoir"s, the Englishman set out to find that magic cat he had seen....
A few blocks away, Mr. Mistofolees, the cat Don was looking for, was trotting down an alley, along side his best friend, Rum Tum Tugger, who was telling about how he had mauled a Pollicle the other day.
"I told it to some she-cats to impress them, and what do you know? The didn't believe me!" the lion-like cat lamented.
"I think it was the part about you chasing the dog up the tree." Misto replied. "Dogs can't climb trees. Are you sure it wasn't the other way around?"
Tugger was about to respond, when something ahead caught his eye. "Hey Misto," he asked, "what's that human doing?"
Misto turned his head to look and saw a human male kneeling in the street in front of the two cats, holding out the fattest, tastiest chicken they had ever seen, and making those weird noises that the humans used as language.
"Must have lost his mind," the black cat said. "But that chicken sure looks good!" So saying, he trotted toward the man, asking, "Can I have that chicken, please?"
Don smiled when the black cat came up to him, meowing. With one swift movement, he grabbed the little animal in his arms, let it have the chicken, and turned around back toward his house, determined not to look back. The cat held the chicken with its forepaws and ate it quickly, and when it was done, it looked up in Don's face and uttered a grateful, "Meeooww!" Don chuckled, and said, "You're welcome."
It was no doubt the best chicken Mr. Mistoffolees had ever eaten. It was so tender he barely needed to chew it, and it tasted absolutly heavenly. Misto looked up at the human when he was finished and said, "Thank you for the chicken. It's the best I've ever had." The man made that strange "heh heh heh" sound that was the human equivelent of purring, and followed that with more strange gibberish.
Misto had almost completly forgotten Tugger, until the leonine cat yelled, "Hey! What about me? Can't I have any?" Hearing this, Misto tore off a tiny bit of the remaining meat, and tossed it to his friend.
"Thanks!" said Tugger, and stopped to eat the mouthful of meat the black cat had given him. But by the time he was finished, and he looked up, both Misto and the human were gone. Confused, the huge cat got up and searched unsuccessfully for them. But he didn't find a trace of neither cat nor man, so he decided to head back to the junkyard to tell the others what had happened.
“Barb! Barb! I’m home!” Don shouted to his wife as he burst through the front door of his house, magical cat in tow. “And I’ve solved all our financial worries for good!”
Barb sauntered out of the kitchen toward her husband, asking, “What happened? Did you find another job? Did you get a raise? What?”
“No, not quite”, Don exclaimed. “I got...this!” And with that, he held up the black cat for Barb to see.
Barb studied the animal with a critical eye, and asked skeptically, “How’s that...creature supposed to help us with our finances?”
Don went on to explain what Jacques had told him, though as he did, he began to feel more than a little foolish for even thinking that such a thing was actually going to work.
But his wife helped a little by saying, “Say, isn’t that the cat who produced seven kittens out of that hat? If he can create live kittens from nothing, then surely a gold coin or two won’t be a problem. And as for good luck-well, that should be just as easy.”
“Aye,” Don said. “That’s exactly what I thought. So, what’s for dinner tonight?”
“Roast beef, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green salad, and hot rolls, with ice cream sundaes for dessert,” Barb replied. “That cat’s going to have a feast. He’s also going to have an appointment with the veterinarian first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Right, sure.” Don answered absentmindedly. His mind was preoccupied with the thought of the dozens of gold coins he was about to receive, starting tomorrow...he hoped.
Meanwhile, Mr. Mistoffelees, having long ago discarded the chicken’s bones, was trying to wash his face and paws as best he could while being held in the human’s huge, clumsy hands. He was just finishing getting the last of the grease off of his whiskers when suddenly-with a burst of extra-loud gibberish-Misto was thrust forward with the human’s hands squeezing him painfully around his ribs, and his hind legs dangling in air. The conjuring cat cried out in surprise; without his hind paws supported, he felt like he was about to fall any minute, despite the powerful hands practically crushing his ribcage.
Better get out of here before he suffocates me, Misto thought. He concentrated on a nearby sofa, and imagined himself lying on its plump, soft-looking cushions. A few moments later, with a bright white flash and a confused “Wha...?” from the human, it came to be. Mistoffelees kneaded the cushions with his front paws; they were indeed as soft as he imagined them to be, but covered with a somewhat scratchy cloth.
The two humans, meanwhile, just stared in shock for a minute or so. The female recovered first, said some gibberish to her mate, and headed through the doorway she had arrived in. The male followed a few seconds later.
Mistoffelees slept peacefully on the couch, until a loud cry from the human female awoke him. He rolled over, ignoring her. But a minute later, something grabbed the back of the magical cat’s neck and shook him violently until his ears rang. At the same time, the female’s voice said something about “dhi-ner”, which meant food. And it had been hours since the chicken.
Misto finally opened his sleep-clouded eyes and allowed the human to pick him up and carry him over to a little dish in the dining room near the table. The dish contained a few mouthfuls of brown meat, some lettuce leaves, a bit of orange-brown stuff, some kind of a lumpy white substance, and some tiny bits of bread; a bite of each entree of the humans’ dinner from each plate. There were two tiny cups near the dish; one had a sip or two of wine poured from Don’s and Barb’s glasses, and the other had some milk donated from each of the eight children.
Misto sniffed the offerings, and then looked up at the humans. All ten of them were watching, waiting for him to eat. What the heck? Misto thought, and started with the meat.
It was tender, but not as tender as the chicken. Still, it was very juicy, and had a wonderful flavor.
After he’d finished the beef, Misto ate the lettuce leaves next, with some difficulty since cats’ teeth aren’t exactly designed for eating leaves. Next were the yams, then the mashed potatoes, and finally the bread, which was far too dry and stuck to Misto’s throat the entire way down.
I need something to wash this down with, Misto thought, and started lapping up the wine. To put it mildly, it was awful! The conjuring cat coughed and gagged as the cool, grape-flavored liquid burned its way down his throat. He felt some sort of haze fall like gauze over his mind. Ugh! One sip was plenty. He turned to walk away...only to have the bowl of wine picked up and set down in front of him again. He turned in another direction and tried again to leave, with the same results. Misto sighed. Obviously the humans intended for him to drink this horrible stuff, no matter what. So he reluctantly drank the rest of the wine. Only after he had licked the bottom of the dish did he realize that he could have just disappeared and saved himself the trouble. Oh well.
Mistoffelees gulped down the milk, its coolness a welcome relief from the fiery wine. When that was gone, the humans set down a new dish, filled with ice cream and chocolate syrup topped with whipped cream and a bit of cherry. The magical cat couldn’t resist trying some. It was soft, sweet, and far too cold, but otherwise enjoyable. He gulped it all down in three bites, and was promptly rewarded for his efforts with a mild headache. Finally, his belly filled, Misto wandered off in search for a comfortable place to sleep. He found it on the couch he was napping on earlier. With a nimble leap, the conjuring cat leapt up on it, kneaded the soft cushion with his paws once more, then lay down to sleep.
The night passed like a nightmare; Mistoffelees awoke around midnight with a stomach ache, a headache, and terrible nausea. The latter one was taken care of in a small corner of the litter box the humans had purchased and filled some time between Misto’s arrival and dinnertime.
But the pain would not go away. Misto’s stomach felt as though it were filled with hot coals. His head pounded and throbbed. That’s it, he thought. No more human food for me...ever again! Finally, hours later, the pain subsided, and Mistoffelees fell asleep.
Misto woke up the next morning feeling normal again. His eyes still closed, the magical cat stretched his legs, and felt something cool and metallic under his paws. What the...? He opened his eyes, and looked down. There, near his side, was a large gold coin. Where did that come from? he wondered. He didn’t have time to think about it, however, because just then the human female rushed in. She took one look at the mysterious coin and nearly shattered the windows-and Misto’s eardrums-with a shrill cry of utter joy. Her mate came rushing in in some kind of distress, which melted into the same sheer happiness when he too saw the coin.
“See? SEE?! It IS a Matagot!” John exclaimed. “I was right! We’ll be rich!” He and Barb embraced, but then the get-rich-quick euphoria wore off. Barb was serious and practical again. “Yes, but we must get him to the vet,” she said. “We don’t want our little magical money machine getting sick, do we?”
“No, of course not!” John replied. He scooped up the cat. “C’mon! It’s off to the vet’s with you!”
Misto’s puzzlement over the appearance of the coin blocked the word “vet” from reaching his ears, so he offered no resistence at all as the human named John picked him up, placed him in a carrier, and carried him out to the car.
How did that coin get there? Misto wondered. I know I’m a conjuring cat and all, but I’m usually awake for my spells. Either I really am a mah-ta-goh as the human says, or I was casting spells in my sleep. Misto had to chuckle a little at this, because he had never done such a thing in his life. First time for everything I suppose, he thought. And besides, ‘sleep-casting’ is a far better explanation than being a mah-ta-goh.
