Halloween Party

Halloween. Samhain. It marks the end of a yearly cycle. It’s not as well recognized as New Year’s Eve as the end of the year. For me, it is when we enter the colder days that bring about temporary death until the invigorating spring. Halloween is the transition.

Teenagers are persons in transition.

“No candy,” pronounces Thalia.

Jini backs her up. “Candy is for children.”

“Ah,” I say as we discuss our Halloween party menu, “then let’s go traditional with Mash of Nine Sort and bangers.”

“Sounds cool,” says Thalia.

“What’s Mash of Nine Sort?” Jini asks.

“Basically, potatoes and other root vegetables,” I answer.

“Safe,” she says.

“How about caramel apples for dessert?”

They hesitate. These are candied apples, but they quickly cave.

American apple cider is a given in our household for such a party, not the British cider, which is, of course, alcoholic.

As we prepare the Mash of Nine Sort, I throw in my late wife’s wedding ring, to their confused looks.

‘You didn’t let him put a ring in it, did  you?” Melissa asks them when the party starts. Their wide-eyed, nonresponse answers her question. “Well then, whoever gets the ring in their serving is the next to get married.”

The girls gasp.

I chortle.

Melissa gives me a harsh glance.

We decide to start off our evening with Thalia’s reading. We all gather in the study. By “all” I mean Melissa, Jini, Thalia, the fairy, Johannes, the brownies (in the shadows as usual), and myself.

“Tonight’s story is dedicated  to Johannes. It’s called King of the Cats.”

Johannes’s eyes shine as he curls up on Jini’s lap.

One winter’s night, the sexton’s wife is sitting by the fireside with their old, black tom cat lying in her lap, waiting for her husband to come home. He does, at last, return, but in a fit of excitement, shouting, “Who’s Tommy Tildrum?”

The wife demands an explanation, and her husband embarks on a wild tale.

He was digging a grave when he heard meows. Looking out over the top of the grave, he saw nine black cats, eight of them carrying a coffin covered with a black pall on top of which rested a small, gold crown. The procession was led by the ninth cat. On every third step, they all chorused a meow.

As the sexton tells his story, every time he refers to the meows of the cats, their cat, Old Tom, meows as well. The sexton twice notices that Old Tom seems to understand what he is saying, but the wife returns his attention to telling the tale.

The sexton relates that the funeral party of cats came parallel to the grave he was digging. The nineth cat came over to the grave’s edge and looked down upon him, saying, “Tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Tildrum is dead.”

Upon hearing this, Old Tom speaks up. “What? Old Tim is dead! Then I’m king of the cats.” And disappears up the chimney.

Fairy Tale of the Month: October 2023 King of the Cats – Part Two

Of Cats

“A mostly true tale,” Johannes offers. “I knew the Tildrum litter well, and I approve of the story. It doesn’t have us of the Cat Sith stealing souls and such things from the dead.”

“You black cats,” I comment, “do have a bad reputation on the whole. I have always heard it is unlucky to have a black cat cross your path, for example.”

Johannes hisses gently in resigned agreement. “And to think we were once worshipped in Egypt. It could have led to someone’s death to harm a cat back in those days. Gone are the times of Bastet.”

“Bastet?” Jini asks as Johannes leans into her hand while she scratches behind his ear.

“Daughter of the sun god Ra and Isis. She served as a protector against contagious diseases and evil spirits. Isn’t it ironic that by the Middle Ages our reputation became the opposite.”

“How did that happen?” Thalia queries.

“Christians, is the short answer.” Johannes’s tail thrashes. “They eradicated anything pagan that they could not put a Christian gloss upon. Not only were we cats worshipped by the Egyptians, but we drew the Norse goddess Freya’s chariot. We had far too much contact with other deities for the monotheists to be comfortable with us.

“We were accused of stealing babies’ breath, snatching souls before they could go to heaven; our bites were poisonous. When the Black Death came, many thought we were the cause. Thousands of cats were killed to slow down the plague, when it was we who hunted the rats who were the culprits.”

Melissa raises her hand. “Why did cats and witches become associated?”

“I believe you ask that question because you already know the answer.”

Melissa smiles at him.

“But for the benefit of others,” Johannes continues, “disadvantaged women and cats—themselves disadvantaged by their history—were thrown together by the ignorant, popular mind. Scapegoats are always needed, and here was a pairing not to be ignored.

“To be fair, Christianity is not the only religion or philosophy to denigrate women and cats. However, not since the fall of the pagans has anything feminine or feline been treated fairly.

“Whenever have you heard of a ‘sorcerer hunt’? It’s always a ‘witch hunt.’ Sorcerers have tomes, which they consult. Witches have familiars with whom they confer. The popular mind has cast different scenarios for men and women in the black arts.”

“Aren’t you being a little harsh?” Jini objects.

“I don’t think so. You are young. I have been about, perhaps, a little too long. Forgive me if I appear jaded, like an overworked horse.”

“Aren’t the Cat Sith inherently evil?” I prod.

“No!” Johannes’s fur bristles as Jini tries to pat it down. “Ah, you are baiting me. You got me on that score. Are my buttons so obvious that you must push them?”

It is my turn to smile.

Johannes growls a bit, despite Jini’s calming hand. “Evil is a relative state. Visit politics to see examples. Whose side are you then on?”

Good point.

Fairy Tale of the Month: October 2023 King of the Cats – Part Three

Cats Considered

Melissa and I are in the kitchen, warming up the Mash of Nine Sort, cooking the bangers, and pouring ourselves some wine, leaving the girls to chat by the fireside with their American apple cider and Johannes contently curled in Jini’s lap.

“I feel like I am talking behind Johannes’ back.” Melissa sips her wine. “But what is the role of cats in fairy tales?”

“An interesting question to contemplate while we prepare our little feast,” I say, checking the oven temperature. “Let’s think on this.”

“The first to jump to mind is The Companionship of the Cat and the Mouse, which is almost the lead story in the Grimm collection. The tale does not end well for the mouse, and the cat is cast as villainous. The whole piece is a cautionary tale.

“Another of the cautionary tales is The Fox and the Cat.”

“I don’t recall that one. Remind me.”

“A fox and a cat were talking. The arrogant fox asked the cat what skills it could boast of compared to his many. The cat said she could climb trees, a talent that the fox belittled until hunting hounds suddenly descended upon them. The cat scampered up a tree, and the fox was killed.”

“I see. In this cautionary tale, the cat is in the right.” I move the bangers about before saying, “However, I think first mention should be given to Puss in Boots.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Melissa agrees. “Here the cat is the protagonist and a witty hero, outsmarting humans and ogres. Certain Johannes would approve.”

“I recently read Wood of Tontla,” I say. “In it is a cat having something to do with magic, but it has a small role and never says anything.”

“That makes me think of The Cat on the Dovrefell. The cat is just a cat, but its presence works into the pun at the end of the story.”

“A device, in other words, not a character like Puss in Boots,” I reflect. “And then there is The Bremen Town Musicians, one of whom is a cat.  The cat, and her companions, fall between being devices in the story and protagonists, maybe?”

“Let’s just label them as characters,” Melissa decides.

“I’ll buy that.” Melissa takes another sip of her wine. “Oh, Madame d’Aulnoy’s The White Cat! While the prince is the protagonist, the white cat is certainly the heroine.”

“But,” I protest, “the cat is really a princess under a spell and not a real cat. Does that count?”

“Well, she had enough claws on her front paws to count to ten. She counts in my book.”

I will not argue. “Ah, Gabriel Rider.” I raise my finger in the air. “In that story are the very Cat Sith representing evil that Johannes complained about. These cats are not devices or protagonists, but rather antagonists.”

Melissa considers. “That is the first story we have cited in which the cats are the minions of the devil. None of the stories we have mentioned had a witch and a black cat in them. The witch and black cat pairing is not a traditional fairy-tale convention.”

When the oven bell chimes, we finish our wine and carry the hot dishes into the study, along with the caramel apples the girls and I produced earlier in the day. We set the study table up as a dining table and have at it.

I take no more than two mouthfuls of the Mash of Nine Sort when my molars clamp down on a round, metal object. It makes a clink. The three others look up at me and smirk.

I should have known better.

Your thoughts?