Shakespeare's Cat
'Away with you, foul animal,' snarled Will. He
snatched his quill away as the cat tried to paw it. They glared at each other.
Will had to get the script finished by the end of a fortnight. The Queen was
coming to watch this wretched play at the end of the month. And now that animal
of the devil was treating his quill as a plaything. 'Anne,' he called, 'Annie,
can you remove this cat from here? Now.' Answer came there none.
He tried to grab the cat but it spun faster than
a prize-fighter and got it's strike in first. Blood trickled from neat tiger
stripes on the back of his hand. Will raised an arm. The cat's ears went back.
It turned and leapt through the window but not before it had knocked the ink
all over his work.
'Vile creature.' Will hurled the dripping
manuscript into the bin. He had a fortnight, a fortnight to get this right. And
the Queen didn't accept failure kindly.
'Daddy,' Hamnett stood by his shoulder. 'You
promised me we'd go fishing.'
Will sighed.
'Not today lad. I've got a play to write.'
Hamnett sighed and leant against his father. The
quill slipped.
'Go and play with your sister,' he suggested.
'She's boring. And you said people should keep
their promises.'
'True, that's absolutely true. And, as soon as
I've finished this Act I will.'
'What's it about?' Will breathed out slowly. He
knew Hamnett wasn't deliberately trying to annoy him but he hated explaining
his plots to people. They always sounded ridiculous to him and people always
said oh, as if they thought it was a waste of time too. Or they asked him where
he got his ideas from. Will stayed silent and hoped his son would get bored.
Instead he started to swing on the back of his chair.
'Stop that now. Anne! Anne!'
'Mummy's gone to the bakers.'
'Hamnett, I've got to get on with my work. This
play's bad enough as it is.'
'Write one for me Daddy.'
'What?'
'I want a play with twins in it.'
Shakespeare considered this request. 'With a boy
and girl who...'
'Not a girl twin. I want a boy twin,' Hamnett
paused, ' A brother I could go fishing with.' Will winced. Little sod, he was
cranking up the guilt. 'Write it for me Daddy, promise.'
'If you promise to play with your sister.'
'Judith only wants to play dolls with Susanna.'
Hamnett tripped out of the room. Will butted his forehead against the desk. He
was a bloody idiot.
Anne came in later. Will was about to snap when
he noticed her fine dark eyes were looking inwards. She smiled faintly but
sorrow ate at the corners of her mouth.
'Pray love, what is the matter?' Will caught her
gently by the wrist. Anne blinked rapidly and took a deep breath.
'It's Edward, the baker's son. He died during
the night of a fever. No-one had any idea.' They both looked down at the floor
then they looked through the window at Hamnett playing with his sisters and
their cats. They were twirling some string which the cats attacked with glee.
Will and Anne stood side by side listening to the children laughing as they tried
to whisk the string away, but the paws of the tabby and white cats were too
fast. In his mind Will saw Edward, a stocky little boy with tow coloured hair
playing with Hamnett. It was a few days ago. Just a few days past. Anne gently
removed her hand and went out. Will sat down again and grasped his quill. It
was to be a play about twins. And loss.
The girls bought some purple ribbon for the
cats. It was all the rage in the town. Will smiled and rolled his eyes at the
conceit. How long would it last round those necks. Then he sat back in his
chair, what was going to happen to those twins?
Two hours later he still had no idea when the white kitten leapt through
the window with a lamb chop in its mouth.
Will gave chase but the cat shot into the cellar
and hid behind some boxes. That must be someone's supper, but, unless it was
the Fletcher who would eat anything, the they would need to find something
else. Bloody animal. Will turned the key in the lock. Blanche the white kitten
could damn well stay there in disgrace.
He sat down and tried again. Then Susannah
knocked on the door. Ink dripped onto the paper. Will had been doodling.
'Daddy, Mistress Midden is here,' her voice
dropped to a whisper. 'She looks like a pudding full of sour plums.'
'Where's your mother?'
'With the baker's family.'
Mistress Midden squeezed through the doorway and
plonked her ample parts on a wooden chair that was already complaining about
the arrangement. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and glared round.
'This the place you do your writing? Tis like a tart's tickle box. Not a place
for proper man's work.'
'And how are Mr Midden's cows my good lady. I
hear he has some prize specimens.'
'That he has,' she replied. 'Has the queen ever
watched some of your Nancy plays?'
'Many a time. Some folk even think she likes
them. Now, what can I do for you good lady?'
Mistress Midden examined the room with great
care. Will reckoned she had a much better valuation of the contents than he
had. 'It's about your cat. The white one.'
'Blanche?'
'Is that what you call her?' Mrs Midden spat
neatly into the fireplace. There was a brief sizzle then she turned back. 'Blasted
animal, pardon my French, chased a mouse into the creamery. It drowned in the
vat of milk. Now I want recompense.'
'For the vat of milk.'
'No. For the time spend squeezing the milk out
of its fur.'
Will blinked rapidly and prayed Anne bought the
butter from elsewhere. A smile played about his lips, 'Did you squeeze it in
the Low Countries? It might have swallowed some milk.'
Mistress Midden's eyes rounded. 'I did not sir,'
she said. 'But next time I shall make sure I do. In the meantime your cat...'
Will thought carefully. 'When was this?
'Not twenty minutes ago,' came the reply.
Will blinked again.'it cannot be Blanche for she
is locked in the cellar for these last two hours. And besides,' he added, 'she
wears a purple ribbon.'
'I know,' Mistress Midden plonked a cream
drenched bow on the table. Will examined it then rose and went to the cellar.
Blanche popped out immediately and ran into the garden.
'Can't be my cat,' said Will.
'They can escape from anywhere,' declared the
lady. She held out her hand. Will handed over a penny then watched Mistress
Midden waddle back to her prize cows. Blanche still had her ribbon on. Will put
his head on one side. Now there was a pretty mystery. Then he scratched his
head and returned to his labours.
It was four of the clock when he raised his head
again. Anne was talking to one of the neighbours - the blacksmith unless he was
mistaken. Her head was on one side and she was smiling and running her purse
strings through her fingers. Meanwhile the Blacksmith stood feet astride and
was grinning. The two of them looked
most friendly. A pox on your house Smith, though Will. He wished he had time to
come out and break up the happy union by his gate.
Susanna scampered down the path and ran across
the lawn. Tabitha was sunning herself in the garden; the sunlight gave her thin
kittenish coat a rich tawny glow. Susanna picked her up and cuddled her. Will
watched through the window and smiled. Then Hamnett and his friend ran past and
pulled the kitten's tail. Wailing ensued. Will closed the window and rubbed the
end of his quill on his chin. Inspiration was a long way off. He sighed. It
needed to strike soon.
After supper he strolled by the river with Anne,
leaving the three children behind with his in-laws. One of the few times he was
grateful they all lived together. The sun's soft rays warmed his head and he
finally felt his shoulders relax. Anne smiled tucked her arm through his, swans
sailed past like miniature galleons and all was right with the world. Tabitha
popped out of the undergrowth. Will darted forward to grab the little cat,
fearful she might fall into the river. But the tiny tabby arched her back and
hissed as if he was a perfect stranger. Anne reached out but a petite paw
slapped her hand in warning.
'Tabitha,' a female voice called. It was not
Susannah's. The kitten ran eagerly away without a backward glance. Will and
Anne widened their eyes and winced. Why had Susannah's beloved pet deserted
her?
'The fickleness of cats is no less than the
fickleness of women,' muttered Will. Anne glared at him and they walked home
briskly, his wife leading the way. But when they peeped into the girl's bedroom
both kittens were curled blissfully at the end of the bed. A mystery.
'Not so fickle then,' Anne looked smug. Will
crept downstairs to try and make progress with his play.
The morning passed. Will shunted a comma round a
sentence and sucked his quill. By eleven o'clock he decided to go for a walk.
As he was passing the church the priest called out to him. Will turned his feet
and walked into the stone coolness of The Holy Trinity church. Vicar Halford
gestured towards the font with a long boney hand. Will was puzzled, there were
no christenings planned in the family.
'William, we encountered a slight problem at the
font.' Vicar Halford paused and balanced on one leg for a moment. This habit
plus his elongated figure had promoted the nickname of Heron by the locals. A
giggle was suppressed. Will arranged his features into an expression of
concern. 'We were baptising an infant when your kitten Blanche leapt up and
started to drink from the font. She consumed a considerable amount of holy
water, blasphemous creature. We were most
aggrieved.' Will nodded but wondered what on earth the vicar expected him to do
about it. Then he reached for his purse and handed the vicar a penny. 'Most
kind,' returned the vicar. 'By the way, I went to see the Spanish Tragedy when
I was last in town - a most wondrous entertainment. The crowd gave a standing
ovation.'
'Good, good,' said Will. Bloody Thomas Kyd and
his overblown potboiler.
'Of course, I haven't seen any one your plays,'
said the vicar. 'I've always thought, if I wasn't a man of the cloth, that I
might write one. Afunny one. Or a thundering good yarn.
'Why not,' agreed Will, 'anyone can toss off a
few lines, and why, there's a play.' He gave the vicar a swift bow and left the
church. A few little figures scuttled in
between the graves; Hamnett and his friends with their fishing rods. Well it
was a fine day to be casting a fly in the river. Will's heart ached. Hamnett
had given up asking his father. Every time he returned home the boy had changed
so much. He has progressed from the first stage to the second stage in between
one breath and another, or so it seemed .
The house was in uproar when he returned.
Susanna and Judith were weeping, Anne's hair was slipping from her wimple and
her cheeks were flushed. For a moment Will stood and admired her disarray.
'Will, the Miller has only come and stolen our
cats.'
'Thank heaven we are rid of those creature,'
cried Will, 'they are the enemies of my time and my craft.' His womenfolk
glared at him.
'William Shakespeare,' spat his wife, 'you live too
long in the world of make believe. These are your own real daughters whose
hearts are broken not some mimsy invention who wafts about the stage wailing.'
'He's taken our pets,' Susanna's chin shook as
she battled with her tears. 'He says they belong to his girls. But I love my
Tabby and I want her back. Blanche too.'
'You've got to confront him and get them back,'
demanded Anne, 'even if you've got to fight him.'
The Millar was the height of two barrels and the
width of three. When he was drunk he'd punched a shire horse and knocked it to
its knees. Even his own shadow was scared of him. Will swallowed.
'Seeing as they are the cause of much ado
perhaps we should buy a differently striped pair?' The chorus of disapproval
told him otherwise.
'Wish me luck,' he said to Anne and then he
tenderly kissed his daughters. Then, placing a cap on his locks he walked over
towards the mill.
To be continued.
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