Many of you will remember me and my best friend, Ki-Ki, a most beautiful Burmese cat, a real feline princess. We live with our family in Paris on the top floor of a comfortable apartment which has a gorgeous view of the famous Eiffel Tower. I am Pebbles, an ordinary tortoiseshell, except I happen to be the seventh kitten of a seventh kitten which has given me a wonderful gift— I can fly. It’s hard I know to imagine seeing a cat fly. Just read my story and you will find it’s no cat dream!
One morning we woke up in Paris to find the apartment in chaos. I had to jump over several suit cases just to get out of my basket. I found Ki-Ki sitting sadly by the front door.
‘What on earth’s happening, Ki-Ki? It looks as if we are moving out.’
‘They’re all going away. I think it’s to Kolkata, but I couldn’t hear all the conversation.’
‘But they can’t leave us in Paris, on our own in this big apartment! Anyhow, where’s Kolkata? It sounds quite a ‘katty’ sort of place.’
‘I think it’s in India but my geography’s not too good, apart of course from places with royal associations like Persia, Burma and Siam. I prefer to keep to original, regal names.’
‘But how will we survive if the concierge is left to manage our food. She has no idea of your superior cat buds, Kiki. What about our fish on Fridays?’
‘Fish! More likely that cheap tinned rubbish from the supermarket!’
At this moment we noticed our travelling baskets had been taken out of the cupboard and put on the dining room table.
‘Look, Ki-Ki! I think we’re going too.’
‘We are going somewhere it seems. Probably to a cattery out in the 18th arrondissement, kilometres away from civilization.’
‘What’s a cattery?’ Before she could answer, Noah, the youngest boy, came and picked us up, one under each arm.
‘The catkins are looking nervous. They hated flying to London and India’s a much longer flight.’
We both meowed rather sadly at the prospect of a long journey. I had a terrible cat ache on the short flight to London and Ki-Ki had been kept awake by some stupid dog howling for the entire hour. At least we would be with the family. They had their faults but nothing compared to a cattery.
At last, the baggage had been packed in two taxis and we were finally off to Charles de Gaulle Airport. We could only see the top storeys of buildings and office blocks through the gaps in our wicker baskets.
‘Try to have a catnap while you can,’ I meowed to Ki-KI.
‘Good idea. You never know what mad dogs will be on the flight.’ Ki-Ki always imagined the worst cat scenario.
‘The catkins are very vocal,’ laughed Noah. ‘They think they’re off to London again. Little do they know.’
‘That’s the problem with people. They always think we know ‘little’ and that they know everything.’ Ki-Ki yawned before taking a nap.
° ° °
I won’t bore you with the details of an awfully long and boring flight. I can’t really remember much, thank goodness. As usual there was an annoying dog, one of those yappy little terriers, a ‘Yorkie’ or a ‘Maltese’, I think. Most of the time we both went to sleep. We don’t like flying on aeroplanes. We prefer ‘Feline Flight’, as you’ll see later!
° ° °
Arriving at the Oberoi International Hotel late in the evening, everyone, family and cats, was exhausted. The entrance was splendid with white pillars and doormen in silk turbans. ‘An entrance fit for a Queen,’ as Ki-Ki meowed happily. The rooms were large and spacious with beds for the boys and very exotic cat baskets for us. Although it was the week before Christmas, it was warm.
‘We don’t need our winter coats here,’ complained Ki-Ki. ‘People are still swimming in the outdoor pool!’
‘The father said something about ‘air-conditioning’ which would make it more comfortable to sleep at night.’ I had seen one of the bearers fiddling with buttons and switches and showing the parents how to change the temperature in the bedrooms.
‘Yes, of course my ancestors used to have a servant to stand pulling a fan to keep the royal cats cool. In India, he was called a ‘punkah wallah,’ I believe.’ Ki-Ki yawned gracefully.
Suddenly, there was a polite knock on the door. I looked at KI-Ki and meowed softly. She responded with a loud MEOW. The door slowly opened and a very smart man with a splendid, orange turban came in, carrying a silver salver. He had white bowls of fishy smelling food and glass bowls of water. Spreading a small mat on the floor, he carefully set out the four bowls. Speaking in Hindi, I think, which is the National Language, he spoke kindly and pointed at the food.
By this time, I was very hungry but Ki-Ki waited a moment, ’One must never be over enthusiastic in front of servants,’ she meowed softly.
I waited for her to start eating. I noticed she didn’t hesitate to lick the bowl clean rather speedily.
As the door closed behind the waiter, to our surprise an animal crept from under the bed. As soon as it started meowing, we realised it was a very unusual kind of feline.
‘I’m a Bengal cat and my name is Bengal Rajah of Tollygunge, known by my close friends as Rajah or Prince. I was intrigued by Rajah’s exotic coat of striped legs, like a tiger and a magnificent spotted body like a leopard. I was not at all surprised when he purred, ‘I was first bred in California, a cross between an Asian Leopard breed of cat and an American shorthair.’
‘But how did you magically appear? Is it a feline version of the Indian rope trick? Kiki-Kiki was a trifle resentful of his princely name.
‘No, nothing magical. I crept on claw tips past the bearer when he brought your dinner. I’ll have to wait for someone to come and open the door Would you two be interested in a tour of the city?’
‘Yes, but there is the small problem of getting out!’ Ki-Ki sounded slightly exasperated.
‘Don’t worry, your family will be out most of the day. They haven’t come from Paris to sit in the bedrooms. I know when the cleaners will come and we can easily slip out. I’m not called Rajah for nothing,’ he purred proudly.
° ° °
Next morning Rajah was proved correct in his surmises. The family set off after breakfast, armed with a guide book, street atlas and bottles of water. A few minutes later a cleaner arrived and started making the beds. The boys had spilt orange juice on one of the pillows and she went off to fetch a clean pillowcase.
Rajah immediately slipped through the door, ‘Come on my friends, a great day to explore.’
Ki-Ki and I followed him down the soft, luxurious staircase.
Out in the forecourt of the hotel, one or two vans were coming and going.
‘We’re off to visit the splendid ‘Marble Palace’. It’s in the North of the city, so we need to steal a lift. Rather too far for ladies to walk!’
The back doors of one the vans were wide open. Inside I could see empty wooden crates.
‘Pop in and get behind those crates,’ meowed Rajah softly as he jumped up.
The van moved out into the traffic of Chowringhee, with much hooting and yelling on the part of the driver.
‘He’s going to pick up some vegetables from a market close to the Marble Palace,’ Rajah meowed softly. ‘Be ready to jump out, ladies.’
It was dark inside the van. I guessed there were potholes as the ride was bumpy and uncomfortable with the crates leaning dangerously, like the tower of Pisa, but that’s a story for another day.
Suddenly, the van came to an abrupt halt. ‘Wait for the signal to jump out, ‘came a muffled meow from behind some crates. ‘Now, jump, ladies!’
We both landed on the pavement beside Rajah just before the driver returned with crates oranges and bananas.
On the opposite side of the road were high gates. We could see the tops of some very impressive marble columns beyond. ‘That must be part of the Palace,’ I meowed softly to Ki-Ki.
Rajah led the way across the road to a hole at the bottom of the fencing. Obviously a well –trodden feline entrance to the grounds. Both Ki-Ki and I were stunned into silence at the magnificent façade of the palace. Rajah explained building began in 1835 by the prestigious Mullick family, wealthy Calcutta merchants. It is an example of Neoclassical design which apparently means the revival of Greek and Roman styles in the 18th and 19th centuries or so Ki-Ki meowed to me. Being classically bred and educated, she’s usually right.
We slipped through the entrance into an inner courtyard. A couple of macaws with wonderful blue and yellow plumage greeted us raucously from their perch at the side of the court. We walked into a magnificent room which Rajah told us was the old ballroom. Candle chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Around the edge were fine bronze and marble figures. I could imagine women in elegant long dresses, escorted by men in black jackets, breeches and exquisitely embroidered waistcoats, just like the pictures in Noah’s history books.
Rajah began to pirouette across the marble floor. As Ki-ki and I joined in, I imagined music wafted across the courtyard on the wind. The whole palace has an air of such faded elegance and charm. We wandered through many rooms, including a picture gallery. Rajah had once followed a guide giving a talk to a group of tourists and picked up a lot of information. He pointed out there were one hundred and twenty-six different marbles in the palace and pictures by some very famous artists, including Rubens and the English portrait painter, Joshua Reynolds. All the people in the pictures looked very serious and were wearing odd clothes. ‘They must be very hot in the summer here,’ I meowed to Ki-Ki who seemed lost in her own dream world.
‘I feel I belong here. It has a regal elegance which exactly suits me.’
‘I think we should leave now, before the traffic is too bad.’
We reluctantly agreed.
As we crawled back under the fence, Rajah whispered, ‘It must be our lucky day. See that cream coloured car parked there?’
We glanced a few metres down the road.
‘That’s a hotel car. It must have brought tourists here earlier. Just hide by the fence and see when they come back.’
He was right. After ten minutes or so, a family, parents and two children, appeared, with various brown paper parcels. The driver opened the boot and going to meet them, took the packages.
‘Come on now, jump in the boot, hide behind the spare tyre and the tool bag!’
It was a squash with three cats, the spare tyre, a large tool bag and a pile of parcels. However, it was a short journey and in no time, we guessed we were pulling into the hotel entrance. The driver started clearing the parcels and taking them into Reception. We took our chance to creep through a side entrance and walk cautiously upstairs.
The door to the boys’ room was ajar. They were in the parents’ room chatting. We sidled in and collapsed into our baskets.
Pretending to be asleep, we heard Noah exclaiming, ‘I told you they were hiding somewhere.’
We dropped asleep, dreaming of ballrooms and marble palaces.
° ° °
The next morning was slightly foggy but still quite warm. Once the family had gone out exploring the city, the cleaner arrived with her hoover and box of dusters and polishes.
We could see Rajah round the corner of the door, meowing impatiently. ‘Hurry up, Mesdemoiselles. I’ve been ready for hours. Today we are going to visit one of the biggest markets in the city. It is a short walk from the hotel and will be crowded just before Christmas!’
It may have been a short walk but it wasn’t an easy one for three cats! The pavements were crowded with so many people: men in bright turbans, women in saris of all colours, orange, green, purple, turquoise, as Ki-Ki exclaimed, ‘a living rainbow.’ Small children, babies, women in black burkas, teenagers in the universal jeans and t-shirts, all of Kolkata seemed to be out that morning. As Rajah pointed out, it was easiest walking close to the shop windows, under the ledges, just the right height for cats.
At last, we reached the front of New Market. We sat for a moment at the entrance in a cool corner. Crowds were going in and out, often followed by market boys with large baskets to carry customers’ shopping.
The market is a labyrinth of criss-crossing alley ways selling a huge range of goods. Ki-Ki of course, loved the jewellery section. The shops looked like the pictures of treasure chests in Noah’s pirate books. Gold necklaces, tiaras, precious stones of all sorts— rubies, emeralds, and glittering displays of diamonds. The fruit market was as colourful: piles of bright orange tangerines, bunches of yellow bananas, of shining black grapes and plump, round melons.
The fish market was full of strange, exotic fish which we had never seen before. Rajah, like most Bengalis, was an expert on fish. We watched Koi swimming sullenly in large, round tanks, Pomfret ready for frying and the bright silver Hilsa.
‘Hilsa is the favourite on big festivals, cooked in mustard, ’explained Rajah.
Suddenly, one of the stallholders appeared, armed with a large broom, and shooed us away.
I shot up one of the narrow alleys, quickly followed by Ki-Ki meowing indignantly, ’Obviously a ruffian, unaware of my status.’
At this point I was more worried about getting lost in this warren of alleys than about her social status. When I stopped to look round, we were in a different section of the market surrounded by beautiful silks and saris displayed in different stalls. I was just thinking best plan was to get back to the entrance and wait for Rajah to re-appear, when I turned to see two young girls bending down to stroke Ki-Ki. She was purring loudly and rubbing against their bare legs. Before I could intervene, a tall, elegant lady appeared. Her light green and silver-edged sari shone in the light from the stall. She spoke to the market boy. I couldn’t follow the conversation but he walked towards the entrance with the basket balanced on his head.
She spoke to the girls in English. ‘I’m worried about these cats, specially the beautiful Burmese.’ (At this point I must admit my hair stood up for a moment.) They will be picked up and stolen any minute if they wander round here. Look at their lovely coats. They must have escaped from a house near the market.’
The girls answered in Hindi or Bengali. If only Rajah had been there to translate! Before we knew it, the girls had picked us up. They felt warm and friendly.
‘Don’t struggle,’ I meowed softly to Ki-Ki. ’You might scratch or hurt them.’ They carried us along the alleys out into the sun, making straight for a black car parked at the entrance.
The driver opened the door. Before we could say ‘pussies in the well’, the car was moving off into Chowringhee.
Sitting comfortably in the backseat on the girls’ laps we fell asleep. We were driving out of the city centre. It seemed a long way to me but perhaps the traffic jams made it seem further. I woke as the car was passing along the edge of a lake. This area was much more open and far less crowded than the New Market area. I meowed softly to wake up Ki-KI as the car drove into a neat, gravel drive.
The block of apartments looked newly built and freshly painted. The girls carried us gently into a large hallway with elevators going up to the top floors.
‘I feel quite at home here. It’s like our Paris flat,’ I meowed.
‘Oh, not quite the same luxury,’ yawned Ki-Ki, covering her mouth with her paw.
The elevator went on upwards, one, two… I lost count till it thudded to a halt on the top floor. The two girls carried us into a large room. I felt at home with colourful woven rugs on the floor and shelves of books all around. The mother called us into the kitchen. She had put water in a bowl and fish into two saucers. We only usually eat fish on Fridays but we were both hungry. Besides as Ki-Ki commented, ‘It would be bad manners to refuse.’
I had noticed when we went into the main room, it had a balcony looking over the lake.
I meowed softly to Ki-Ki, ‘We can take off from the balcony. I think I can navigate back to the hotel. You have a a wonderful cat’s eye view when you are flying.’
Remember, I mentioned I have inherited magic powers as the seventh tortoiseshell kitten, born to a seventh born tortoiseshell mother. I have hidden wings which I summon, only in an emergency of course.
° ° °
It was late afternoon. The girls and their mother had gone for a walk by the lake. I nudged Ki-Ki awoke. She was still yawning.
‘We need to jump up onto the edge of the balcony and fly back, before even Noah thinks we have come to a sticky end or something fishy has happened to us.
‘Something ‘fishy’ did happen a couple of hours ago and I rather enjoyed it.’
‘Well, you might not enjoy it so much in the summer with temperatures in the forties!’
‘Ok, I thought you had a good sense of catty humour.’
‘Oh! I can be catty in many ways— come on now, time is passing and we must fly!’
We stood on the edge of the balcony looking at the sun beginning to set over the water.
‘I feel guilty leaving the girls. They were so kind,’ meowed Ki-Ki.
‘Well, they have a lovely home and mother. I am sure they will soon forget all about us.’
I wished hard and immediately my wings began to sprout. I looked at Kiki-Kiki poised elegantly on the narrow balcony edge. Her delicate jewelled wings like gossamer began to appear. I made another wish too, that this kind family, especially the young girls, would not be unhappy when they found us gone.
We took off over the lake and wheeled round, back towards the city.
There was a light breeze behind us which made flying easier. Looking down we could see the centre of Kolkata ahead. The tram track beneath us was a good guide. We had left the lakes behind. Far below tiny rickshaws battled their way through evening chaos. Beneath us was a Church which looked like a toy. Rajah told me later it was St Paul’s Cathedral. A little further on was an elegant white building with a statue of a Queen or statesman seated on a marble pedestal, apparently, I learnt later, the Victoria Memorial. Kiki-Kiki yowled it reminded her of the statue outside Buckingham Palace, in London. Now beneath us was a wonderful open stretch of grass, the Maidan, on which tiny figures in white were playing that odd English game, cricket. On our right was a very crowded street, with bright lights and Christmas decorations. Ki-Ki signalled that she wanted to fly closer. We found out from Noah’s conversation later, that this was Park Street, the main centre of restaurants and shopping.
We flew over the heads of the crowds, seeing people queuing outside a bakery and tea shop to buy Christmas cakes. It had a puzzling name, Flury’s, which sounded French to us. Rajah said it had originally been owned by a Swiss family! By then we were at the top of Chowringhee, only a minute or so to the hotel. We passed New Market on our right. It seemed so long since we had lost Rajah.
At last, we flew right into the hotel forecourt. Of course, it was Christmas Eve and we were looking forward to opening our presents. Ki-Ki meowed she hoped she wouldn’t get yet another rubber mouse. Our family mean well but do they really think we want a rubber mouse? Would they want a rubber computer or a plastic football? Sometimes people can be very silly. It’s probably why they need us.
Sir Socks Le Chat 
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