Sir Thomas of Argyle, Bane of Mice (3)

From THE OFFICIAL TRAVELOGUE OF SIR THOMAS CAT, ESQUIRE
Translated from the Meowish.
Copyright May 1983


This story is dedicated to my husband's Aunt Eleanor Campbell Taylor and Uncle Rumsey Taylor, Sr., of Princeton, Kentucky, USA, in whose home the enchantment of Inveraray is alive and well on this side of the Atlantic. May the rest of us who come along after be able to carry on and never lose that enchantment forever.

[Part 3]

The day arrived when the Duchess was to make her autumn shopping excursion into Edinburgh with her sisters and neice. The Duke hated this time of year with a vengance, for she always left him for a whole week by himself to rumble around the castle alone. He would "stew in his own juices," as he put it, to mean he would worry about everything imaginable--including why the salmon caught on the estate and preserved in salt never tasted quite right to him or to Thomas while she was away. He hated being in the castle without her almost as much as he hated going along on the yearly excursion and seeing so much money spent at once, albeit on items of which he approved. At least he and Thomas could sit by the fire together. This particular year a light snow was falling by the time the Duke returned from taking the Duchess to her sister's home in Dunoon, from which the sisters would depart in the morning. 

"A nice fire in the hearth would feel good!" he said to himself loudly and subconsciously as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Then he made little grumbling sounds talking to himself. He didn't like the echo when she was away either.

Anticipating his evening before she left, the Duchess had already laid out his lap robe, which was made of the blue and green Dress Campbell tartan fabric. Some years before she had gotten worried about Thomas's pawpads getting cold on the castle floor in winter and had sewn him some little paw covers out of the tartan material. The four covers turned up about his feet and gathered onto a ribbon had put the tartan design into a diamond shape and had given her the idea to knit the Duke some socks in the same diamond design. Both the Duke and Sir Thomas looked quite quite distinguished with the Argyle colors on their feet.  Of course, Thomas only wore the paw covers at first to please the Duchess, but he had by now gotten so used to wearing them that he quite sincerely often forgot to remove them before going outside in winter.

The sight of Sir Thomas padding around the grounds in his paw covers had caused people to take up the same custom, referring to their knitted tartan-inspired socks as "Argyles." Meanwhile, the Duchess had put Thomas's paw covers on the Duke's putting irons one night to dry in an emergency so that--when the Duke was obviously pleased about it--she began sewing covers for all his golf clubs. As the Duke picked up his lap robe, he saw some clean paw covers laid out for Thomas, too. 

Sir Thomas of Argyle, Bane of Mice (2)

From THE OFFICIAL TRAVELOGUE OF SIR THOMAS CAT, ESQUIRE
Translated from the Meowish.
Copyright May 1983


This story is dedicated to my husband's Aunt Eleanor Campbell Taylor and Uncle Rumsey Taylor, Sr., of Princeton, Kentucky, USA, in whose home the enchantment of Inveraray is alive and well on this side of the Atlantic. May the rest of us who come along after be able to carry on and never lose that enchantment forever.

[Part 2]

The Duke and Duchess could always tell the days when Sir Thomas and his favorite adversary, Sir George of Loch Tul or Tulloch, had gotten into one of their skirmishes--invariably leaving scratch marks on each other's heads, sometimes dangerously close an eye. On these occasions Thomas would lie on the rocking chair and blow in his sleep with little puffs of air. More than rapid eye movements alone, Thomas's whiskers twitched, and his claws came unsheathed. The little puffs of air and the accompanying, "I dare you!" look on Thomas's face signaled the passing memory of facing George over one of their petty disagreements.

Sir Thomas would have said that Sir George was actually his best friend, and that they could really put on great cat fights to impress "the girls," the females who purred over such raw displays of courage. Thomas would also have said that Sir George's fur was the color of the petticoats the Duke also insisted upon importing from Ireland in the finest quality for the Duchess--the "not quite white" of Irish linen and lace.

Thomas truly loved the look of finely woven linen on the Duchess's long, formal wear, petticoats as he chased after her feet up the stairs, and as well the intricately embroidered flowers on linen that grazed the stone floor as the Duchess's table cloths were prepared with a perfectly set table. He could hardly keep himself from climbing up on the first floor banquet table to feel the table cloths when the Duchess was entertaining guests. He often thought that he and George should go into business providing a similar service for cats--gracious dining where spring mousling could be served in elegance--but, for the time being, it seemed more important to spend their days in battle for the girls.

Sir Thomas and Sir George fought under the standard feline rules whereby they never really hurt each  other--unless it was a torn ear or a bloody scratch on the nose by accident. It's a finicky rule among cats that battle scars are only appropriate in the area of the face, and that the opponent most injured receives a week's rest after such an accident or loss of temper. It is absolutely forbidden by their common pact that any blow should put an opponent in mortal danger. (Enlightened dogs such as the Argyle shepherd dogs often subscribe to a similar pact, though their opponents, or unruly lambs, are more likely to be nipped or generally attacked on the hind legs.)