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.)