Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Had 14 Tales

THE CAT WHO HAD 14 TALES

PHUT PHAT CONCENTRATES

Phut Phat Concentrates was first published inEllery Queens Mystery Magazine, December 1963.

Phut Phat knew, at an early age, that humans were an inferior breed. They were unable to see in the dark. They ate and drank unthinkable concoctions. And they had only five senses; the pair who lived with Phut Phat could not even transmit their thoughts without resorting to words.

For more than a year, ever since arriving at the townhouse, Phut Phat had been trying to introduce his system of communication, but his two pupils had made scant progress. At dinnertime he would sit in a corner, concentrating, and suddenly they would say:Time to feed the cat, as if it were their own idea.

Their ability to grasp Phut Phats messages extended only to the bare necessities of daily living, however.

Beyond that, nothing ever got through to them, and it seemed unlikely they would ever increase their powers.

Nevertheless, life in the townhouse was comfortable enough. It followed a fairly dependable routine, and to Phut Phat routine was the greatest of all goals. He deplored such deviations as tardy meals, loud noises, unexplained persons on the premises, or liver during the week. He always had liver on Sunday.

It was a fashionable part of the city in which Phut Phat lived. The three-story brick townhouse was furnished with thick rugs and down-cushioned chairs and tall pieces of furniture from which he could look down on questionable visitors. He could rise to the top of a highboy in a single leap, and when he scampered from first-floor kitchen to second-floor living room to third-floor bedroom, his ascent up the carpeted staircase was very close to flight, for Phut Phat was a Siamese. His fawn-colored coat was finer than ermine. His eight seal brown points (there had been nine before that trip to the hospital) were as sleek as panne velvet, and his slanted eyes brimmed with a mysterious blue.

Those who lived with Phut Phat in the townhouse were identified in his consciousness as ONE and TWO. It was ONE who supplied the creature comforts, fed his vanity with lavish compliments, and sometimes adorned his throat with jeweled collars taken from her own wrists.

TWO, on the other hand, was valued chiefly for games and entertainment. He said very little, but he jingled keys at the end of a shiny chain and swung them back and forth for Phut Phats amusement. And every morning in the dressing room he swished a necktie in tantalizing arcs while Phut Phat leaped and grabbed with pearly claws.

These daily romps, naps on downy cushions, outings in the coop on the fire escape, and two meals a day constituted the pattern of Phut Phats life.

Then one Sunday he sensed a disturbing lapse in the household routine. The Sunday papers, usually scattered on the library floor for him to shred with his claws, were stacked neatly on the desk. Furniture was rearranged. The house was filled with flowers, which he was not allowed to chew. ONE was nervous, and TWO was too busy to play. A stranger in a white coat arrived and clattered glassware, and when Phut Phat investigated an aroma of shrimp and smoked oysters in the kitchen, the maid shooed him away.

Phut Phat seemed to be in everyones way. Finally he was deposited in his wire coop on the fire escape, where he watched sparrows in the garden below until his stomach felt empty. Then he howled to come indoors.

He found ONE at her dressing table, fussing with her hair and unmindful of his hunger. Hopping lightly to the table, he sat erect among the sparkling bottles, stiffened his tail, and fastened his blue eyes on ONEs forehead. In that attitude he proceeded to concentrateand concentrateand concentrate. It was never easy to communicate with ONE. Her mind hopped about like a sparrow, never relaxed, and Phut Phat had to strain every nerve to convey his meaning.

Suddenly ONE darted a look in his direction. A thought had occurred to her.

Oh, John, she called to TWO, who was brushing his teeth, would you ask Millie to feed Phuffy. I forgot his dinner until this very minute. Its after five oclock and I havent fixed my hair yet. Youd better put your coat on; people will start coming soon. And please tell Howard tolight the candles. You might stack some records on the stereo, too . No, wait a minute. If Millie is still working on the hors doeuvres, would you feed Phuffy yourself? Just open a can of anything.

At this, Phut Phat stared at ONE with an intensity that made his thought waves almost visible.

Oh, John, I forgot, she corrected. Its Sunday, and hell expect liver. But before you do that, would you zip the back of my dress and put my emerald bracelet on Phuffy? Or maybe Ill wear the emerald myself, and he can have the amethyst John! Do you realize its five-fifteen! I wish youd put your coat on.

And I wish youd simmer down, said TWO. No one ever comes at the stated hour. Why do you insist on giving big parties, Helen, if it makes you so nervous?

Nervous? Im not nervous. Besides, it wasyour idea to invite your clients and my friends at the same time. You said we should kill a whole blasted flock of birds with one blasted stone . Now,please. John, are you going to feed Phuffy? Hes staring at me and making my head ache.

Phut Phat scarcely had time to swallow his creamed liver, wash his face, and arrange himself on the living room mantel before people started to arrive. His irritation at the disrupted routine was lessened somewhat by the prospect of being admired by the guests. His name meantbeautiful in Siamese, and he was well aware of his pulchritude. Lounging between a pair of Georgian silver candlesticks, with one foreleg extended and the other exquisitely bent under at the ankle, with his head erect and gaze withdrawn, with his tail drooping nonchalantly over the edge of the marble mantel, he awaited compliments.

It was a large party, and Phut Phat observed that very few of the guests knew how to pay their respects to a cat. Some talked nonsense in a false voice. Others made startling movements in his direction, or worse still, tried to pick him up.

There was one knowledgeable man, however, who approached with the proper attitude of deference and reserve. Phut Phat squeezed his eyes in appreciation. The admirer was a distinguished-looking man who leaned heavily on a shiny stick. Standing at a respectful distance, he slowly held out his hand with one finger extended, and Phut Phat twitched his whiskers politely.

You are a living sculpture, said the man.

Thats Phut Phat, said ONE, who had pushed through the crowded room toward the fireplace. Hes the head of our household.

He is obviously of excellent stock, said the man with the shiny cane, addressing his hostess in the same courtly manner that had charmed Phut Phat.

Yes, he could probably win ribbons if we wanted to enter him in shows, but hes strictly a pet. He never goes out except in his coop on the fire escape.

A splendid idea! said the guest. I should like such an arrangement for my own cat. Shes a tortoiseshell longhair. May I inspect this coop before I leave?

Certainly. Its just outside the library window.

You have a most attractive house.

Thank you. Weve been accused of decorating it to complement Phut Phats coloring, which is somewhat true. Youll notice we have no breakable bric-a-brac. When he flies through the air, he recognizes no obstacles.

Indeed, I have noticed you collect Georgian silver, the man said. You have some fine examples.

Apparently you know silver. Your cane is a rare piece.

He frowned in self-pity.An attempt to extract a little pleasure from a sorry necessity. He hobbled a step or two.

Would you like to see my silver collection downstairs in the dining room? asked ONE. All early examples, around the time of Wren.