Cats in the City of Plague

Leander heard heavy, booted footsteps coming toward the stairs. He crouched lower to avoid being seen. A thick, squat man appeared as he leaned over the top step; he was dressed in heavy leather and he had a short sword in a scabbard on his belt. His face was weathered and scarred. After a single step down, he called out in a kind of glee, “A minion of Satan!” Then he took another slow step down toward Leander, who did not move. He began to chuckle. “Come along, little cat . . . Let me pick you up . . .” And then another step . . . Leander wondered why the man was using the name of Le Chat, but he knew it was sometimes used as a ruse by people who wished cats harm. And there was something about the way the man approached that told him he was in danger. His heart began beating rapidly and his fur puffed out on his tail. He considered running back down the stairs, but when he turned to look, the guard in the shop, responding to the shout of his partner, had hurried to the bottom of the stairs. “What’s the trouble, Eduard?” Leander was trapped. Eduard descended slowly, turned sideways, taking one stair at a time. His mouth was half open, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. “Nice cat.” A twisted smile on his face. Now Leander was sure he was in danger, but he could only wait. As the man stepped down to the stair just above Leander’s head, their eyes met for a moment, and Leander felt the immediate threat before Eduard could move in his direction. At the exact moment when the guard reached down to grab the cat, Leander lunged forward up the stairs between Eduard’s legs. Eduard, whose momentum was downward, could not stop himself when he tried vainly to reach back for Leander. Instead, with a cry, he tumbled headlong down the stairs, knocking the other guard over, both of them lying in a heap at the landing. Eduard moaned, “My shoulder . . . I think it’s broken. The minion of Satan put a spell on me with his eyes! Someone help me!” Leander ran into the room, almost tripping another guard who was running to aid Eduard. Leander saw Charles for the first time, a man as large as his voice, dressed in imposing magistrate’s black robes, a great head with slack, doughy cheeks and a large crushed black hat on his head. He seemed like a huge black shadow standing with his back to the sunlight from the opened shutters. “Get that cat!” he bellowed. Leander took in the scene. Charles stood in front of the table Leander liked to sleep on; now it was covered with papers. Henri, red-faced as ever but looking more dignified in his magistrate’s costume, maintained a place just behind his colleague. Claire was crumpled in a corner holding a large handkerchief; her eyes were swollen and red. Mathieu stared unhappily at the ground. The customer who’d accused the apothecary of witchcraft gaped at Leander with astonishment as though he had fallen magically from the sky. The room was unusually hot, as a fire of cedar wood burned in the fireplace. Sweat dribbled in lines along the faces of all the humans. The apothecary sat in a chair in the center of the room; a few paces away from him Pierre crouched on the floor. Pierre’s face was pale. The apothecary’s had an alarming expression of fear: eyes wide, mouth tight and a tremor in his lower lip. “Get! That! Cat!” Charles repeated as he rubbed sweat away from around his mouth. The guard who had waited at the bottom of the stairs stormed into the room. Mathieu and the customer also converged on Leander. Leander glanced around but had little time and was unable to decide what to do next. He dashed one way and another, and when the customer fell over a chair leg, a kind of pandemonium ensued with people jumping up and falling down and Charles yelling and Henri saying something that could barely be heard. Leander dashed around Pierre’s legs, sending the young man scrambling to his feet, though he made no move toward the cat. Claire was shouting, “No! No!” Leander could not see a way out. Or maybe there was one, and only one. In fact, it was the one place in the world where he felt most secure. He took it. He leapt onto the apothecary’s lap. This so stunned everyone in the room that what followed was absolute silence; for a moment all movement stopped as well. Leander looked into the apothecary’s eyes for reassurance; instead he saw an expression of horror. The apothecary jumped up with a cry and pushed Leander off of him, and chaos resumed. Now Charles was crying, “Evidence of witchcraft. What more do we need.” He turned to Henri and triumphantly said, “What do you have to say for your friend now?” Henri was muttering mainly to himself, “I warned him. I warned him.” Claire wept and shrieked the word “No” over and over again as the chase for Leander resumed. Suddenly Leander felt hands grip him, but they were familiar hands. Pierre had caught him. The apprentice cried out, “I’ve got him!” But then he began to twist and turn Leander’s body as though the cat was struggling, which he was not. “Don’t come any closer. He’s trying to put a spell on me!” Pierre shrieked as though in pain. He shook Leander this way and that and staggered around the room. Charles was growing frantic. “Help him subdue that evil creature! Someone! You!” He pointed to Mathieu, who bounded over to Pierre. Pierre dipped his arms as though about to hit the floor, while Mathieu fell awkwardly to one knee to try to follow where Pierre was holding the cat. But Pierre evaded the guard’s hands and rose, twisting his arms again in such a way that he seemed to be struggling but was able to keep Leander’s body away from Mathieu, who was struggling to get back on his feet. Pierre cried, “I can’t . . . hold . . . him . . . witchcraft . . .” With a loud grunt, he careened over to the open window. “Run, little one,” he whispered to Leander. “Run and never come back.” With that, he tossed the cat through the opening, high out over the garden