Chapter 1
"That has got to be one of the most peculiar dreams I ever had," he said as he rolled over in his bed, getting his doona tangled up between his legs and tail in the performance of the action.
This is the bedroom at the back of the Cat Bureau, where the Baron sleeps. The lining boards are dusty green and the wallpaper is yellow with small orange flue-de-lies at regular intervals. The carpet is a colour somewhere between pink and yellow that looks a bit like the skin of a peach, it is also soft and deep, banishing any cold from the room. The mahogany bed is king-sized and has a mosquito net hanging above the scarlet and grey bedclothes. There is also a large wardrobe and a porcelain washbasin.
It is to the white washstand that the Baron now makes his way, intent on washing the sleep from his furry face and not-yet-bright emerald eyes. Cold water splashed over his face, shocking him into wakefulness before the icy stuff made its own dripping way down his neck and cream nightshirt.
Sufficiently revived, the felineous gentleman pulled off his nightshirt and replaced it with comfortable grey slacks and a shirt of cream-coloured silk. Grey socks were pulled on, covered with brown shoes, a dusty-blue bow tie was fiddled into correctness, and a fine vest was slipped on. The back was black satin, but the front was, today, a deep green with delicate gold embroidery around the collar.
Baron made sure his whiskers were exactly as they should be, combed his ears and, finally, put on his gloves. His top hat, tailcoat and cane all hung from a stand beside his desk where he could grab them quickly before leaving the house. He didn't wear these items of apparel inside his own house; it would be far too formal, even for him.
The main room of the Cat Bureau was just down the hall, but the kitchen was between his bedroom and it, so he sat down to breakfast – toast with marmalade and a glass of fresh juice. Doubling back to his bedroom, he brushed his teeth then went to open the door that would let him examine the contents of his shelves once again, searching for a book he had not read for a while.
Only, it wouldn't open. That could mean only one thing.
"Muta, wake up, you've fallen asleep against the door again," Baron yelled through the wooden barrier, giving the door a kick, trying to wake the old fatso who was jamming it shut.
Grunting could be heard, and shuffling and then Baron was able to open the door and let himself into his office.
"You just ruined one of the nicest dreams I've ever had, Baron," Muta grumbled, padding over to sit on the divan, where he had fallen asleep the night before. How he had gotten over to the door was a mystery, even to the old fatso, yet it happened, and frequently, which was even worse.
"Oh yes?" answered the aristocrat, his tone non-committal as he shifted the stepladder to another section of shelf-covered wall.
"Yeah, I was swimming in catnip jelly, and a small boat with a pretty little kitten in was keeping up with me, and she was tossing cupcakes and cherries into my mouth," said the cat with an ego, temper, and most of all, appetite to match his girth.
"Do you ever think of anything but food?" demanded a slightly harsh voice from the balcony window.
Both cats looked up to see Toto hopping through the window and onto the green-painted railing.
Baron sighed inwardly and wished for very probably the thousandth time that he could turn off his ears, just so that he wouldn't have to listen to Muta and Toto bickering. His gloved finger ran along the spines of his extraordinary collection of books as Muta's face scrunched in anger at the old adversary.
"Don't be such a birdbrain, of course I think about stuff other than food. I just happen to like eating more than gossip," he answered, picking out almost every bird's weakness – the want to talk about anything and everything, all the time.
"If you two want to fight, please do it outside," Baron said quietly, selecting an old book with heavy, leather-over-wood covers. It had letters embossed in red on the front and spine, stating both title and author of the book. The orange cat poured himself some tea and sat down behind his desk, rather than in his favourite wingback chair; the book was heavy enough that it should be rested rather than held as it was read. He was about to open the cover when he realised that Muta and Toto had gone outside. It was nice to know that his friends respected him enough to acquiesce to his appeal.
Baron stared at the pages as they passed before him. He couldn't remember any of this book, he couldn't even remember ever seeing it before, yet the story within was strangely familiar. Now and then, on a page thicker than the others, was an illuminated illustration, meticulously hand painted and also, hauntingly, familiar.
It was a very large book, a long tale and wonderfully written, but Baron found that he had to stop when he had read only half the story: the sun was going down. It was safe for him to go out into the world.
No one would see him in the dingy half-light of streetlights at night, and he had his own adventurous spirit that could not be quelled by reading of the adventures of others.
Toto and Muta were, not surprisingly, still fighting outside when he donned hat and coat and palmed his cane. However, it sounded like the topic of their argument had shifted from Muta's obsession with food and Toto's with the latest news – whether it was true or not. At least, perhaps, that meant one less thing for them to argue about the next day.
He left the Bureau, the refuge, and his bickering friends, behind.