Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas and is now in public domain.
This is a response to an OC challenge on the Three Musketeers Forum.
The Cardinal's Cat
"Good morning, Diablo…" his master stroked the cat's sleek black fur. The cat opened his eye a crack and peered curiously at the cardinal. "If you don't mind, I need the book you are sleeping on." Diablo yawned and stretched lazily. He licked the tip of his tail once or twice before leaping off the table gracefully. He was swiftly rewarded with a scratch under the chin. "I need to prepare a sermon for the king when they attend Mass at Notre Dame de Paris…" the cardinal dipped his quill in the inkpot and perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The cat observed his master's actions and blinked. He meowed tentatively.
"Sorry, my friend. I am too busy today to play with you. Rochefort!" A tromping of boots echoed in the corridor outside the library before the door swung open. Diablo flattened his ears and hissed a warning at the intruder. The cardinal's other feline pets only continued their oblivious slumbering or did little more than flick a glance at the door, the overfed lazybones. Not Diablo. His fur bristled.
"You called, Your Eminence?" Comte Rochefort glared at the black cat with distaste. Diablo spat and clawed at him. The Comte stepped back instinctively and was horrified to find that he had placed his new boot onto a large dead rat. Half a dozen dead rats were lined up neatly beside the library door.
"Take Diablo down to the kitchen and feed him some chicken. He didn't come in for supper last night. Poor thing must be starved… Go get the servants to clear those rats… Let's give Diablo some cream too as a reward for his excellent work… " The cardinal scratched words on the parchment without even looking at his right-hand man.
"My pleasure…" the Comte took off his heavy cape. He was not going to risk being mauled by an angry cat. He threw the thick material quickly over the protesting cat. Diablo screamed in protest.
"What are you doing to my cat?" Richelieu looked up at the commotion. The cat wriggled out of the confining cloth and scratched Rochefort on the arm, eliciting a litany of curses. Still bristling, Diablo leapt onto a window sill and down into the street.
"Diablo! Come back!" the cardinal cried out in alarm as his cat landed among the bustling market-day crowd which swiftly swallowed up the feline. Enraged, the cardinal turned to his lackey.
"Comte, I want you to find Diablo and bring him home safe and sound. If anything untoward should happen to my cat, you will be dismissed and exiled from Paris," Richelieu warned. Quailing visibly, the Comte apologized and backed out of the library hastily.
The musketeer barracks was a beehive of activity. Diablo's whiskers twitched as he cautiously peered out of a large basket of cabbages he had chosen to hitch a ride on. The cart was passing the gate now. These cabbages were bound for the barrack kitchens. He had hitched rides on market carts and the backs of saddles. The weekly delivery of vegetables to the barracks was always on Wednesday morning. He had learnt to recognise the red-painted cart driven by the deaf old man. The old man never bothered him and he never bothered the man in return. He waited until a young kitchen lad came to take the basket before leaping out, startling the poor boy.
Monsieur de Treville was a busy man and this morning was no different. Before him, a pair of musketeers stood to attention for a briefing.
"Gentlemen, your mission will be to escort His Lordship back to Milan. Bear in mind that this mission is of utmost secrecy and his life will be…"
His friend was busy. Feeling slighted, Diablo leapt onto the table where the accounts book was open to the month's expenses. He sniffed at the inkpot before dipping one front paw in, then the other. Satisfied, he proceeded to walk across the page, leaving his paw prints in his wake.
It was Porthos who caught sight of the mischievous feline's antics. He let out a shout. De Treville spun around but the damage was already done. Diablo put on his best innocent cat face and stared at the musketeers. The attempt at winning mercy failed. Porthos threw a leather glove at the feline before anyone could stop him. The cat yowled and ran back across the pages, ripping the paper open and knocking over the inkpot.
"Porthos! Mind Lucien!" De Treville lunged across the room to catch the ink but the pot shattered on the floor, spilling ink onto the wood. Athos tried to grab the cat but Diablo was faster. He streaked out of the office like a blot of black lightning. He leapt into a basket of freshly laundered uniforms, ruining the laundress' day before fleeing the compound entirely.
In their rooms, Aramis and D'Artagnan were settling in to a late breakfast of haddock and rye bread after a long night's patrol when a mewing caught their attention. Aramis opened the window to admit Diablo, who nuzzled his hand in gratitude.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" Aramis smiled broadly as he stroked the cat on the sill. Diablo purred loudly with pleasure, turning his head slightly so to allow better access to his chin.
"Why, it's Monsieur de Treville's cat, Lucien. I'd know those odd eyes and that kinked tail anywhere. Here, Lucien…" D'Artagnan offered a piece of haddock. Diablo hopped off the sill soundlessly and strolled casually over to D'Artagnan's feet. He sniffed at the offering before devouring the fish. D'Artagnan laughed and took another piece from his plate. This time, Diablo climbed onto his lap, sat down and ate the fish from his hand.
"He is a very friendly cat, isn't he? I bet Athos would love a cat like this."
"Really? I thought Athos preferred dogs…"
"Ha! Let me tell you the time Athos sneaked a kitten under his hat into the barracks …" Aramis regaled the youth with a tale of his senior's misadventure.
Diablo filched the last of D'Artagnan's fish off his plate before curling up in the young man's lap. Satisfied, he dozed off on his warm, comfy bed as D'Artagnan listened rapt to the tale.
Getting into the palace was a risky proposition. There were too many noble children cluttering the halls who might tug his tail and too many guards who would not hesitate in giving him the boot, literally. There were also the snappish dogs… However, the palace held his beloved Meslinda and it was worth it to try his paw at wooing the pampered tabbies who dwelled within the fortress. After awaking from his nap, he was fortunate enough to persuade the younger musketeer to allow him to ride on his saddle. Their paths parted when D'Artagnan stabled his horse in the shadow of the palace and went off on his business – courting the fair Constance.
Diablo watched for a while as the lovers billed and cooed in the garden. She was pretty enough for a human, the cat supposed. But she could not compare to his Meslinda, a purebred Angora cat. He did not wish to dally. It has been too long since he had successfully breached the palace. He swiftly dodged past the dozy guards and climbed up the stairs to where his beloved slept on her cushion of satin and pearl. Meslinda's mistress was there, stroking her pet. Diablo paused. Something smelled different about Meslinda. The human looked up.
"Oh, Roland. Come in, I do believe you are the father…" Anne smiled as she lifted one tiny black kitten from the basket. A wearied Meslinda nursed the rest of her litter. Diablo sniffed the black kitten cautiously. He licked its tiny pink nose, eliciting a weak mewl. It was too small for its eyes to be open yet. He ignored the rest of the litter and nuzzled Meslinda. She batted him away half-heartedly. Nursing a quartet of kittens was hard work and she had no energy to deal with her suitor.
The French queen giggled at the comical sight of a wide-eyed black tom as she returned the black kitten to its mother. The tiny scrap immediately latched onto a teat and began suckling in earnest. She placed one hand unconsciously on her own flat abdomen and wondered when she would experience the wonders of motherhood herself. Diablo attempted to approach his lady love only to be rebuffed again. Finally getting the message, he gracefully withdrew with his tail aloft.
There were other tabbies in the palace. Duc d'Orlean's daughter had a sprightly young Persian who had been making eyes at him at his last visit. Perhaps she might provide him with an hour or so of distraction. There was also the old Comtess' Angora- Gertrude, who had borne him a litter of coal-black kittens last year. She was a bit old for his tastes but still a fine tabby, sweet Gertrude. Perhaps the playful and pretty Angelique, the Comte de Provence's kitten had finally reached adulthood. No, young tabbies were a little hard on him nowadays. She would have him worn out chasing her around the gardens before they could get to the main event. Gertrude it would be then. He was before the old Comtess' rooms. He purred softly. Gertrude poked her head out of the door, purred flirtatiously before retreating within. He followed.
It was two hours later that Gertrude's mistress returned from the church service and had her pet's unwelcome caller evicted from the room. Smarting from the indignity of being chased out by a little old lady, Diablo retreated to the stables to nurse his wounds.
"Mon Cherie…" Diablo's ears pricked up at that familiar, detested voice. Assuming a stalking posture, he crept along the rafters of the stables. A bare-chested Comte Rochefort was busying seducing a very giggly kitchen maid. Tail flicking and nose twitching, the cat studied the broad, bare expanse of Rochefort's shoulders as they heaved with the task at hand.
"Argh!" Rochefort yelped as sharp feline claws tore into his skin and down his back.
"You demon cat!" He spotted the culprit sitting on a hay bale licking his paws. Diablo leapt swiftly into the shadows before an enraged captain could catch him. His prank of the day carried out, it was time to return to his master and a well-deserved dinner.
"Oh, good evening, Diablo…" the cardinal looked up from his parchment as his cat sashayed into his library and promptly flopped down before the blazing fireplace exhausted.
"Have you have dinner? I saved some chicken…" the cardinal coaxed. Diablo lifted his head and coughed up a few sparrow feathers. A plump sparrow caught near the Cock and Bull Cookhouse was nice but nothing beats herb-grilled chicken from the Cardinal's kitchens. He rose from the rug, shook his head to clear the cobwebs and padded over to where the cardinal stooped patiently with his supper dish in hand.
Diablo sniffed cautiously at the buttery chicken before daintly seizing a morsel with the corner of his mouth. He glared at the other cats in the room in case they might be tempted to rob him of his supper.
"It's your favourite, isn't it?" the cardinal stroked his back fondly before setting the dish of chicken down before him. Diablo purred happily and dug into his dinner. A purr-fect way to end his day.
Author's Notes:
The historical Cardinal Richelieu was known to be a cat-lover and his cats were a pampered bunch with two servants to tend to their needs.