"Papa, I want this."
"Son, I don't know what Mama would say to that. I don't know what Uncle Reza would say, either."
"Yes!" He made a face which suggested a screaming fit was just around the bend, and stomped his foot just in case I failed to get the message.
"Here, let's go home and ask Mama and Uncle Reza. If they say yes, we'll come back and get the kitty."
"NOOOOOOOO!" Masson threw himself to the ground, nearly making an end of the pathetic excuse for a cat that he wanted to bring home. It was a sad brownish-striped thing that likely had not had a good meal since Masson's birthday. Unafraid of anything, Masson had simply cruised right up to the cat and snatched it into his arms, and the scrawny creature welcomed him like an old friend. It vibrated happily in the fat baby's arms.
"I bring the kitty NOW!"
"Not if you shout at me like that, you will not, sir."
"Paa-paaaa! Bring the kitty now! Please!" he wept buckets. If Christine saw him burying his face in that filthy, vermin infested fur, she'd put me on the street with the cat. On me, the sight had a slightly different effect.
"Oh…alright...I hope…"
"YAY! KITTY KITTY! KITTY KITTY!"
We had to run all the way home to share our good news. By the time we got there, it was a close run thing whether there would be an extra mouth to feed or not. I was all but gone to my reward from the race home.
"MAA-MAA! MAA-MAA! LOOOOOK!"
"Oh…my…" When Christine looked at me, it was impossible to read her expression. I attempted a pathetic I-had-precious-little-to-do-with-it smile. "Where did you find this kitty, Masson?"
"Outside! Pretty lost kitty, Mama."
"Yes, it's a very…pretty kitty."
"Papa say yes." He wheedled, all big-eyed and adorable. Little liar.
"Papa did not say yes, Papa said let's ask Mama and Uncle Reza, but you can guess how that went," I corrected.
Masson began to cry again. "Mama, my kitty."
Christine frowned at me. I gave her an, Oh, it's just one little mangy cat look.
"Alright. But Papa will have to give the kitty a bath right away," Christine smiled beatifically. Fiend.
"YAY! KITTY BATH! KITTY BATH!" Masson was already dragging the poor thing upstairs.
"WHAT!" I squeaked. Christine smirked wickedly at me. "This will cost you something deliciously naughty, Madame."
"You're the one who let him bring it home, don't blame me," she laughed. "I'm off to tell Reza."
"I hope it will be alright," I fretted.
"Of course it will. He spoils Masson almost as badly as you do."
"PAA-PAA! HURRY BATH!" His Lordship summoned from upstairs.
"Well? Go wash that thing before it makes my son deathly ill," Christine chuckled.
I discovered why the cat was homeless. It was the meanest, vilest cat in France. It would have been drowned or strangled but Masson was right there, crying in sympathy. I wrapped it in a towel, and handed it, wet and squealing, to him. He took it straight to his bed, where he petted it and sang to it. The cat lay basking in the child's love, but for adults—at least this adult—it had nothing but murderous hatred.
I dragged my shredded, hemorrhaging carcass downstairs, hoping for some sympathy. None was forthcoming, so I took myself over to my theater to see how badly my idiot management team was botching things without continual oversight.
So nice to be home; Carlotta was howling away, the few pinned-together costumes I could glimpse looked like something our new kitty would cough up on the carpet, and fully a third of the new crop of ballerinas looked like plump little piglets. Fat ballerinas; charming. I had all to do not to stomp out on stage and say "Right, you're all fired. Where is Mme Giry, goddammit?"
Actually, I did spot her, and I left her a little note. Speaking of notes, I picked up the manager's note. The fiasco I saw being rehearsed was an opera of Snow White. Snow White?
By the time I returned home for dinner, I was convinced that the theater was doomed unless I took it upon myself to toddle over daily just as if I were working a fulltime job. Easier said than done, since Masson expected me in attendance.
I went upstairs to fetch Masson for dinner. He was demonstrating workbench pounding technique, reviewing the finer points with Kitty. Kitty was sprawled alongside the baby, flicking his tail slowly and placidly. When I entered the room, Kitty gave me the Stink-eye and turned back to his friend.
"Kitty will have to stay up here while we have dinner, Masson."
"NO! Kitty want dinner!"
"Right, Son, we'll feed Kitty after we've had dinner, alright? Come along." Masson came along easily and happily enough, Kitty close behind.
"Kitty stay with me!" Masson glowered at all the adults in the dining room.
"Masson, Kitty cannot eat at the table with us," Christine cautioned him.
"Kitty sit here!" Masson pointed his fat finger next to his hair, and miraculously, Kitty sat. I cleared my throat.
"I would like to caution everyone over the age of two years that while Kitty seems the perfect picture of feline charm, he is a vicious beast. Please do not attempt anything you see Masson do," I smiled.
"Have you recovered the use of your hands, Erik?" Reza asked, smiling.
"Just barely."
Kitty continued to sit benignly at Masson's side. It was an uncanny thing.
"Masson! No beans for Kitty! You may not feed Kitty from the table," Christine glowered.
Masson slipped wordlessly from his chair, scooped up Kitty and padded into the kitchen.
"DARIUS! KITTY NEED DINNER!"
Three adults sat staring open-mouthed.
"Erik, go see to your willfully disobedient son," Christine ordered, "and tell him he did not ask to be excused, and so is not excused from the table. He will have no sweet tonight."
I hopped up to deliver the message immediately. I did not want to lose my sweet tonight. "Masson, you must come back to the table now. You may not leave without asking to be excused, and you may not just get up and take off with Kitty."
Darius was sautéing liver for the goddam cat. Lucky it was me and not Christine, or she'd've had words for Darius as well. It seemed that every adult that walked into the house fell instantly under Masson's sway and took leave of the good sense they were born with. In sixteen years' time, all the parents of daughters in Paris will be packing their girls off to convents.
"Papa, Kitty need dinner!" Masson pouted tearfully. I crouched beside him.
"Son, we'll take the dish of liver in and set it next to you, so you and Kitty may eat together. But Mama will take Kitty away if you're naughty."
I took the plate of liver from Darius. It looked lovely, actually. I'm not sure what kind of spices he'd put into the liver. I suppose he did well not to deglaze the pan with a bit of white wine.
"Come along, boys," I took Masson's hand, Kitty darted up ahead and curved back and around repeatedly. I believe his intent was to trip me, simultaneously getting his dinner and assassinating me in revenge for the bath.
"Kitty has dinner now!" Masson beamed. Both of them ducked into their dinner eagerly as Christine crinkled her nose.
"Erik, what is that?"
"Liver. Sauteed with, I think, garlic and parsley…you know our Darius."
"Oh for goodness' sake!" Christine was nonplussed. "You've all taken leave of your senses! You're spoiling someone shamelessly! Really, Reza, I must insist!"
Reza was wiping tears from his eyes. "Christine, if you would like to tell Darius how to prepare cat food, please do so. He has been with me long enough that I know better than to advise him in things culinary," he chuckled.