He amused me. As old as I am, that is a rarity.

Oh, at first he was as tiresome as the rest, his long arms lazily hanging at his sides, or reaching overhead to get a banana. He had such a little appetite.

I'd thought to conquer Narnia once. This little ape only cared about getting his next meal with no effort, his next amusement with no cost but a few clever words. Oh, he roped a few in—that idiotic donkey, the next-door neighbour's little badger daughter, the old fat hen with no chicklings at home…

I'd had an army.

I'd drawn out the peace talks as long as I could, getting my army in place, one day more and we would have marched on the royal family—

But Erlian was never slow to move when Tirian was threatened, and he brought Narnia's army. We lost.

I lost my army. But no one ever expected the little black cat to be the leader, for I'd walked on stilts, under a cloak, and they thought me a dwarf. I shed the disguise, and they found a wounded kitty cat, mewing in pain, and brought it to their tents.

I thought to kill Tirian then, as sweet revenge. But Erlian, once awake, was no fool. Even dying, he kept his son far from the battlefield.

Now I sit and watch the antics of an ape. I, who used to use my voice and words to turn hearts to slaves!

But he is, at least, more clever than most of my neighbours. And he never irked me by wishing me a good morning. A sly wink, a pointed look before he made the braying ass do his work—and that was all.

Better than most.

The days passed. I grew so old. Other than my family, he became the only one I could talk to, the one who knew what things meant, what things are possible. But always, always, the lazy ape just grinned and put it off. Tomorrow, perhaps, he'd get a little bit more money, do a little bit less work. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I thought he had so many of those left, and he did.

I did not not.

Silly, stupid ape, so caught in his cleverness.

It wasn't till he found the lion's skin that he truly awakened.

I knew, of course. None who have moved with a cat's long limbs could mistake the donkey's trotting for a cat's! The noiseless paws, the stalking grace, the majesty—ha. Who sees that in a donkey?

And perhaps it is fair that it took a disguise to awaken him. It was not till I saw the cloak propped up on some sticks that I saw what might be done.

But I did not tell anyone other than my family. The ape amused me. I wanted to see how far he could get.

Would he match me?

The clever, clever beast, he only brought the fumbling fool out at night. He won more hearts than I expected. I watched, from up a tree, my eyes half-lidded to hide their glow. My last kitten, impatient, tried to climb down; I scratched him. It was the time for waiting, waiting to see what the ape could be.

And then he grew even more clever. He found allies. With greed to match his own, the ever-ready Calormenes.

I thought of joining him then. But my limbs, stiffer by the day, could not follow when he led the Narnians to a stable to worship.

What better place to worship the idiocy of a donkey than a place that smelled of captivity!

Still, I could not make it. I told my kitten to watch, to bring me news, and above all, to not be involved, not yet. The ape was close, but Tirian—Tirian had not been dealt with yet. Tirian I remembered.

Then.

Oh, how sweet the news tasted to my burning heart. Tirian's own Narnians had stood and done nothing while the Calormenes took their king.

That clever, clever ape. I smiled, even while my breath rasped. He'd done it. He'd conquered Narnia, even as I had not.

The lazy ape. How wonderful. How greedy. How masterful.

I sent my son Ginger to join him then. The last of my life—I could feel it leaving. I would leave my clever son to help the ape. Surely Shift's rule would be long, perhaps even a dynasty, with Ginger and the Calormenes on his side. What a glorious legacy to leave.

I died content, thinking on how cleverness would finally triumph. My clever ape.


Amnesty Prompt 4: Create a minor character who loves one of Narnia's villains.