Catfantastic II

He pointed out that the Round Table, supposedly so democratic, made conversation with any but those right next to one very difficult-and Sir Lancelot always sat on the king's right hand, Sir Cay to the left, so who, after all, had a chance to talk to the king and share his good ideas? No wonder Lancelot had taken virtual control of the kingdom! And the queen, he intimated, spent too much on her wardrobe and had too many relatives in high positions and wasn't it she who had dreamed up the abysmal Round Table anyway, tables being women's stuff, and might she not be secretly in control of the kingdom and with Lancelot to provide the brawn to her brains, what did they need poor King Arthur for? And more drivel of that ilk.

The king remained suspicious of Mordred, but since the conversation always changed when he entered the room, he had no idea of the infamy perpetrated by his guest. Mordred took advantage of his befuddlement by fawning over him, the fawning looking very much like pity to the other knights. Meanwhile, Morgan La Chat would jump down from

Mordred's shoulder and go find Lancelot, who was always absent during these little character assassinating sessions, of course.

While I watched fuming, she purred in his ear and in a moment, he would rise and walk to the royal chambers or to wherever my lady happened to be, for all the world, to suspicious eyes, as if he was conspiring treason with her. Even though, once he got there, he stammered and stuttered and seemed to have very little to say while she asked his opinion on whether to use the carmine thread or the scarlet in the latest tapestry or if Sir Cay would get the most use out of a linen shirt with wool embroidery or a wool shirt with linen embroidery for his Christmas gift.

From my perch in the window or atop the canopy I would have tried to warn them, but even if it had not been futile, Lady Elaine, who had something of a crush on Lancelot (most unseemly since she was a good five years his elder and of much lower rank besides), would glare at me and I would set to grooming my paws as if I would not dream of approaching while Lancelot was present.

In the same way, of course, Morgan and Mordred couldn't truly approach while the king was present. And so, with Morgan wrapped around his neck, one day Lancelot urged the king to take a break and go hunting. He and the knights could handle any crisis that might come up.

"Yes," Mordred said sweetly. "You're looking a little tired these days, sire. And of course, you needn't worry about the queen with her champion right here to protect her." The king didn't see the broad wink the nasty boy directed at the Round Table in general.

The next morning the king set out for his hunt, carefully selecting the three best hounds. He wanted to be alone. I think his instincts were telling him what his friends were keeping from him and he was very worried, without knowing precisely what worried him.

I was worried, too. I kept close to my lady's side all the day, sprawled across her feet when she sewed and curled up in her lap when she read. Neither Mordred nor Morgan La Chat came near us, but if one of the knights passed by, he would duck his head and look away, as if ashamed to face my lady.

As Lady Elaine readied her for retirement, I grew restless and went in search of a flower pot so that I might ease myself without leaving the premises. My favorite was the captive palm from Palestine a foreign emissary had brought the king. It was kept near the fireplace in the Great Hall. A drunken party was in progress there, however. The king did not approve of drunken revelry and the knights, like mice, were playing in his absence. I would simply have to find somewhere else. I couldn't go in there now without getting stepped upon. But as I fled toward the kitchen and cook's indoor herb garden, I heard familiar hateful voices whispering.

"I still think you should come along and put them under a bit before you go to Lancelot," Mordred whined. "They don't really like me, you know. They're very snobbish about anyone who hasn't bested them in battle at least once. I'm not sure I can convince them to play peeping torn without a little magical urging along."

"I made sure a potion went into the wine," she said, and I heard the staccato beat of her tail impatiently drumming the floor. "They'll do the highland fling from the crenellation with the slightest suggestion. Lancelot's tougher. He is really such an impossible prig. So afraid of appearances. Good thing for me he is so very fond of cats and so very unable to tolerate any others but me. I'd scare him to death in my true form, but he is so delighted with his itty bitty kitty cat he just can't get enough of me."

"Hah!" Mordred commented, and swaggered off toward the Great Hall. I slunk behind Morgan La Chat and followed her to where Lancelot knelt in the chapel, praying, his sword by his side. Lately he had been troubled by his own odd behavior, going to the king's room at odd hours and seeking out the queen's company when in truth he had no interest in the colors of embroidery thread whatsoever.

Most of all, I think he was troubled by the way the other knights had been avoiding him. Like most toms, he valued the goodwill and camaraderie of his brothers-in-arms more than any other sort of relationship. Little did he think that had he spent more time with them and less with that phony feline he could have continued to lead a happy life indefinitely.

But it was not to be.

Morgan sat,upright in front of him, staring straight into his face, her tail curled like a beckoning finger. Slowly, Lancelot rose and slowly she sidled away from him toward the door, the tail all the time beckoning. Lancelot, his sword at his side, followed.

Why did he need his sword to be captured "conspiring" with the queen? And then I knew. He was not to conspire with my lady: he was to slay her! I bounded ahead of them back to the Royal Chamber, making use of the private entrance the carpenter had devised for me at the foot of the bolted door.

My lady was asleep already, her golden hair fa

At that moment a loud knock thudded against the timbers of the door.

"Good heavens," my lady yawned, "what on earth is all this commotion about? Who on earth can that be? And what in heaven's name can have gotten into you, Gray Jane?"

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and I did the unforgivable, had it not been for the dire circumstances. I grabbed her feet with my front claws and would not let go until she picked me up by the scruff of the neck and flung me away again.

"Who is it?" she called. "What's the matter? Is the palace on fire? Is there a dragon in the courtyard? This had better not be a false alarm."

"C'est moi, madame la reine. C'est Lancelot. I have a matter of the utmost urgency on which I must speak to you."

"Oh, very well. But it had better be a matter of an invading army at the very least or I shall never forgive you."

I heard all this human chitchat through a bit of a daze since my lady, in her drowsy state, had tossed me against the stone wall and my head was somewhat the worse for wear. I rose on trembling paws and watched helplessly as she trudged on bleeding feet to the door and opened it. Lancelot stood there with his hand on his sword, the wretched tortoiseshell smirking on the floor beside him.

"Oh, my. It must be at least one invading army for you to come to my chamber armed," the queen said. "You'd better step inside to make your report.