THE REAL LIVEJOURNAL IDOL -- SEASON 9, WEEK 27 -- OPEN TOPIC
FELINE GENESIS: THE MYTH THAT EVERYONE BELIEVES
Long ago and far away, there was a kingdom by a river. It could even be argued that the kingdom was the river, as the land surrounding this river was the hottest, most inhospitable desert imaginable and the river was the only source of fresh water for a thousand miles to the East and West.
The ruler of this kingdom was a god in mortal flesh, as was the king before him, and so on. Because these kings were gods, they could see and understand things beyond the ken of mortal men. For example: each king could predict when the river would flood each Spring, and how far the flood would reach... and thus the farmers of the land knew when and where to plant their crops each season. With such a reliable source of food, the people of the kingdom multiplied in enormous numbers... until there came a day when there were too many people for the land to support naturally...
3500 BCE
King Geb was seated in a shaded portico of his majestic palace when he heard his First Minister calling for him. "My Lord! I have wonderful news regarding the harvest!"
"Shhhh!!" Geb angrily glanced up and scowled at the approaching bureaucrat. "Don't come any closer, and be silent!" As the minister watched from ten paces away, the king plucked a tiny morsel of meat from the tray resting on the table next to him and tossed the scrap a few yards into the nearby garden. After a pause of several seconds, Geb spoke again in a whisper. "Now, as quietly as you can, deliver your report."
The minister blinked in confusion at the behavior of his lord and master, but the man knew better than to question the actions of a living god. In hushed tones, the bureaucrat delivered his message: "We've received confirmation that crop yields this season are well above average; most districts report they've harvested nearly twice as much grain as the previous year. Your plan has worked miraculously well!"
"Of course it has. I always knew it would." Geb shook his head slowly; he was often dumbfounded at the short-sightedness of mortal men. When food started running scarse in recent years, Geb commanded that more grain be planted to prevent a famine. When the farmers complained they could only grow crops in those areas that the river's flood reached and those lands were already being used to their fullest, Geb ordered the farmers to dig trenches and pits to carry the life-giving water much further inland. The king sighed as he tossed another small morsel of meat near the top of the short flight of stairs leading down to the garden, and he mumbled "The common folk have no sense of vision."
The First Minister was puzzled by Geb's words and actions... and the man's curiosity got the best of him. Keeping his voice soft, he asked: "I beg Your Majesty's pardon, but might I inquire what you are do--" The minister instantly fell silent shen he saw something move on the portico stairs. A moment later, one of the so-called 'miniature lions' hopped onto the porch and quickly gobbled up the morsel that Geb had tossed there. The creature's fur was tawny like the sandy wastes it inhabited, though it was far smaller than any true lion. The minister was utterly amazed that the feline would willingly come so close; these animals were notoriously skittish and normally kept their distance from mankind.
Geb smiled when he saw the bureaucrat's stunned expression, then he tossed another morsel down between his sandled feet. "I've been coaxing the animal to come closer for some time now." The feline crept forward, and quickly ate the scrap. "I think I've just about convinced it that I mean it no harm." Geb picked up another morsel, waved it about until he was sure that the creature had seen it... and then he dropped the piece of meat on his own lap.
A chill ran down the minister's spine; after all, this was a wild creature the king was dealing with. "My lord, are you sure that's wi--" At that instant, the feline leapt up into Geb's lap, wolfed down the morsel... and then it curled up where it had landed with a contented expression upon its features. Geb sighed with satisfaction as he gently reached up and stroked the creature. "You see", he murmured to both the animal and his minister, "There is nothing to fear."
The bureaucrat timidly stepped forward, utterly gobsmacked by what he was witnessing; the creature seemed to genuinely enjoy the king's touch, and made an odd rumbling sound that both Geb and the minister found soothing. The feline locked its gaze on the approaching bureaucrat, but did not seem frightened. Indeed, there was an odd sort of intelligence in the animal's eyes. "Well, now..." the minister found himself asking aloud as he slowly reached a hand out to touch the creature. "... and what is your name, little one-- GAH!" With lightning speed, the animal lashed out and scratched the minister's hand with a forepaw, then it let out a long angry hiss: "BAAAAASSSST!" The creature glared angrily up at the minister... yet at the same time, it leaned into the hand that Geb was stroking it with.
The king chuckled, then spoke directly to the animal: "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, 'Bast'... but might I request that you not injure my minister unecessarily? He does have his uses, you know."
The glance that the animal directed toward Geb seemed to indicate that 'Bast' would consider the royal request, but it (or more precisely, *SHE*) would make no promises...
And so, the wild feline known as Bast came to be a regular visitor to Geb's palace, though she was wont to roam as she pleased.
There is no way a mortal man could have forseen the trouble that would arise from the increased food supply, much less have found the solution before the problem even manifested. Which means that what occurred several months later was absolute proof of Geb's divine nature.
His Royal Majesty was seated in the council chambers, surrounded by all his ministers. Geb massaged his own shaven head in a vain effort to drive away the headache that was building there. "You're telling me that *ALL* the farming districts are reporting major rodent infestations?"
The First Minister nodded solemnly. "Yes, Lord. By all accounts, the number of rats in our grain storehouses has become truly fightening... and the vermin are growing larger and stronger than anyone has ever seen before! How is this possible?"
The king replied grumpily. "Isn't it obvious? With so much food available for them to eat, of course the rats will be more numerous and stronger. Just as I intended for my people to be." He pounded the table in frustration. "Has anyone tried sending guard dogs after the rats?"
The First Minister replied nervously. "Yes, Your Majesty... but the rats run too fast for the dogs, and they hide in holes far too small for the dogs to crawl into. We've also laid out poison for the rats, but the vermin almost never eat it."
Geb ground his teeth in anger. "And why should they? With so much grain available, why should the rats eat anything else?" The king sighed mightily. "None of you have any ideas?"
An uneasy silence fell around the table, which the First Minister eventually broke. "I fear, my lord, that this problem is beyond the ability for mortal men to sol-- GAH!" The First Minister leaped back in shock when Bast jumped onto the council table. No one had heard the animal enter the chamber... and she was bearing a large, dead rat in her mouth.
All the other ministers scattered when they saw what Bast was carrying... but the king didn't move a muscle. Geb stared at Bast as she slowly stalked forward until she laid her kill on the table in front of the king. She gazed into Geb's eyes for several seconds... then she ravenously dug into the rodent's carcass.
The First Minister felt his gorge rising. "My Lord, let me get a servant to take away that awful--"
"BE QUIET AND STAND STILL!" All fell silent at the king's command. Though Bast briefly stopped eating upon hearing Geb's shout, she gazed up at the king with something akin to a knowing smile... then she licked her chops and resumed her meal. After a few moments, the king spoke again, with the voice of command:
"Send for the scribes. I shall dictate a royal edict to them which is to be enforced immediately. I will instruct our people on how they might encourage 'miniature lions' to live among them... and they, in turn, will hunt down the rodents."
After a brief silence, the First Minister started laughing uproariously. "My Lord, you must be joking! Surely you don't expect the people to deliberately invite wild animals to come live with them?"
Geb directed an angry glare at the First Minister. "I am completely serious... and you are dismissed for questioning my orders!" Geb turned back and gently stroked the feline as she fed. "Bast and her kin are not 'wild animals'; I tell you, they are divine creatures... and will be respected as such."
Geb's edict was sent throughout the kingdom... and though the people were initially reluctant to take the miniature lions in, they soon appreciated the creatures for their ability to hunt rodents and other vermin. For these 'cats' (as they came to be known) were fast enough to catch even the most fleet-footed of prey and were small enough to occasionally pursue the rodents into their dens. Within a single human generation, Bast's kin became both the literal and symbolic protectors of the people's homes... and this was especially true for farmers.
And so Bast and her ilk ultimately saved this mighty kingdom from famine, and Bast herself was worshipped as a goddess. Though many humans have forgotten this story, cats still recall what their ancestors did for that ancient nation, and believe they should be honored and respected for their actions.
And that is why to this day, no cat likes to be laughed at by any human.
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