Montgomery and the Curiously Scented Paddle
I am a sensible fellow most of the time. I maintain a proper diet, get plenty of sunlight, and I make very certain that I get enough sleep. My grooming habits are impeccable. This should be no surprise, as I am a cat. However, I have noted with disdain that not all cats are as fastidious as I. While I am certainly not infallible, I do take pride in who I am.
Not all cats possess impeccable taste, poise, or grooming habits. Take Deimos the Short, for example. He, despite his name, adores all cats and humans alike. He will also eat anything that drops to the floor, like a starving puppy. There is no dignity in this, and it reflects his past as an alley cat. Then there is Missy the Whiffy, an obnoxious fluff ball that should be in fancy cat shows. She misbehaves, like a scrappy stray from down the street. More, she refuses to groom herself in any manner. Should a human try to groom her, they will nearly always be the bloodier for it. Once, I tried to groom Missy myself. I keep to myself these days; the pain received was not worth it.
Deimos, Missy and I live at Quiet Manor. Quiet Manor the type of place where the sun shines almost always, and life is good. Two servants at the Manor, She Who Dispenses Dinner or “Food Giver” and He Who Scoops My Litter or “Box Cleaner” tend to our daily needs. They are adequate humans most of the time.
From time to time, cats that look exactly like us appear out of nowhere when we enter certain rooms. They are never reachable due to some cold invisible barrier. I call them ‘Imposter Cats.’ I once hissed at such an intruder, and he hissed right back at me at precisely the same time. The nerve! I prefer not to think about these insufferable houseguests when they are on the premises, but least they don’t smell like Missy.
Life is calm and quiet at the Manor, until wintertime. During winter, the humans erect a tree in the sunroom. Then they stick fun toys and baubles on the tree, and promptly scold us for trying to wrestle the toys off the tree onto the floor where they rightfully belong. Then they howl strange songs for days on end, and they make the Manor malodorous with things they call “Christmas Cookies” and “Pie.” Finally, they stick boxes under the tree, garishly wrapped with colorful paper and topped with chewable things they call, “bows.” At the height of all this excitement, the humans gather all of us around the tree, and distribute these wrapped boxes while eating their stinky cookies and pie.
For us felines, we receive “Cat-mas gifts” of toys, snacks, cat grass, and catnip. I ignore the catnip, for I am far too sophisticated for that sort of vice. I may bat at a toy, but only if I feel like playing along with this whole scenario. Sometimes, I slink off to hide under the table, but usually, my curiosity gets the better of me. On those occasions, Deimos and I wrestle each other for the prized toy. Snacks go to Missy and Deimos, but the cat grass is all mine.
The humans exchange boxes during this time as well, but as a general rule, we cannot be bothered to care what they give to each other. It’s generally nothing edible, nor is it very interesting. Last year was different. Not to the other felines, but to me. Something caught my eye. The softer human, Food Giver, gave Box Cleaner a large green thing with a shiny paddle.
“I know you’ve wanted to try this, as have I. So here you go,” Food Giver said as Box Cleaner held it up for no one in particular to see.
“Ooh, absinthe!” replied Box Cleaner, “And a slotted spoon! This should be fun to try!”
I must admit that it was the shiny paddle caught my eye momentarily, but the large green thing captivated me more. A peculiar scent emanated from it, which was pleasing to my delicate nostrils. It was muted, since the green thing seemed to be sealed, but my curiosity was piqued for that moment nonetheless. Then I remembered that I had fresh cat grass, and I left my perch in search of my leafy little snack.
Every single year, I forget that the far scarier events follow that of the tree and presents. Around the time presents are opened, humans come to visit our servants, and I cower. Ahh yes, those “relatives,” as they are called, visit solely to make my life miserable. No cat grass will allow me to forgive Food Giver and Box Cleaner for these transgressions. Worse, these relatives always stay for an eternity.
Deimos and Missy are of the extroverted ilk, so they mew and preen and amaze the visiting humans. I eat my cat grass, and consider vomiting in one of their shoes with the thought that they would leave if I did. Being the polite feline that I am, I leave instead, retiring to the sleeping quarters to hide under the bed. Food Giver checks up on me, making sure I am comfortable, while whispering, “Just a few more days, Montgomery.” I flatten my ears, because a few days seem like forever in cat time.
The visitors do eventually leave, as do our servants. Then we are alone, save for short visits from Surrogate Servant, the house sitter who arrives daily to feed us, and make sure we are okay. At first, I relish the solitude, since I am an introvert by nature. However, the days stretch into what seem like weeks, and I become lonely. My feline roommates bicker amongst themselves, and pay little attention to me, for I am old enough to be their grandfather. My cat grass withers.
Just as I have come to the conclusion that I will die alone without the proper servants due me, Food Giver and Box Cleaner return from their sabbatical. I am thrilled to see them, but I must maintain a façade of disapproval. So I offer them a cold shoulder, a hairball, and after they have gone to bed, a rousing aria of despair at my abandonment. This last year, my aria lasted for three nights, and the servants were most displeased. Still, they needed to understand why my feelings were hurt more than ever after their last unexpected ‘vacation.’
Then just as quickly as the chaos began, things return to normal at Quiet Manor. The tree disappears, and spring comes. Blissful days of regularity stretch into weeks. My cat grass is replenished, and my feeding times are back on a schedule I prefer. All is well with the world, until that one night months later.
“Say, Food Giver, perhaps we should try that absinthe you gave me over the holidays.”
“Well, Box Cleaner, I was wondering if you had forgotten my gift. Yes, let’s try it.
The humans were always trying new things, like tofu, squash, and some beverage called wine, so this conversation did not arouse my curiosity at first. I sighed at the sounds of clinking glasses and closing of cupboard doors. None of it affected me, so long as my meal was served on time that evening. Then, there was a noise.
FWUMP
The sound was followed by an aroma that drew me to the dining room like catnip to Missy, or Deimos to dropped food. The scent was unique, of strange smelling herbs found in some of the foods Food Giver prepared for Box Cleaner occasionally. Like when they made pizza, perhaps. There was something very alluring about the scent, and despite my desire to remain apathetic to the world of human servants, I found myself eager to find out what this enticing aroma was.
I saw the shiny paddle I had seen months before. They poured a clear liquid, presumably water into a glass with the paddle sitting atop. The liquid changed into milk, and the scent grew ever stronger.
“This smells like anise and fennel,” Food Giver said with a wrinkled nose. “I hope it tastes better than it smells.”
Anise. Divinity is called, “anise.”
“Nope. Ugh, this tastes like licorice!” Food Giver set her glass down, and left to get a glass of water.
“I like it,” Box Cleaner replied. “Thank you for the absinthe.”
Box Cleaner left to follow Food Giver to the kitchen, taking the two glasses with him. Still, the aroma lingered. I decided to investigate the smell, because I had to know more about this ‘anise-fennel-licorice absinthe stuff’ they spoke of. I jumped on the table, something I make sure never to do in their presence, for it angers them, and what should catch my eye, but the shiny paddle. I sniffed at the paddle, and the scent was strong from lingering liquid ambrosia.
Suddenly, I was overcome with a desire to lick the shiny paddle. So I did. I licked and licked, and the curiously scented paddle tasted as wonderful as it smelled. Not sweet, nor savory, just an herb infused water. I scarcely licked the paddle a third time when Food Giver ran to me yelling very loudly.
“Montgomery! What are you doing? Get off the table!” I looked up from the paddle with the feeling if triumph as if I had caught a small lizard or rodent. The prize was mine.
“Box! Montgomery licked the slotted spoon! Do we need to take him to the vet?” Food Giver sounded panicked, but I really did not care. I felt absolutely elated, as if the world had been lifted off of my shoulders.
“We’ll watch him, and I’ll do a quick search online.”
Set on the ground, the sensation felt like a tickle on my paws from the carpet fibers. I plopped over, rolling my entire body on the floor. The floor never felt so wonderful in my life before this moment, so I really wanted to relish this tingly happy feeling. I stretched my paws out until I was a very long line of cat. Then I rolled over. Then back. This was most certainly a lot of fun.
“Looks like he will be okay, if he only licked the spoon,” Box Cleaner’s words interrupted my eternal carpet serenade. My eyes widened, and I tried to arm lasers to make him stop talking so loud. He was raining on my parade, after all.
“Look at him,” Food Giver said with a frown. “Is he drunk? I’ve never seen Montgomery behave like this before.”
Box Cleaner and Food Giver continued to stare at me, and it made me uncomfortable. So I rose, and left in search of my feline companions. Perhaps they would be more interested in this elixir I have discovered. Yet when I approached them, Deimos looked at me with distrust, and would not let me talk.
“You’re crazy, Dude!” Deimos said with a short meow, and bounded off up the stairs to another room.
Missy decided that now was the perfect time to groom herself, ignoring anything I had to say.
“Fine then,” I hissed. “I won’t bother to share my ambrosia.” I stomped away into the sunroom, where I found a toy to play with. One of the Imposter Cats was present, but he seemed rather preoccupied with the carpet for some reason.
There, I played for a long while, until I fell asleep on that blissfully soft carpet. I was happy.
When daylight came, my happiness left, replaced by headache and exhaustion. Missy approached me, and it seemed as if her breathing was excessively loud.
“You don’t look so well, Monty,” she roared.
“Please stop roaring!” I squeaked.
Missy sniffed me, but her breathing sounded like that of the car when we’re taken to the veterinarian’s office. I winced.
“Heh! Serves you right for trying human drinks,” Missy scoffed.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?!?!?!?!?” Deimos roared happily. “DID MONTGOMERY TRY THE CATNIP FINALLY! HAHAHAHA! HE LOOKS HUNGOVER!”
“Oh please keep it down, Deimos.” My meow sounded like a pathetic croak from a dying frog.
Deimos and Missy laughed, and stomped away from me in my sad, broken state. “Oh look! It’s Food! Food, please feed us breakfast?” they mewed to Food Giver.
Box Cleaner approached, and petted me as gently as a servant could. “Poor dude,” he whispered with the voracity of a lion, “Don’t drink the absinthe again, okay?”
I closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep again. The absinthe- that was definitely the cause of my pain. It wasn’t a mere hangover; I’ve suffered those from catnip before. That’s why I don’t touch the stuff now. This was different. It was like the loss of something I truly loved- that ambrosia. Upon this realization, I vow to find that holy grail once more, and drink the liquid from its shiny paddle.
To this day, the servants keep the ambrosia under lock and key. But occasionally, the FWUMP sounds, and that alluring scent of anise and fennel wafts through the air. It summons me from the corners of Quiet Manor, and I hasten to its beck and call. Someday, I shall have my sweet ambrosia, for I am Montgomery Thaddeus the Talented, a proper Cat with impeccable taste.
_______
Author notes: While this story is considered to be a work of fiction, Montgomery’s story is not unique. Search results show that cats and absinthe have been paired together since the beginning of the twentieth century.
Not all cats possess impeccable taste, poise, or grooming habits. Take Deimos the Short, for example. He, despite his name, adores all cats and humans alike. He will also eat anything that drops to the floor, like a starving puppy. There is no dignity in this, and it reflects his past as an alley cat. Then there is Missy the Whiffy, an obnoxious fluff ball that should be in fancy cat shows. She misbehaves, like a scrappy stray from down the street. More, she refuses to groom herself in any manner. Should a human try to groom her, they will nearly always be the bloodier for it. Once, I tried to groom Missy myself. I keep to myself these days; the pain received was not worth it.
Deimos, Missy and I live at Quiet Manor. Quiet Manor the type of place where the sun shines almost always, and life is good. Two servants at the Manor, She Who Dispenses Dinner or “Food Giver” and He Who Scoops My Litter or “Box Cleaner” tend to our daily needs. They are adequate humans most of the time.
From time to time, cats that look exactly like us appear out of nowhere when we enter certain rooms. They are never reachable due to some cold invisible barrier. I call them ‘Imposter Cats.’ I once hissed at such an intruder, and he hissed right back at me at precisely the same time. The nerve! I prefer not to think about these insufferable houseguests when they are on the premises, but least they don’t smell like Missy.
Life is calm and quiet at the Manor, until wintertime. During winter, the humans erect a tree in the sunroom. Then they stick fun toys and baubles on the tree, and promptly scold us for trying to wrestle the toys off the tree onto the floor where they rightfully belong. Then they howl strange songs for days on end, and they make the Manor malodorous with things they call “Christmas Cookies” and “Pie.” Finally, they stick boxes under the tree, garishly wrapped with colorful paper and topped with chewable things they call, “bows.” At the height of all this excitement, the humans gather all of us around the tree, and distribute these wrapped boxes while eating their stinky cookies and pie.
For us felines, we receive “Cat-mas gifts” of toys, snacks, cat grass, and catnip. I ignore the catnip, for I am far too sophisticated for that sort of vice. I may bat at a toy, but only if I feel like playing along with this whole scenario. Sometimes, I slink off to hide under the table, but usually, my curiosity gets the better of me. On those occasions, Deimos and I wrestle each other for the prized toy. Snacks go to Missy and Deimos, but the cat grass is all mine.
The humans exchange boxes during this time as well, but as a general rule, we cannot be bothered to care what they give to each other. It’s generally nothing edible, nor is it very interesting. Last year was different. Not to the other felines, but to me. Something caught my eye. The softer human, Food Giver, gave Box Cleaner a large green thing with a shiny paddle.
“I know you’ve wanted to try this, as have I. So here you go,” Food Giver said as Box Cleaner held it up for no one in particular to see.
“Ooh, absinthe!” replied Box Cleaner, “And a slotted spoon! This should be fun to try!”
I must admit that it was the shiny paddle caught my eye momentarily, but the large green thing captivated me more. A peculiar scent emanated from it, which was pleasing to my delicate nostrils. It was muted, since the green thing seemed to be sealed, but my curiosity was piqued for that moment nonetheless. Then I remembered that I had fresh cat grass, and I left my perch in search of my leafy little snack.
Every single year, I forget that the far scarier events follow that of the tree and presents. Around the time presents are opened, humans come to visit our servants, and I cower. Ahh yes, those “relatives,” as they are called, visit solely to make my life miserable. No cat grass will allow me to forgive Food Giver and Box Cleaner for these transgressions. Worse, these relatives always stay for an eternity.
Deimos and Missy are of the extroverted ilk, so they mew and preen and amaze the visiting humans. I eat my cat grass, and consider vomiting in one of their shoes with the thought that they would leave if I did. Being the polite feline that I am, I leave instead, retiring to the sleeping quarters to hide under the bed. Food Giver checks up on me, making sure I am comfortable, while whispering, “Just a few more days, Montgomery.” I flatten my ears, because a few days seem like forever in cat time.
The visitors do eventually leave, as do our servants. Then we are alone, save for short visits from Surrogate Servant, the house sitter who arrives daily to feed us, and make sure we are okay. At first, I relish the solitude, since I am an introvert by nature. However, the days stretch into what seem like weeks, and I become lonely. My feline roommates bicker amongst themselves, and pay little attention to me, for I am old enough to be their grandfather. My cat grass withers.
Just as I have come to the conclusion that I will die alone without the proper servants due me, Food Giver and Box Cleaner return from their sabbatical. I am thrilled to see them, but I must maintain a façade of disapproval. So I offer them a cold shoulder, a hairball, and after they have gone to bed, a rousing aria of despair at my abandonment. This last year, my aria lasted for three nights, and the servants were most displeased. Still, they needed to understand why my feelings were hurt more than ever after their last unexpected ‘vacation.’
Then just as quickly as the chaos began, things return to normal at Quiet Manor. The tree disappears, and spring comes. Blissful days of regularity stretch into weeks. My cat grass is replenished, and my feeding times are back on a schedule I prefer. All is well with the world, until that one night months later.
“Say, Food Giver, perhaps we should try that absinthe you gave me over the holidays.”
“Well, Box Cleaner, I was wondering if you had forgotten my gift. Yes, let’s try it.
The humans were always trying new things, like tofu, squash, and some beverage called wine, so this conversation did not arouse my curiosity at first. I sighed at the sounds of clinking glasses and closing of cupboard doors. None of it affected me, so long as my meal was served on time that evening. Then, there was a noise.
FWUMP
The sound was followed by an aroma that drew me to the dining room like catnip to Missy, or Deimos to dropped food. The scent was unique, of strange smelling herbs found in some of the foods Food Giver prepared for Box Cleaner occasionally. Like when they made pizza, perhaps. There was something very alluring about the scent, and despite my desire to remain apathetic to the world of human servants, I found myself eager to find out what this enticing aroma was.
I saw the shiny paddle I had seen months before. They poured a clear liquid, presumably water into a glass with the paddle sitting atop. The liquid changed into milk, and the scent grew ever stronger.
“This smells like anise and fennel,” Food Giver said with a wrinkled nose. “I hope it tastes better than it smells.”
Anise. Divinity is called, “anise.”
“Nope. Ugh, this tastes like licorice!” Food Giver set her glass down, and left to get a glass of water.
“I like it,” Box Cleaner replied. “Thank you for the absinthe.”
Box Cleaner left to follow Food Giver to the kitchen, taking the two glasses with him. Still, the aroma lingered. I decided to investigate the smell, because I had to know more about this ‘anise-fennel-licorice absinthe stuff’ they spoke of. I jumped on the table, something I make sure never to do in their presence, for it angers them, and what should catch my eye, but the shiny paddle. I sniffed at the paddle, and the scent was strong from lingering liquid ambrosia.
Suddenly, I was overcome with a desire to lick the shiny paddle. So I did. I licked and licked, and the curiously scented paddle tasted as wonderful as it smelled. Not sweet, nor savory, just an herb infused water. I scarcely licked the paddle a third time when Food Giver ran to me yelling very loudly.
“Montgomery! What are you doing? Get off the table!” I looked up from the paddle with the feeling if triumph as if I had caught a small lizard or rodent. The prize was mine.
“Box! Montgomery licked the slotted spoon! Do we need to take him to the vet?” Food Giver sounded panicked, but I really did not care. I felt absolutely elated, as if the world had been lifted off of my shoulders.
“We’ll watch him, and I’ll do a quick search online.”
Set on the ground, the sensation felt like a tickle on my paws from the carpet fibers. I plopped over, rolling my entire body on the floor. The floor never felt so wonderful in my life before this moment, so I really wanted to relish this tingly happy feeling. I stretched my paws out until I was a very long line of cat. Then I rolled over. Then back. This was most certainly a lot of fun.
“Looks like he will be okay, if he only licked the spoon,” Box Cleaner’s words interrupted my eternal carpet serenade. My eyes widened, and I tried to arm lasers to make him stop talking so loud. He was raining on my parade, after all.
“Look at him,” Food Giver said with a frown. “Is he drunk? I’ve never seen Montgomery behave like this before.”
Box Cleaner and Food Giver continued to stare at me, and it made me uncomfortable. So I rose, and left in search of my feline companions. Perhaps they would be more interested in this elixir I have discovered. Yet when I approached them, Deimos looked at me with distrust, and would not let me talk.
“You’re crazy, Dude!” Deimos said with a short meow, and bounded off up the stairs to another room.
Missy decided that now was the perfect time to groom herself, ignoring anything I had to say.
“Fine then,” I hissed. “I won’t bother to share my ambrosia.” I stomped away into the sunroom, where I found a toy to play with. One of the Imposter Cats was present, but he seemed rather preoccupied with the carpet for some reason.
There, I played for a long while, until I fell asleep on that blissfully soft carpet. I was happy.
When daylight came, my happiness left, replaced by headache and exhaustion. Missy approached me, and it seemed as if her breathing was excessively loud.
“You don’t look so well, Monty,” she roared.
“Please stop roaring!” I squeaked.
Missy sniffed me, but her breathing sounded like that of the car when we’re taken to the veterinarian’s office. I winced.
“Heh! Serves you right for trying human drinks,” Missy scoffed.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?!?!?!?!?” Deimos roared happily. “DID MONTGOMERY TRY THE CATNIP FINALLY! HAHAHAHA! HE LOOKS HUNGOVER!”
“Oh please keep it down, Deimos.” My meow sounded like a pathetic croak from a dying frog.
Deimos and Missy laughed, and stomped away from me in my sad, broken state. “Oh look! It’s Food! Food, please feed us breakfast?” they mewed to Food Giver.
Box Cleaner approached, and petted me as gently as a servant could. “Poor dude,” he whispered with the voracity of a lion, “Don’t drink the absinthe again, okay?”
I closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep again. The absinthe- that was definitely the cause of my pain. It wasn’t a mere hangover; I’ve suffered those from catnip before. That’s why I don’t touch the stuff now. This was different. It was like the loss of something I truly loved- that ambrosia. Upon this realization, I vow to find that holy grail once more, and drink the liquid from its shiny paddle.
To this day, the servants keep the ambrosia under lock and key. But occasionally, the FWUMP sounds, and that alluring scent of anise and fennel wafts through the air. It summons me from the corners of Quiet Manor, and I hasten to its beck and call. Someday, I shall have my sweet ambrosia, for I am Montgomery Thaddeus the Talented, a proper Cat with impeccable taste.
_______
Author notes: While this story is considered to be a work of fiction, Montgomery’s story is not unique. Search results show that cats and absinthe have been paired together since the beginning of the twentieth century.