The Sacred Curse

The cat sauntered through the temple. Sauntering in the haughty way only a cat can, but this was haughty sauntering taken to a whole other level. Temple cat level.

When the cat sat, it was evident why the Egyptians of old held a special place for its kind. Revered, divine beings, placed on the Earth to remind people of what awaited them in the next life. How that reminder worked on a detailed level was left to a lot of interpretation and divination. A job left to the learned and devout temple priests.

The cat’s aloofness afforded it an invisible bubble of its own personal space, and from this oasis, free from the fuss and nonsense of the passing worshipers, it watched the proceedings. It observed the worshipers as they filed in to praise the gods, and it watched them as they filed out again. 

The cat was astute in its observations. The people it saw were nervous and furtive, some of them nodded at the cat in some sad attempt to curry favour with the gods. The exiting crowd exuded relief that another temple visit was over, and gave away a barely concealed eagerness to return to the real world, for a bout of much needed sinning.

Later, when the temple was quiet, and the only light came from the guttering candles peppered throughout the stone building, the cat ventured towards one of several doorways. Gone were the sauntering steps and the haughtiness was no longer to be seen. The cat was now cautious and tentative and it’s steps slowed as it arrived at the temple exit. It came to a stop, seemed to sniff the air, and then looked around it before taking painfully deliberate steps toward the threshold of the temple. Mid footstep, it came to a halt and froze. The one raised paw came slowly back to the earth, then it fell over. Sideways. In the most uncatlike of ways.

“Bugger,” it said.

“Told you,” said a disembodied voice.

From the direction that this second voice had come from, there emerged from the darkness afforded by a temple pillar, a cat of similar proportions and colourings to the cat in the doorway. The similarities between these feline fellows was no surprise. Temple cats all looked the same and no one could tell them apart. Not even their mother could tell them apart, if indeed they had a mother, which they did not, because temple cats just appeared out of nowhere. Another of the mysteries of the gods, but in this case, a mystery that the priests in the temple were ignorant of. Possibly deliberately ignorant of, as it turned out.

The priests were ignorant of quite a lot of the mysteries of the gods, and of life, and of a great deal of everything. This was because priests kept exceptionally long hours and were always too knackered to notice what was right under their noses.

The arduous life of a priest was not conducive to idle observation and the indulgence of curiosity. Curiosity was left to the temple cats.

Awake at stupid o’clock, the priests were kept busy with all manner of pious activities, most important of which was the act of piety itself, and being seen to be incredibly pious at any and all times. 

Then there was the admin. 

Temples didn’t run themselves, and they came with a great administrative burden. No one mentioned that in priest school. It was a case of learning on the job. A bit like parenthood, but unlike parenthood, there was never an end to admin, if anything, it got worse with age, just like aches, pains and inexplicable trouble in the nether regions.

“Why?” asked the cat as it sat staring out at the impossibly unobtainable world beyond the temple.

The second cat came to join it at the threshold, taking care not to go quite as far as the other cat had. This cat had been there and done that, and learnt that headlong progress towards this aperture would be ceased totally and abruptly, and that total and abrupt cessations of momentum were painful. The pain of discovery had not prevented it testing this hypothesis a great many times, and in each and every case there was an element of pain. Eventually the pain dissolved all hope and in the place of hope came resignation.

“Now that,” said the cat, “is the million dollar question.”

“What are dollars?” asked the first cat, taking a curious look at his feline companion.

“Dollars?” the second cat turned to look at the first, “are a monetary currency.”

His companion nodded which was a rare sight indeed. Cats were not in the habit of nodding, being the most disagreeable creatures to ever have paced the earth, “I think I knew that.”

“Then why did you ask?” said Norman, which was the second temple cat’s name. The cat that had been in the temple longer than the original cat.

“Well I suppose I asked because that isn’t the currency used in this temple, is it?” said Stan, who was the first of the cats to be encountered in this story.

It might have been handy if Norman and Stan had introduced themselves, but they were the sort that didn’t bother with introductions and having missed the boat, they then preferred to tough it out in the hopes that they would discern the other’s name in some fortuitous and roundabout way. Quite how that works with cats is anyone’s guess, but then you get that a lot with cats. They like to keep everyone guessing and are in no rush to explain themselves or their actions.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” shrugged Norman.

Now, if you think a cat nodding is odd, then don’t even go there with feline shrugging. 

“So,” said Stan, “how do you know about dollars?”

Norman frowned, now cats are really quite good at frowning, and this was a particularly good frown, so all was right in the world in this very moment, “I dunno, I just do.”

“Have you ever had a dollar?” Stan asked Norman.

Norman looked at Stan and cocked his head, “that’s a strange question to ask a cat, isn’t it?”

Stan returned the look, “I would agree with you, if you were a cat in the truest sense of the word, but you’re not. You’re a temple cat, and so am I. So my question stands.”

Norman smiled at this and Norman’s smile really put the cat amongst the pigeons when it came to the feline body language on display in the temple this very evening. But as this was a temple, and these were temple cats, and the only other living beings in the temple were priests up to their ears in admin, that they needed to get done before final prayers, these cats could get up to anything they liked, except perhaps from leaving the temple itself and spending a night on the tiles.

“By the gods! I think he’s got it!” exclaimed Norman, “and in short order at that!”

“What?” asked a perturbed Stan, “what have I got?”

“That we’re different,” said Norman, “that we are not your average cat.”

“Isn’t that obvious?” asked Stan.

“No,” said Norman, “not to most.”

“Are you actually having a laugh?” asked a now affronted Stan.

Norman got up and moved away before reseating himself, “no. Why do you say that?”

“Because we’re bloody well talking! Cat’s don’t talk!” cried Stan in frustration at his companion.

“Calm down!” urged Norman, in an ill judged attempt at calming Stan down.

“I am calm!” shouted a Stan, who was evidently far from calm.

“Right,” said a rightly unconvinced Norman, “what’s your point with the talking?”

“Cat’s don’t talk!” hissed Stan.

“How do you know that?” asked Norman.

“Well, I…” Stan gave Norman a look, “are we really going there?”

Norman sighed, “have you talked to anyone in the temple?”

“How would that help?!” exclaimed Stan.

Norman glared at Stan, willing him to calm himself, “have you at least tried?” 

“No!” said Stan.

“Why?” asked Norman.

“Because we’re talking English, and that lot all talk ancient Egyptian!” explained Stan, still delivering his words at some volume, despite Norman being near enough that he did not need to raise his voice, let alone shout.

“Oh,” said Norman, “good point.”

“Good point?” said Stan now somewhat deflated.

“Yes,” confirmed Norman, “I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“Really?” asked Stan.

“Yeah,” said Norman, “you’re the first cat that’s… well, let’s just say that you’re making a lot more sense than the other cats that I’ve encountered here.”

“That doesn’t sound good?” said Stan.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Norman, “mad as a box of frogs, the lot of them.”

Stan chuckled. Cats chuckling. Let’s leave that one be.

“What’s so funny?” asked a disconcerted Norman. And no wonder. No one should be subjected to a cat laughing at them. 

Stan took a moment to compose himself and dispel the last of his laughter, “you, a talking cat, are saying that you encountered cats and that they were mad!”

Norman looked askance at him.

“I just found it funny, is all,” said Stan in a subdued manner, not wishing to cause Norman undue offence. He suddenly felt sorry for Norman, he’d had a flash of something of Norman’s plight and he felt pity for the other cat, “how long have you been here?”

Norman’s eyes enlarged to an extent that conveyed two well’s brimming with eternal sadness, and it was all Stan could do not to topple into the both of them, breaking into pieces and falling end over end into the deepest sadness imaginable.

“Can you stop doing that thing with your eyes, please?” said Stan as he attempted unsuccessfully to look away.

“Oh,” said Norman, blinking his eyes to something less hypnotically sad, “didn’t realise I was doing it.”

Stan nodded, but was not convinced by Norman’s platitudes.

“I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” said Norman returning to Stan’s question, “but it’s been a considerable time.”

“How do you know that?” asked Stan.

“I’ve seen babies grow to children, and then to adulthood, and then I’ve seen them leave this life. The temple is a pinch point in all their lives, and I am there each and every time they celebrate a birth, a coming of age, a union of marriage, and their eventual deaths.”

Stan looked upon his companion anew, “you have seen all of that?”

“And more,” Norman told him.

“What of all the other cats?” Stan asked him.

“The mad ones?” asked Norman.

“They were really all mad?” asked Stan, “all of them?”

“Barring you,” Norman nodded, “all of them.”

“Where did they go?” asked Stan.

“Go?” asked Norman in return.

“Well yes,” said Stan, “you can’t leave this place. I’ve tried every evening, since I got here, and it seems to me that you have as well.”

“I have at that,” agreed Norman, “there is no leaving this place.”

“Then where did the others go?” asked Stan.

Norman sighed, “you really want to know?”

Stan nodded, “yes I do.”

“It is a secret that no one can know of…” Norman trailed off and sighed anxiously as he looked about him as thought the ancient walls of the temple may hear him and tell the gods themselves the secret that Norman wished to remain a secret.

Stan waited expectantly as he watched the other cat. There seemed to be an inner conflict being waged within him. The muscles beneath his silken coat danced a dance that threatened to erupt into something spectacularly frenetic. Then they took a breather.

“Look,” said Norman, “can I trust you?”

Stan looked around, as though checking there was no one around to overhear them, spooked as he was by Norman’s furtive glances, “of course you can. Upon my word, you can trust me.”

“Your word as what?” asked Norman.

“As a man,” said Stan.

“Right you are,” said Norman, “then follow me.”

Norman arose from his seated position and he stretched in the trademark manner that all cats stretch. The manner that masters of yoga have attempted to copy until menacing men in dark suits appear on their doorsteps and suggest they desist from such activities for the sake of their bank balance, their health, and their continued existence. Stan also stood, but dispensed with the stretch, he was eager to discover the fate of the other cats, and he didn’t want to slip any of his discs or bugger up his already dodgy hip. Now he was aware of these other cats, he just had to know more about them.

Norman sauntered back inside the temple and Stan marvelled at the level of sauntering Norman had attained as he followed him deeper within the temple. Here was a masterclass of sauntering. Norman was a master of the sauntering art and Stan was very impressed indeed, so impressed in fact that the matter of their journey from temple door to the place where the other cats were ensconced escaped Stan almost completely.

“Here,” said Norman.

Stan looked around him, “here?” asked he.

“Yes,” said Norman, “that is what I said.”

“But where are the other cats?” asked Stan.

“Through the door,” said Norman.

“What door?” asked Stan.

“That door!” said Norman, looking in the general direction of what seemed to be a solid stone wall with nothing like a door upon it or in it.

“What door?” said Stan, but he shuffled closer to the blank stone wall for to see a little better, “I see no door.”

“It’s right there, I tell you!” cried Norman in some state of exasperation.

Stan looked closer still, feeling the weight of Norman’s words and worrying that he might be disappointing the other cat and letting his side down quite a bit, “I still don’t see it?”

“Really?!” Norman cried even louder from behind Stan.

“Well I…” began Stan feeling like quite a chump and wanting to avoid proving himself to be an imbecile, “oh!”

It was as Stan saw it, that Norman gave him an almighty shove. Quite how one cat shoves another cat like that is yet another of life's mysteries, and one that Stan would mull over for many a day.

THUD!

Stan landed on a cold, stone floor and he landed heavily. On his back. Not like a cat would have landed at all. After all, everyone knows that cats always land on their feet. It’s a centre of gravity thing and not anything to do with a cat’s overinflated sense of self-importance, although that overinflated sense of self-importance does help to redistribute the cat’s mass in a more favourable way, so this would be up for some debate, if anyone could find a control group of cats who lacked an overinflated sense of self-importance.

“Ow!” Stan gasped, after he’d gotten his breath back and was able to exclaim anything to signal his pain to the dark room.

As he lay there winded and agog, the dark room lightened up all around him. The source of this light was an eerie sea of silent feline eyes. This quiet audience was unnerving and a source of worry for poor Stan. He cautiously got to his feet.

“You failed his test too, then?” said a voice from amongst the sea of cat’s eyes.

“I…” began Stan, then it dawned on him that that was probably what had happened, “I suppose I did.”

There followed a sad and reverential silence amongst them. Another had been added to their number and the cats present were letting Stan’s plight sink in. They gave him that time. They all had plenty of time now.

“He said…” began Stan.

“That we were mad?” ventured one of the other cats.

“Yes,” said Stan meekly.

“Well yes, we must be,” said one of the other cats.

“Why do you say that?” asked Stan.

“To trust a cat…” said one of Stan’s new companions.

He would have laughed, he would have laughed if he hadn’t at that moment felt so incredibly sad. In the dark room, the room that would be his prison for eternity, or until the gods took pity upon him and his fellow captives, his eyes grew wider and wider, and sadder and sadder, until there was very little else of Stan left.