The Earl of Southampton's Cat

I now have paper enough to end my tale of the petrifying Witch, wherein all receive their just deserts.

The spy bat returned, and gave his report.  The Witch kept a maidservant with a chain about her feet.  He had clicked this maid by the woodpile, and later at the well.

 Then he scouted in the house.  The Witch’s bedchamber was at the top of the stairs, but the maid had a pallet in the Hall.

“Why has this maidservant not been turned to stone?” arrkst Purrsie. “Does she never see the Witch’s face?  Has she no eyes?”

“That I cannot tell,” the bat replied.  “But this I know.  The Witch snuffed the candles, dowsed the fire, and climbed hiss-haired to her bed.  There was no light in the Hall, yet the maidservant moved about as easily (but for her chain) as I.  Perhaps her sighs serve her as my clicks do me.  And could I click deep enough, I believe I’d find a heart swol with sorrow.”

“Together we’ll kill this Witch,” sayt Purrsa and Purrsie. “May the Queen Cat of Heaven protect us.”

“I call no cat heavenly,” sayt the bat.  “But the Great Bat who spreads her wings to dark the sun helps all who hang together.”

The next night Purrsa and Purrsie walked to the Witch’s house.  They carried with them the bag their mother’s old master tried to drown her in.

Purrsie waited at the woodpile, and Purrsa by the well.

The bat flew above.  There came the sound of the chain; the maidservant was in the yard.

She went to the woodpile.  Purrsie crept beneath her gown and rubbed against her legs.

“A cat?” sayt the maidservant.  And reaching down she ran her hand along his back.  “Best go, little friend, lest you be struck to stone.”

Purrsie stepped aside.  The maid fetched some logs, set one on the block, and split it.  When she turned for another, Purrsie leapt up on the block.  She all but put the log on him.

She sayt, “Bad cat!  You dice with death.  Be off!”  And clapped her hands.

A voice called from the house, “Who’s there?  Must I come and look on him?”

“’Twas but a gnat,” called the maidservant.  She set the log with care and split it clean, whispering, “And I wish this were your head.”

Purrsie sayt, “That maid has two fair eyes, but nowt enters there.  Though skilful, she sees not cat nor log.”

The maidservant took the wood into the house, and the bat flew in behind her.  Later, when she went to the well, he brought word that the Witch was in her bedchamber.

Purrsa and Purrsie slipped inside, carrying the bag they’d brought.  Purrsie hid hisself behind a wall-cloth at the top of the stairs.  Purrsa crouched in the bag at their foot.  Then she gave a yowl.

The Witch came forth, holding her candle.  She whispered, “Here, puss. Let me see you.”

Purrsa answered soft and sweet.

“Are you below?” arrkst the Witch.  “If you won’t come to me, then I must come to you.”

True words.  As she stepped onto a stair, the bat flapped out her candle and Purrsie twined about her feet.

She fell head first, and brake her neck.

The maidservant, who’d returned with her pail of water, heard all.  She started forward, saying, “Is she dead?”  Then drew back, because the hair-snakes hissed.

Purrsa sayt, “If they snakes still live, perchance her evil eyes do too.  Her head may be of use to us, and you are skilled in chopping.”

The maidservant fetched the axe.  Purrsa and Purrsie held the bag wide and pulled it over the Witch’s head.

“The snakes can’t bite now,” sayt Purrsie.

The maidservant felt for the Witch’s neck, and struck.  “Perfection through practice,” sayt she.

The bat, his work done, flew to find his supper.

The maid sayt that years ago she’d been a limner, and painted portraits no bigger than a playing card.

But first one eye lost the light, then the other.  All was darkness.  So she’d gone to the Witch, seeking a remedy.

The Witch brought out the chain, saying it had power to heal.  The payment was but seven days of service.

All lies.

And after the Witch was cursed, the maidservant knew she might never go free, for she alone could not be petrified.

Purrsa sayt, “On the morrow we’ll bring the smith to strike off your shackles.  But first we must take this bag to him that owns it.”

Purrsa and Purrsie dragged the bag to the door of the man they’d sworn vengeance on.  When he opened the bag he saw snake-hair, and guessed whose head it was.  He spilled it out, thinking to boast of killing the Witch.  Instead her eye-beams turned him to stone.

Purrsa and Purrsie came away well-pleased with their doings.

All rejoiced to hear the petrifying Witch was dead.

The maidservant became mistress of the house.  Purrsa and Purrsie joined her.  Their mistress returned the Witch’s statues of people to their families, who put them in the church.

Then she made a fragrant garden, using some bird and animal statues as adornments.  Others she sold to folk who came seeking remembrances of the Witch.

And Purrsa and Purrsie refrained from catching bats ever after.

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The bat Purrsa caught (in the previous post) and used as a spy was probably a pipistrelle.  You can listen to one on the UK Bat Conservation Trust’s website.  That may not be how echolocation sounds to cats, who don’t need a bat detector.