Meowdeline the Magnificent

Meowdeline the Magnificent

As the music swelled, Armand Jean du Plessis could not be happier. The new organ (new keyboard at least, repairs had taken a month after Jean Luc Picard had tried to “beautify the very air of Notre Dame”. Worse than a cat being skinned alive, really, which he had been unfortunate enough to have seen during a recent time of hunger.) had been installed. The new music, which he had been told would be called baroque by the same Jean Luc, whom he considered a madman. A madman with a good ear, nonetheless. The light of the stained glass, so resembling the Majesty of God, began to falter, no doubt due to the often-stormy weather of the most beautiful city on Earth, Paris.

Cardinal Richelieu thought so anyway, for he made his home nearby and ruled over France in the name of the King, who was much too busy being the King to bother with such mundane affairs. ‘Ironic, that a holy man must take such care of the realms of man’ he thought glibly to himself.

“Your Eminence,” a voice called from behind him, “We may have an issue.”

Sighing as the final bars of the organ obliterated themselves against the stones, Richelieu, Cardinal and First Minister of the State, turned to his now assistant, The Bishop of Metz, Jules Mazarin.

“Julie! My good friend. Do not waver in your resolve; tell me what troubles you so? Has the Swede made any moves we have failed to foresee? Perhaps a young noble has lost his way and must be returned to our flock.”

“Err, neither Armand. You did not hear over the organ, but someone has brought us a… curiosity.”

Richelieu raised his thick eyebrow just a few hair’s width. “Oh, do tell. You know how I love surprises, particularly so near the day of my christening. Particularly ones which increase our knowledge of the world our God saw to putting into our care. Let me guess. Another two headed calf was born, and the peasants wish to burn it at the stake.”

“If you wished me to tell you, be direct about it, don’t second guess me!” Mazarin snapped; nose pinched around his eyes before continuing. “Ahem. A “Cat-girl” seems to have been born, left at Sant Rheims, then was brought here, to you. If I were to venture a guess, because of your feline affections, your Eminence.”

Richelieu, rather than insult, felt a curiosity and disbelief. ‘Mazarin is a good man.’ He thought as he was silently led to a more secure area of the church, his office away from his office. ‘Mazarin wouldn’t have mistaken a girl with a cat. Its simply- ‘

“Preposterous. This basket even has a card that says “Nyatsuki. What sort of name is that? And where is the girl supposed to be in here?” Richelieu huffed. The more he thought about it, the less sane any of this situation sounded.

“Your grace, the cat seems to have been let out of the bag.” Mazarin grinned at him while Richelieu fumed back. “Anyway, she could not have gone far, she seems to be very young. She’s right…around…here…on top of the cabinet. “

“How the- “Richelieu bit back a curse. “How did she get up there? And you were right to call me in, that creature has pink fur. She looks like her mother is currently upholstery in the King’s private chambers. “He paused, before reprimanding himself for having talked poorly of any creature’s mother. “Still, this, well, girl has had a long and bizarre adventure, to have found its way into my arms.” He says while scooping the catgirl from the cabinet perch.

“Could she be a malformed child, your grace? Or is this truly a miracle in the day we live in, in such a time where heresies abound?”
Rolling the creature around in his hands, Richelieu examined her further. “Indeed, this is a girl. I do not believe a human bore this child normally, however. These ears are located on the top of her head, not nearer to her neck, like we do. That last fact really disturbs me, but at least that area is covered with this… hair like fur. Yes, now that I feel it, it is fur, like that of Ms. Whiskers back home.”

Mazarin had been to his home, but even he could not remember all these cat names. “Which one is that, your grace? The Persian?”

“Yes, Julie. The Persian. I do not think this creature is wicked, despite these eyes the color of carnation perfume. I think I shall take Meowdeline home with me.”

“The card says Nyatsuki?”

“L’loi, c’est moi. I’ve never let a cat I’ve owned be named by anyone but me, which is convenient since they only respond to cutting the head off a fish anyway. As I said, is shall take her home at once. Good night to you, Julie.”

As Cardinal Richelieu stole (cat burgled?) into the now night, Mazarin had but one question.

“What in God’s name is going on?”