The Cat’s Meow

or

(Le Miaulement du Chat)

An Original Story

By

Kim L Sellers

It was a lovely Parisian evening, and as I strolled along the Chat-qui-Pêche, I happened to notice from the corner of my eye, a most unusual sight:  a black cat was sitting comfortably across from an older gentleman, dining al fresco at a popular French restaurant.  Intrigued by the scene, I moved closer and watched as the attractive feline selected menu items using her paws, which were embellished with red-tipped nails.  She never uttered a sound.

The cordial and well-attired waiter kindly repeated her selections aloud: “Oui mademoiselle, le plat du jour: ceviche pate, and a ‘la carte, un petit plat de crème.”  The feline nodded her approval and the waiter then turned to the woman’s companion who, pointing at his menu selections too, ordered a plain croissant and a double cappuccino, straight up.  The waiter said, “Merci, mademoiselle et monsieur,” then turned and retreated to the kitchen.    

                
Their table was draped with fine white linen, adorned with expensive silver placements and a crystal vase filled with expertly arranged handpicked flowers.  The couple relaxed while waiting the return of their server.  The small cat was wearing a blackglama mink and a diamond choker necklace, while her companion, being older and clearly more conservative, wore a white Panama suit, black tie, and beret; his only prop an expensive ivory cane which hung loosely from his arm.

When the couple was served, they ate in silence.  From a nearby establishment, a recording of Edith Piaf singing Milord began playing and, as though on cue, the man stood, walked over to the black feline and, lifting her into his arms, proceeded to dance from table to table, both quiet as church mice.  Their fellow patrons, enjoying the spontaneous performance, smiled, while others laughed quietly, but all clapped approvingly.  When they returned to their table, the couple smiled at each other and although to some, it might have seemed an affectation, to me it was a sincere expression of gratitude.

Now looking around, I could see that I wasn’t the only person captivated by the handsome couple; the restaurant staff, their patrons and a small crowd that had gathered along the street had also been entertained by the talented pair.

"Bravo, Bravo, Bravo," the crowd shouted, prompting the older gentleman to rise from his chair and politely announce, "Merci. Merci, we call our Mime, Le miaulement du chat, or for our English-speaking friends, The Cat’s Meow.

There were more cheers and, buoyed by the crowd’s obvious enthusiasm, the man gracefully twirled in place and pointing his ivory cane towards his co-actor, the beautiful, blackglama-clad cat, shouted in kind, “Bravo, mademoiselle, bravo.”  Then, as though not to be upstaged by the young ingénue, he again raised his cane, this time into the Parisian night and, pointing at the picturesque Arc de Triomphe, which was aglow in the Parisian night, bowed with a graceful well-rehearsed flair.  

It was with great reluctance that I resumed my evening stroll, knowing that I would not see anything more uniquely entertaining than the performance of Le miaulement du chat, or being an American in Paris, The Cat’s Meow.

                                                                          la fin