The Keeper. Part 1. An Invitation

‘I don’t know,’ said Arthur hanging his head, catching sight of the cat, who he was sure was grinning at him.

‘I don’t know, either! Now, get out of my sight while I decide what to do with you.’

And without needing to be told twice, Arthur grabbed his things and hurried back to the house.

‘So maybe you were right, Cat. Maybe it really can’t be opened,’ whispered Arthur, having crept up to the attic to avoid being seen.

‘A box that can’t be opened. It doesn’t sound very likely, or very useful, does it?’

‘What? You’ve gone and changed your tune.’

‘I never said it couldn’t be opened. I said that maybe we shouldn’t be trying to open it. Also, the more I think about the inscription on it, the more I think it sounds like a riddle.’

‘A riddle?’

‘Yep. And as you know, there’s nothing us cats love more than a good riddle. Especially when it’s raining and a small group of us have gotten together to pass the time.’

Arthur glanced at him in amazement.

‘What? Don’t tell me that you didn’t know that.’

‘Um, well I…’

‘See—just goes to show how much you don’t know about cats.’

‘Actually, I always thought that cats didn’t like each other much,’ said Arthur, recalling all the times he’d watched his cat seeing off the neighbours’ cat.

‘Ah well now, there’s an interesting theme for a discussion. I’m guessing that it also never occurred to you that we’ve had to come up with ways to amuse ourselves over the years? No offence intended of course, but you humans aren’t exactly the most interesting creatures to be around most of the time. I bet, for instance, you never knew that cats just adore theatre; re-enactments of legendary battles between cats and dragons, or the exploits of the great Catiators of Roman times. And yes, thats right, it was us cats who invented the whole gladiators idea and all that stuff. You just copied us as usual.’

Arthur stared at him, more than a bit confused.

‘Catiators? …So what about that big ginger next door, then?’

‘Fluffy? What about him?’

‘Fluffy? He’s not called Fluffy. He’s called Brutus.’

‘You call him Brutus, yes, but his name is actually Fluffy. Fine fellow, actually.’

‘Fluffy!’ repeated Arthur, trying not to laugh.

‘Sure, what else would it be?’

‘What, and he’s really your friend?’

‘Of course he is, and a very fine riddler, too.’

‘Woah! Hang on a second. If the cat next door is called Fluffy by other cats, what do they call you?’

‘That my dear fellow, I will never tell!’

‘Oh, come on! It can’t be that bad.’

‘No, it’s not at all bad, but it’s my business, and my name is private to me.’

‘Oh, come on, Cat. You can’t be serious. You’re really not going to tell me?’

‘Nope—not for all the roast chicken in China!’

‘Fine, suit yourself, then,’ Arthur said, not even trying to disguise how offended he felt at that moment. ‘I’m sure it’s very silly, anyway. I bet they call you Biffy, or Mini Mouse or something.’

‘Ha! Nice try, but no.’

‘Whatever, not that interested anyway.’

‘Yeah, sure you’re not.’

‘So, anyway, if you’re so good at riddles, what do you think this one means? “To open what is both known yet unknown, speak this word times three.”’

‘Well,’ replied the cat, stretching himself out full-length on the floor. ‘I didn’t exactly say that I was really good at them. I mean, I’m not bad, and now that you mention it, I’m pretty good, but not the best… No, probably not the best.’

‘Soooo?’

‘So, hold your horses. These things take time. I need to think about it.’

‘Oh, Cat!’

‘Arthur? Who <<are >>you talking to?’

His mother’s head had just appeared at the top of the stairs. She was still looking angry, her long dark hair tied back, only serving to emphasise her stern look even more.

‘Hmm?’ he asked, not having a clue how he was supposed to answer that.

‘I asked who you were talking to? The cat again, I suppose?’

‘I guess.’

‘Right, well, that settles it then. I’m going to call your friend Lizzy’s mother and invite them over at last. You’ve really been spending too much time running wild by yourself this summer. I always thought she was very sensible for her age.

‘Wild?’ he mumbled after she’d gone. All he ever did was go fishing at the lake. There was nothing wild about that. As for Lizzy though, well, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She was smart. She might even be able to help them figure out this box thing.

‘So, what about Lizzy, then?’ he whispered.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but we don’t need any help.’

‘But I thought you liked her? You always sit with her when she comes.’

‘That’s because she’s warm and scratches my ears very nicely. Which, incidentally, is something you could learn to do better. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and see a cat about a riddle.’