Puss in Boots

Anyone who’s been owned by a cat will know this tale to be true

Bend your ears my way

A miller had three sons, a mill, a donkey, and a cat. The sons had to grind grain, the donkey had to haul the grain and carry away the flour, and the cat had to catch the mice.

When the miller died, the three sons divided the inheritance: the oldest received the mill, the second the donkey, and nothing was left for the third but the cat.

He wasn’t best pleased, and he said to himself, “I certainly got the short end of the stick. My oldest brother can grind wheat, and my second brother can ride on his donkey. But what can I do with the cat? I’ll get a pair of gloves out of his fur and that’s your lot.”

The cat, who wasn’t as soft as he was cabbage looking, began to speak. “Listen, my mate. You’ve no need to kill me. You’ve said yourself all I’m worth is a pair of poor gloves from my fur. If you don’t mind my saying, that’s some pretty weak thinking there.

Here’s a new plan. Have some boots made for me and I’ll go out, do a bit of networking and you’ll be in profit before you know it.”

The miller’s son was flabbergasted the cat could speak, but since the shoemaker happened to be passing, he called him inside and had him fit the cat for a pair of boots.

When the boots were finished, the cat put them on, took a sack, filled the bottom with grains of wheat, and attached a piece of cord to the top, which he could pull to close it.

Then he slung the sack over his back and walked out the door on two legs like a regular chap.

At that time there was a king ruled the country, and he was mad for partridge. However, recently he’d been going without because the partridges had become difficult to catch. The whole forest was full of them, but they spooked so easily that none of the huntsmen had been able to get near them. The cat knew this and thought he could do better.

When he entered the forest, he opened the sack, spread the grains of wheat on the ground, placed the cord in the grass, and strung it out behind a hedge. Then he crawled under the hedge, hid himself, and lay in wait.

Soon, the partridges arrived, found the wheat, and hopped into the sack, one after the other. When a good number were inside, the cat pulled the cord. Once the sack was closed tight, he ran over to it and despatched the birds. Then he slung the sack over his back, and went with a swagger, to the king’s castle. The sentry called out, “Stop! Where d’you think you’re going?”

“To the king,” the cat answered curtly.

“Are you off your rocker? A cat to the king?”

“Oh, let him go,” another sentry said. “The king’s got a right cob on. A talking cat might put him in a better mood.”

The cat appeared before the king, bowed and said, “My lord, the Count”—and he uttered a long, distinguished name—”sends you his regards and would like to offer you these partridges, which he recently caught in his traps.”

The king was gobsmacked at the beautiful, fat partridges. Indeed, he was so overcome with joy that he told the cat to take as much gold from his treasury as he could carry and get into his sack. “Take it to your lord and give him my very best thanks for his gift.”

Meanwhile, the poor miller’s son sat at home by the window, propped his head up with his hand, and wondered why he had given away all he had for the cat’s boots when the cat would probably use them to walk off into the sunset, never to return. Suddenly, there he was and bless my soul. He threw down the sack, opened it, and tipped the gold at the miller’s feet.

“Now you’ve got something for the boots. The king also sends his regards and best of thanks.”

The miller’s son was happy … and rich, and he didn’t understand. However, as the cat was taking off his boots, he told him everything and said, “you’ve enough cash to be going on with now, but we won’t stop there. Tomorrow I’m going to put on my boots again, and you’ll be even richer. Incidentally, I told the king you’re a count.”

The following day the cat put on his boots, as he said he would, went hunting again, and brought the king a huge catch. So it went every day, and every day the cat brought back gold to the miller’s son.

At the king’s court he became a favourite, so that he could come and go and wander about the castle wherever he pleased.

One day, as the cat was lying by the hearth in the king’s kitchen and warming himself, the coachman came in and started cursing, “Devil take the king and that princess! I wanted to go to the pub, play some cards and have a drink. But now they want me to drive them to the lake so they can go for a walk.”

When the cat heard that, he ran home and said to his master, “If you want to be a rich count, come with me to the lake and go for a swim.”

The miller didn’t know what to say. Nevertheless, the cat was well in charge by now so he went with him to the lake, where he undressed and jumped into the water completely starkers.

Meanwhile, the cat took his clothes, carried them away, and hid them. No sooner had he done it than the king came driving by.

Now, the cat began to wail in a miserable voice, “Ahh, most gracious king! My lord went for a swim in the lake, and a thief came and stole his gear off the bank. Now the count is in the water and he can’t get out. If he stays in much longer, he’ll freeze and die.”

When the king heard that, he ordered the coach to stop, and one of his servants had to race back to the castle and fetch some of the king’s clothes.

The count put on the splendid clothes, and since the king had already taken a liking to him because of the partridges that, he believed, had been sent by the count, he asked the young fella to sit down next to him in the coach. The princess was not in the least angry about this, for the count was young and handsome and between you and me she quite fancied him.

In the meantime, the cat went on ahead of them and came to a large meadow, where there must have been a hundred people making hay.

“Who owns this meadow, my good people?” asked the cat.

“The great sorcerer,” they replied.

“Listen to me. The king will be driving by, and when he asks who the owner of this meadow is, I want you to answer, ‘The count.’ If you don’t, you’ll all be killed.”

The cat went on and came to a wheat field so massive that you couldn’t see the far side. There were more than two hundred people standing there and cutting wheat.

“Who owns this wheat, my good people?”

“The sorcerer.”

“Listen to me. The king will be driving by, and when he asks who the

owner of this wheat is, I want you to answer, ‘The count.’ If you don’t do this, you’ll all be killed.”

Finally, the cat came to a great forest where more than three hundred people were chopping down large oak trees and cutting them into timber.

“Who owns this forest, my good people?” “The sorcerer.”

“Listen to me. The king will be driving by, and when he asks who the owner of this forest is, I want you to answer, ‘The count.’ If you don’t do this, you’ll all be killed.”

The cat carried on, and the people watched him go. Since he looked so unusual and walked in boots like a human being, they were afraid of him.

Soon the cat came to the sorcerer’s castle, walked in like he owned the place, and appeared before the sorcerer, who looked down his sorcery nose at him and asked him what he wanted. The cat bowed and said, “I’ve heard that you can turn yourself into a dog, a fox, or even a wolf, but me, I don’t believe that you can turn yourself into an elephant. That seems impossible to me, and this is why I’ve come: I want to be convinced by my own eyes.”

“That’s just a trifle for me,” the sorcerer said arrogantly, and within seconds he turned himself into an elephant.

“That’s great, but can you also turn yourself into a lion?”

“Nothing to it,” said the sorcerer, and he suddenly stood before the cat as a lion. The cat pretended to be terrified and cried out, “That’s incredible! Unheard of ! Never would have thought this possible! But they’re all big animals, can you do tiny, can you do a mouse? If you can do that Il’l be convinced you can do more than any other sorcerer in the world, but that might be a bit much.”

The sorcerer was susceptible to flattery, and he said, “Oh, no, cat, that’s not too much at all,” and soon he was running around the room as a mouse.

At once the cat ran after him, caught the mouse in one leap, and swallowed him without chewing.

While all this was happening, the king had continued driving with the count and princess and had come to the large meadow.

“Who owns the hay?” the king asked.

“The count,” the people all cried out, just as the cat had ordered them to do.

“You’ve got a nice piece of land, count,” the king said. Afterward they came to the large wheat field.

“Who owns that wheat, my good people?”

“The count.”

“My! You’ve got quite a large and beautiful estate!”

Next they came to the forest.

“Who owns these woods, my good people?”

“The count.”

The king was even more astounded and said, “You must be a rich man,

count. I don’t think I have a forest as splendid as yours.”

At last they came to the castle. The cat stood on top of the stairs, and

when the coach stopped below, he ran down, opened the door, and said, “Your majesty, you’ve arrived at the castle of my lord, the count. This honour will make him happy the rest of his life.”

The king climbed out of the coach and was amazed by the magnificent building, which was almost, almost, larger and more beautiful than his own castle. The count led the princess up the stairs and into the hall, which glittered with a profusion of gold and jewels.

The princess, well she married the count and when the king died, the count became king, and the puss in boots? Well, the puss in boots was his prime minster and as you and I know, the power behind the throne.