The Rebellious Son: A Fairy Tale -- Part 17

The morning after the comet, the preacher held a service. His vision of their future was filled with death. Death to the entire village if the people didn't obey.

“Oh you faithless devils! How much longer shall I endure you?”

The lady sat next to the boy. She giggled and said. “Do you hear what he’s saying? Hee hee,” she covered her mouth. “Listen boy, listen. Our time is nearly here.”

“Now I must tell you how to save yourself from the coming pestilence,” said the preacher. “We know the cat is as sly and devious as the serpent of old. Even so, some of you foolish sinners have allowed these vermin’s to run rampant in this village. Some of you have cuddled with them at night. Some of you speak to them as if they were children of God.” He paused and scanned the congregation. When his eyes fell upon the boy, he stared deeply and then a slight shrewd smile spread over his face.

The pastor slammed his fist on the pulpit and shouted, “Every last feline shall be slaughtered! Must I say it once more? Kill all these pests for they carry the disease that will wipe out your children and your mothers and your elderly. Men! It is up to you to do your duty as protectors of this village. Do not let their sickened paws touch the young. Keep your women in the kitchens. Heed this warning and OBEY! Now lets pray that our Savior shall keep you from the pestilence. Everyone bow your heads and close your eyes.”

The congregation bowed as the preacher prayed. The boy peeked and saw the preacher changing once more: his skinned turned as white as a dove and his golden hair lengthened. The fingernails also grew, they curled in great circles under his palm. His eyes were two fiery holes as he looked out over his flock. He ended with, “Dear Lord, keep us from the death we deserve. Amen.”

“Amen indeed!” spoke the congregation in perfect unison and obedience.

They went out. The mothers to the kitchen and the men in pursuit of the cats.

At first, the cats went right to them as loving and trusting as ever, rubbing their sides and purring with loyalty. But the men picked them up by their tails, unsheathed their daggers, and bludgeoned them.

The tails were severed and nailed to every door. The tail on the door proved the homes' righteousness, which assured further protection from the coming plague.

Some cats escaped the initial slaughter. These orphaned felines hid themselves under the old tavern. After eating all the mice they huddled together for days; bones shivering in the blackness.

Until one day they emerged to the scent of fish.

Salivating and wide-eyed, they crept toward the pile of fish just lying there like some kind of magnificent mirage.

“A blessing from God,” said one yellow cat.

“How could it be?” asked another with black stripes.

As they feasted blindly the men shot them with arrows from the rooftops.

They picked up five dead cats to a fist and made the trek to the river. The men hurled the last of them into the white rapids. They watched as the dead cats moved along the waters. The fur darkening like death until sinking to the bottom, soon to be feasted on by the big fish of the river.

The men had done their duty. They were proud and so grateful to have been chosen to do the killing.

“We have saved our town!” they proclaimed.

“What is there to fear?” they asked.

When they opened their home each one took their wife, leaving the children at the table to sip their soup.

The women showed their men gratitude in the bedrooms, their howls slipping out of the chimneys like smoke filling the sky.