Puss in Boots

The mill went to the eldest son. The pack donkey went to the second son. When it came to the youngest, all his father had left him was a cat with smooth gray fur, curled up quietly in his lap. The eldest kept the mill and the second led away the donkey. Both were pleased with their bigger shares and never once looked back. The youngest son sat in silence on the doorstep, gently stroking the cat's warm back, his heart heavy. He did not blame his brothers. He only wondered how he would get through the coming winter, with nothing but a small animal for company.

Just then a voice spoke up, slow and strangely sure of itself. It was the cat in his lap. "Don't be so sad, master," the cat said. "Just give me a bag, and have a pair of boots made to fit my feet, so I can slip through the thorns and the thickets without hurting my paws. Then you will see that your share of the inheritance is not as poor as you think." The young man was half doubtful. But he had long been fond of the cat, and he could not bring himself to say no. He emptied his thin purse, bought the cat a sturdy cloth bag, and had a pair of soft leather boots made to fit its feet.

As the old French tale tells it, from the day he put on those boots, the cat was no longer a common mouser about the house.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, pulled the boots onto his feet, and went straight out to the fields. He put a handful of bran and a few stalks of wild lettuce into the bag. Then he lay perfectly still, as if dead, and waited. Before long a curious wild rabbit crept into the bag to eat, and the cat pulled its mouth shut tight. He carried the rabbit straight to the king. This, he said, was a gift from a lord named the Marquis of Carabas, a title the cat had made up on the way there. The king accepted the gift and praised the kindness of this unfamiliar Marquis. A few days later the cat set his bag in a field of grain again. This time he caught a pair of plump partridges, and he brought them to the king under the same name. Week after week, the cat kept bringing gifts. In the end the name of the Marquis of Carabas was known to the whole court, though no one had ever met the man.

One day the cat learned that the king would take a carriage ride with the princess, past a field of ripe golden grain. He ran as fast as he could to the reapers working there, out of breath from hurrying. "Good people, please do me a favor," he said, urgent but friendly. "In a little while the king's carriage will pass by. If anyone asks whose field this is, just say it belongs to the Marquis of Carabas. Trust me, good things will come to you." The reapers looked at one another. A cat in boots who spoke so properly, and seemed so sincere, was a strange sight, so they nodded and agreed, half for the fun of it. Sure enough, the royal carriage soon came along. The king leaned out and asked, and the reapers answered together that this field belonged to the Marquis of Carabas. The king nodded slowly, and his regard for this seemingly wealthy Marquis grew.

The cat ran far ahead of the carriage, to the very bend of the river where the youngest son often bathed. He told his master to get into the water just before the king arrived. Then he quietly hid the young man's worn old clothes behind a rock on the bank. As the carriage drew near, the cat ran out into the middle of the road, shouting with all his might. The Marquis of Carabas was in trouble in the river, he cried, and thieves had stolen all his clothes while he bathed. The king quickly sent his men into the river to help the young man out. He also had the finest suit of clothes brought from the carriage for him to wear. Dressed in those silks, standing beside the royal carriage, the youngest son looked every inch a true young nobleman. The princess, sitting in the carriage, stole a glance at him. She saw a young man both handsome and courteous, and her heart gave a sudden flutter.

Meanwhile the cat had run on even farther, to a magnificent castle. It was the home of a fierce ogre who could change his shape in endless ways. The ogre was the richest anyone had ever known. He was the true owner of every field the cat had just claimed. The cat walked in and bowed politely. He said he had heard that the ogre could turn himself into any large animal at all. Pleased by the praise, the ogre at once became a roaring lion. The cat leapt up into the gutter in a hurry and clung to the roof tiles, trembling. When the ogre took back his own shape, the cat pretended to be full of admiration. Then he ventured one more question. Turning into something big was clever, he said, but could the ogre also become a very small animal, a little mouse, for instance? Stung in his pride, the ogre instantly turned into a tiny mouse and scurried across the stone floor to prove it. That was just what the cat had been waiting for. He sprang forward in a flash. A moment later the castle floor was empty, with no mouse running about anymore. There was only the cat, straightening his boots, then strolling out to the great gate to wait for the king.

When the royal carriage arrived, the cat was already standing at the gate. He bowed deeply and invited the whole party in to see the home of the Marquis of Carabas. The king walked in and stared wide-eyed at the splendid rooms and the chests piled high with treasure. It was all even grander than his own palace. He turned to the youngest son, unable to hide his admiration. If the young man was willing, he said, he would gladly give him the princess in marriage that very day. The youngest son, now truly the Marquis of Carabas in everyone's eyes, bowed his head and accepted. The wedding was held that same day. The feast lasted late into the night, and music and laughter rang through the castle that had once belonged to the fierce ogre. As for the cat, who had dreamed up every trick, he became a great lord. No one dared look down anymore on a cat who had once gone barefoot catching mice.

Every evening, when the fire blazed in the castle hearth, the cat lay curled up at the feet of the Marquis. His soft leather boots were tucked neatly away in a corner. He no longer had to pull them on each day to carry gifts to anyone. Not far away, the mill their father had left still stood beside the old road, its sails turning steadily in the wind. But the youngest son of those days no longer had any need of it. The cat still chased a mouse across the room now and then. But these days it was only for fun, and no longer for a meal, as it had been in the poor little house by the mill.