PART ONE: THE CONTESSA’S HOUSE

 

ONE : PLAY

 

Varjak Paw eyed the curtain.

“Don’t even think about it, sonny –

said Mum.

          He thought about it.  It looked possible. 

Very possible.

          “I mean it, Varjak; ^ ^{she said.}  He squinted up

thought fully twelve feet ^ ^{at the rail.}  Made a few quick calculations.  For

          “Get away from those curtains right

now.”  There was  The view from the top must ^ ^{It must be worth doing} 

had to be worth seeing ^ ^spectacular, but ^ ^he thought ^^{Vajak Pav}, if

they all say no.

          “Varjak!”

          It was too late.

          Patterns rushed past as Varjak

swarmed up, hind legs thrusting, up, front

paws scrabbling, up – until he made the

rail, breathing hard, but home and dry.

          “Varjak Paw!  Come down this instant!”

          He looked down.  It was a long way

to fall.  The view wobbled dangerously.

          Varjak’s claws held on.  He breathed -,

sharply, . and The view settled stabilized.  And

what a view!

          The world was upside down.  Everything

seemed to be suspended from the ceiling. 

Mum looked ^ ^{like a} short, and squat ^ ^{bundle of silver-blue fur}; ridiculous,

in fact.  He grinned.

          “Varjak!  This is no way for a

cat ^ ^kitten to behave!  Let alone a Mesopotamian

Blue.  Now get down before someone sees

you!”  Varjak sighed.  So what if

CHAPTER ONE

Don’t even think about it

 

          Varjak Paw eyed the curtain.

          “Don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” said Mum.

          He thought about it.  It looked possible.  Very possible.

          “I mean it, Varjak.  Get away from those curtains right now.”  He

squinted up at the rail.  Made a few quick calculations.

          “Varjak!”

          Too late.

          Faded velvet flew past his eyes as Varjak swarmed up, hind legs

thrusting, up, front paws scrabbling, up, and up, and up – till he made the curtain

rail, breathing hard, but home and dry.

          A cloud of grey dust rose around him.  Varjak sneezed.  Clearly, no-one

had been here for years.

          “Varjak Paw!  Come down this instant!”

          He looked at the ground.  It was a long way to fall.  The view wobbled

dangerously.

          Varjak held on to the rail.  He counted to ten.  The view stopped

wobbling, and settled down.

          And what a view!

          The world stood on its head.  Nothing was where it should be.  Musty

chairs hung suspended.  Dusty candlesticks clung to an upside-down table.

          And Mum looked like a short, squat bundle of silver-blue fur: ridiculous,

in fact.  He grinned.

          “Varjak!  This is no way for a kitten to behave, let alone a pedigree

Mesopotamian Blue kitten.  Now get down before someone sees you!”

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          “You’ll come when you’re good and ready”

[s]aid Mum.  “You ONE can sit there as long as

you like, you’ll have to eat = the end.  But

 

          “It’s supper time, Varjak,” called Dad.

“Come and be fed like the rest of us.”

          Varjak Paw crouched defiantly at the

foot of the stairs. ^ ^{He didn’t want to eat and} this time, they weren’t

going to beat ^ ^make This time was going

to be different.

          “I don’t want cat food from a cold

red ^ ^grey can,” he said.  “I want to hunt.  The

tales say Jalal used to ^ ^{was a} hunter before he

lived in the Contessa’s house.”

          “The tales are only tales sweetheart”,

said Mum.  “ ^ ^Stories, they’re not true. ^ ^{who knows if we ever really had an ancestor called Jalywan?”}  Imagine living

Outside the house! – She smiled.  “Now

come and be fed like a proper Mesopotamian

Blue cat.”

transfer to kitten scene?

          Vajak was tempted but hung on.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.  Z “His big brother

Julius laughed “ Who cares what that little insect

“eats any way? ^ ^{“at xx . us fall before we could answer her.}   I’ll have Varjak’s ^ ^cat food.  I love

tin stuff ^ ^{red grey can variety}.  Julius puffed up his fur.

          “That’s my son,” said Dad

proudly.  “You hear that, Varjak?  Julius

is going to grow to a proper Mesopotamian

Blue”  Varjak shivered ^ ^shuddered inside but shook his

head – “I’m not coming.”  “fine” said Mum.  “You xx  you sit here and

starve.

          They left him on his own at

the foot of the stairs / ^ZZ.  Varjak grinned ^ ^{tried to enjoy}

to himself. He’d won his ^{first victory} for now. ^ ^{his victory.}  It wouldn’t

last ^ ^longbut at least ^ ^{for now at least} it was something

new.  Nothing new every happened in

the Contessa’s house.  No-one ever came

in, no-one ever went out; and every day

was just like the next ^ ^{exactly the same}.  It was the most boring

life a cat could have.

                                                                        [ S/Scenery – a telling [?] detail –

                                                                                    dust/ cold stone / candle?]

CREAK.         creeeaak

At Just make sure you don’t go up the stairs!  You know it’s

forbidden.” for us to do anything forbidden ^ ^stupid like.

CHAPTER ONE

 

          ‘It’s suppertime, Varjak,’ said Dad.  ‘Come and be fed like the rest of us.’

          Varjak Paw crouched rebelliously by the front door.  He was determined

not to give in.

          ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ coaxed Mum.  ‘Let’s not go through all this again.’

She straightened Varjak’s collar and smoothed his fur.

          ‘But I don’t like cat food,’ he said.  ‘Why can’t we hunt?  The tales say

Jalal used to hunt.’

          ‘Tales!’ snorted Dad.

          ‘Who knows if we really had an ancestor called Jalal?’ said Mum.  ‘And

just imagine going Outside!’  She smiled.  ‘Now come and be fed, like a proper

Mesopotamian Blue.  It’s that delicious red can variety tonight.’

          ‘Yuk,’ said Varjak.  Red can cat food was the worst food in the entire

world.

          ‘I just don’t understand him,’ grunted Dad.  He turned his back and headed

down the corridor to the kitchen.  Mum followed him.

          ‘Now be good while we’re eating, Varjak,’ she said.

          ‘And don’t even think about climbing the stairs,’ ordered Dad.  ‘You know

it’s forbidden.’

          Alone at last, Varjak peered up the stairs.  They were made of dull, grey

stone, and they were covered in dust.  The Contessa’s room was at the top of

those stairs.  The cats weren’t allowed up there, and she never came down.  Her

door was always closed.  The whole house was like that.  Nothing new or

exciting every happened.  No-one came in; no-one went out.  Every day was

exactly the same.  It was the most boring life a cat could have.

          creeaak

          The front door swung open.  A freezing blast of wind swirled in,

sweeping all the dust into the air.  Varjak’s fur stood on end.  A man he’d never

4/7/01                                        15D                           (Mother/

                                                                              Father)

 

CHAPTER ONE

                                                                                    (Insert

                                                                                    Rider 1)

 

          When he thought no-one was looking, Varjak Paw padded up to the

cat door.  He could see the garden on the other side.  He could almost feel

the fresh air, brushing through his whiskers.  He nudged it open -    L

          ‘Varjak Paw!’  It was Dad.  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

          Varjak spun around.  They’d seen him.  But this time, he wouldn’t give

in.

          ‘Aren’t we allowed in the garden, now?’ he said.

          ‘Sweetheart,’ said Mum, straightening his collar, ‘the garden is a nasty,

dirty place.  You’re a pedigree cat.  A pure-bred Mesopotamian Blue.  What

do you want out there?’

          Varjak looked around: at the dusty old carpets; the stuffy furniture;

[ the fading sunlight that trickled through the thick green windows of the

Contessa’s house, and ] the curtains he wasn’t allowed to climb.  He’d never

been anywhere else, but this had to be the most boring place on earth.

          ‘Hunting,’ he said.  ‘Aren’t we supposed to hunt?  The tales talk about

Jalal hunting –’

          ‘Tales!’ snorted his big brother Julius, green eyes glinting.  It was said

that [ their ancestor ] Jalal had green eyes.  Everyone in the family had them –

everyone but Varjak Paw.  ‘Tales are for kittens,’ scoffed Julius.  Their

cousin Jasmine giggled; Varjak bristled.

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[ Epigraph:  There’s no place

          like home

                                                                        /Import changes

                                                                       from 16d/

          CHAPTER ONE

 

          The Elder Paw was telling a story.

          It was a Jalal tale, one of the best.  Varjak loved to hear his grandfather’s tales of

their famous ancestor: how Jalal fought the fiercest warrior cats, how he was the mightiest

hunter, how he came out of Mesopotamia and travelled to the ends of the earth, further than

any cat had been before.

          But today, the Elder Paw’s tale just made Varjak restless.  So what if Jalal had such

exciting adventures?  Varjak never would.  Jalal had ended his days in the Contessa’s house.

His family of Mesopotamian Blues had stayed here ever since.

          The old place must have been full of light and life in Jalal’s time, generations ago –

but now it was full of dust and musty smells.  The windows were always closed, the doors

locked.  There was a garden, but it was surrounded by a high stone wall.  Jalal was the last to

cross it.  In all the years since then, no-one had ever left the Contessa’s house.

          Now, no-one except Varjak was even listening to the tale of his adventure.  Father,

Mother and Aunt Juni were dozing in the late afternoon light that trickled through the thick

green windows.  His big brother Julius was flexing his muscles; his cousin Jasmine was

fiddling with her collar ^ ^{grooming herself}.  His litter brothers Jay, Jethro and Jerome were playing one of those

kittenish games that Varjak could never see the point of, and wasn’t allowed to join in

anyway.

          No-one was looking at him.  This was his chance.

^ ^{He’d been in the g[ar]d[e]n before, but the family didn’t like it out there, and never let _ stay out. {enough}  a few trees Horse [?]}  Stealthy as Jalal himself, Varjak rose up and padded to the cat door.  He could see   Now there it was

the garden on the other side.  He could almost feel the fresh air, brushing through his

whiskers.  He nudged it open –

          ‘Varjak Paw!’  It was Father.  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

          Varjak spun around.  The tale was over; they’d woken up and seen him.  But this

time, he wouldn’t give in.

          ‘Aren’t we allowed in the garden, now?’ he said.

          ‘Sweetheart’, said Mother, straightening his collar, ‘the garden is a nasty, dirty

place.  You’re a pedigree cat.  A pure-bred Mesopotamian Blue.  What do you want out

there?’

          Varjak looked around: at the stuffy furniture, the locked-up cupboards, the curtains

he wasn’t allowed to climb.  He’d never been anywhere else, but this had to be the most

boring place on earth.

1

Chapter One

The Elder Paw was telling a story.

          It was a Jalal tale, one of the best.  Varjak loved to

hear his grandfather’s tales of their famous ancestor:

how Jalal fought the fiercest warrior cats, how he was

the mightiest hunter, how he came out of

Mesopotamia and travelled to the ends of the earth,

further than any cat had been before.

          But today, the Elder Paw’s tale just made Varjak

restless.  So what if Jalal had such exciting

adventures?  Varjak never would. Jalal had ended his

days in the Contessa’s house.  His family of

Mesopotamian Blues had stayed here ever since.

7

had ever left the Contessa’s house.

          Now, no one except Varjak was even listening to

the tale of Jalal’s adventures.  Father, Mother and

Aunt Juni were dozing in the late afternoon light

that trickled through the thick green windows.  His

big brother Julius was flexing his muscles; his cousin

Jasmine was fiddling with her collar.  His litter broth-

ers Jay, Jethro and Jerome were playing one of those

kittenish games that Varjak could never see the point

of, and wasn’t allowed to join in anyway.

          No one was looking at him.  This was his chance.

He’d been in the garden before, but the family didn’t

like it out there, and never let him stay very long.

8

- - -

          ‘Varjak Paw!’  It was Father.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

          Varjak spun around.  The tale was

over; they’d woken up and seen him.

But this time, he wouldn’t give in.

          ‘Aren’t we allowed in the garden,

now?’ he said.

          ‘Sweetheart,’ said Mother, com-

ing over and straightening his collar,

‘the garden is a nasty, dirty place.

You’re a pedigree cat.  A pure-bred

Mesopotamian blue.  What do you

want out there?’

9