Curiosity Killed The Cat

Upside down coffee table, upside down doorway, upside down rug. Willy lay with his feet over the back of the couch and his hands and head resting on the floor, staring at the upside down living room. His tail twitched irritably. He was bored.

Mrs. Trafalgar had left earlier that afternoon to visit a friend and had decided that bringing Willy would be more trouble than it was worth, leaving him alone in the apartment with a tray of chocolate chip cookies and a gallon of milk. The cookies were gone in ten minutes, and the milk in twenty-five. A half hour after Mrs. Trafalgar had left found Willy lying upside down on the couch, bored out of his mind.

“Nyahwah—” He yawned, seeing how far he could stretch his mouth without injuring himself. Rolling off the couch, Willy attempted to do a handstand. He balanced quite nicely for about three seconds, then came crashing flat on his face, knocking over the coffee table.

“Oww—” he moaned. He padded on bare feet into the bathroom to inspect his face. No major damage, just some bruises forming around his left eye and on his small, turned-up nose. The nose twitched a bit at the interesting smells of the bathroom. Shampoo, soap, hairspray, bleach, peppermint toothpaste and the sickly sweet smell of Pepto-Bismol and cough syrup. The peppermint toothpaste annoyed Willy the most. It smelled like candy, yet it tasted horrible. Truly, a mysterious thing.

Willy soon tired of staring at his reflection, and padded back through the living room and into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator. More smells assaulted his sensitive nose: cheese, butter, eggs, yogurt, last night’s left over chicken, and some fruit. Willy grabbed an apple out of the drawer and munched on it, trying to think of something to keep himself busy until Mrs. Trafalgar came home.

“I could make something for her,” he thought aloud. “But I don’t know how—”

Munching his apple, he wandered back into the living room. Nothing caught his interest.

That’s not true. The door leading to Mrs. Trafalgar’s room did.

Willy had never been in Mrs. Trafalgar’s room. The friendly widow had insisted that he keep out of it.

But she wasn’t home, now was she?

Grinning a bit, Willy nudged the door open. A fascinating new smell came wafting out. It smelled like—Well, Willy didn’t quite know what it smelled like, but it was the most amazing smell he had ever encountered. He had to find out what it was.

Nose to the ground, Willy crept into the room on his hands and knees. Mrs. Trafalgar’s smell was strong as well, a comfortable, motherly sort of smell that made him want to snuggle up in a blanket and take a nap.

“No,” he told himself firmly. “We have to find out what the new smell is.”

There was nothing abnormal around the door, nothing on or near the bed. The smell seemed to be coming from the dresser.

Now, under normal circumstances, Willy would never have gone snooping around in anyone’s dresser, much less Mrs. Trafalgar’s. But these were not normal circumstances. Whatever the smell was, it seemed to be messing around with Willy’s mind. He had to find it, he simply had to.

Willy rifled through the silky undergarments in the top drawer, searching for the source of the smell. Lifting aside a pair of panties, he uncovered a small paper package. The smell was coming from inside.

Willy took the package out of the drawer and pushed it carefully shut. Then he padded back into the living room where he sat on the floor with the package in his lap.

“Now what could you be?” he asked the package. He shook it. There was a slight rustling. He sniffed it. The smell was definitely coming from the package, as strong as ever. “Hmm—” He ripped the package open to reveal a bundle of withered leaves. The smell was so strong that Willy felt lightheaded. Not uncomfortably so, but a happy, giddy lightness.

He giggled. The sound seemed to explode in his ears, bursting into brilliant, technicoloured bubbles that bounced in front of him, tantalizingly out of reach. Willy batted at a bubble that shone a bright gold. How did the bubble know that gold was his favourite colour? It bounced away from him, and he chased after it, tripping over the coffee table and falling full length on the floor. Suddenly the floor seemed like a very good place to be.

A voice came drifting through the swirling lights and colours. It was calling a name.

“—Willy what on earth are you doing there?” Willy looked up. Mrs. Trafalgar’s face looked down at him, shifting in and out of focus.

“Mrrow?” Willy asked.

Twenty minutes later, the bubbles had disappeared. Willy sat at the kitchen table, glumly examining his hands. Mrs. Trafalgar sat across from him, looking rather amused.

“I usually keep some catnip in my drawer for the scent,” she explained. “But I see you’ve found a new use for it. It seems you’re like a cat in more ways than just your ears and your tail.”

Willy continued staring shamefaced at his hands.

“I’m not angry, Willy,” Mrs. Trafalgar said, smiling. “But from now on, please don’t go through my dresser.”

Willy shook his head vigorously. He’d learned his lesson. Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but it had made him feel very silly.