The Fantastic Tale of the Milliner and the Cat

By Ginny Gilroy

The Milliner stood on the veranda of the Victorian mansion, eyes ringed with exhaustion, trying to summon the courage to knock on the door. She knew the hats weren’t good enough. Madam Blavetsky, expected the hats that crowned her majestic bony figure to be perfect, but some of these hats were a bit strained. The stitch not as straight as it could have been; the ribbon not as taut as it would have been; and the beading not as tight as it should have been, had she been able to get enough sleep.

Steeling herself, the milliner knocked once sharply and almost simultaneously the butler opened the door. She stumbled in over the threshold.

At the tea table, Madam sat in her usual black dress, looking out from under her hat. She motioned in her graceful otherworld way for Vivianne to join her at the tea table. Madam’s deep dark eyes took in all of the milliner, and concerned she said “Oh my dear, Vivianne, this will not do. Whatever is wrong?”

“It’s the rats.”

And the Milliner told her story:

One night she was awakened from a deep sleep by a noise she couldn’t quite place. She scooted to the end of the bed and looked left toward the workroom, and then right toward the great room. And there was the shifting of a shadow, a faint tapping on the wood floors, and then it disappeared toward the kitchen. The milliner sunk back into bed and hoped whatever it was would just go away. Then there was a rustling and a squeal. She bolted up and looked around, but there was nothing of any sort that could be mistaken for any kind of weapon, and so she went into the kitchen--unarmed.

Everything was quiet, but the tin of sugar had been knocked over, and there were paw prints in it. That night she couldn’t sleep knowing they were in there with her. The next morning she drank too much coffee, and her hands shook as she sewed.

She plugged up every hole she could find, but they found a way in--their bloated gray bodies wriggling behind cabinets dragging bare tails through her things. She got traps, but catching one was worse than not catching one. Seeing the rat in the trap, nose bloodied, body limp leaking guts, was nearly more than she could stand. She looked up exterminators on the Internet but even the word made her cringe.

While the milliner told her story, Madam Blavetsky opened each of the hatboxes. She squinted at the details, turning the hats over and examining each one. Occasionally she even nodded, and smiled.

“I’m afraid it’s not my best work.”

“Not your best work, but still, certainly very good hats.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“Now, you understand, Vivianne, the winter hats must be perfect. They must be both beautiful and warm.”

“Of course. What kind of hats would you like?

“Red velvet. And as for the rats‑” Here, Madam picked up a silver bell and rang it.

Immediately the maid appeared.

“Matilda, bring the white cat.”

“Oh no, really I couldn’t,” the milliner protested.

“Of course you could- Cats are the only things for rats, and I must have my hats.”

Matilda reentered, followed by the most enormous white cat Vivianne had ever seen. It was an oriental with a long narrow body, a wedge shaped face, and a pink nose. It sat in front of madam perfectly upright, paws together, as it awaited its charge.

And madam spoke, “You must keep the milliners loft free of rats

and crawling things that would distract her from the making of hats.”

The cat bowed its head, and she touched it once on the forehead.

The milliner didn’t know if she should laugh or be afraid for madam had a “reputation” in certain esoteric circles.

Madam turned to Vivianne. “Her name is Blanche.”

As they drove back to Manhattan Vivianne watched Blanche sitting placidly on the seat beside her. Every now and again the cats eyes would widen as a particularly loud truck passed them, but otherwise she was perfectly, disturbingly placid.

In midtown Blanche stuck her nose close to the window and tilted her head up to get a better look at the skyscrapers. When the car stopped in front of her building in Soho, Vivianne gathered up Blanche, and said thank you to Jeffrey. He tipped his hat to her, and drove off.

Vivianne stood on the sidewalk, the giant white cat in her arms, looking both ways down the cobblestone street hoping to see a neighbor, who could help her with the door, but the street was quiet. Vivianne struggled for a moment trying to get her keys from her purse, but it was no use. She had to put Blanche down. Sure the cat would run, every muscle in her body tensed, as she lowered Blanche to the sidewalk. Blanche touched down and stood calmly next to her then followed her obediently into the building, up the elevator, and into the loft.

“You are an exceptionally good kitty.” Vivianne patted her on the head. “This is your new home for a while.”

Blanche cocked her head and let out a questioning “meowl?”

Vivianne showed her around the loft. “This is the kitchen where the rats come in. and this the living area.” Vivianne motioned to her simply furnished dining/livingroom. Blanche followed her down the hallway, created on one side by the bathroom, and the otherside by the bedroom, into the workroom in back.

“And this is where the hats get made.” Blanche swept her eyes around the workroom, over the wide worktable and shelves of hat forms, and bright spools of thread and ribbon, bolts of fabric, and cabinets full of millinery.

Vivianne went out and bought Blanche all the necessary accoutrements and that night Blanche cuddled up with Vivianne on her bed. She watched as Vivianne closed her eyes, and noticed when her breathing grew deeper, and more regular. Then there came the slightest sound-a stirring a human wouldn’t pick up. Blanche angled her ears back to capture the it- a scratching that might disturb the milliner, and Blanche was on it.

Just like that, one instant she was curled up beside Vivianne and the next she was at the rat with no in between. Regular cat ways would have disrupted the milliner, so all the stalking and chasing and pawing of rodents wouldn’t do. She dispatched it in her secret quiet way, so as not to disturb the milliner.

After the first good night’s sleep in weeks the milliner awoke in the morning smiling. She stretched out, sat up, and let out a little scream. There were three rat heads at the foot of her bed staring up at her, left with all good intentions by the cat.

Blanche, sitting by the side of the bed proud as could be, was a little bewildered by Vivianne’s reaction.

Seeing Blanche, Vivianne recovered herself. She patted her on the head and said “good kitty” and gave her a treat.

And every morning for the next week Vivianne awoke to rat heads on the end of the bed. She thought it odd that she never heard Blanche hunt, and never saw a speck of blood on her silky white coat. She dispatched rats in a clean quiet way, for which Vivianne was extremely grateful.

With the rat problem solved, the business of making hats could proceed. As she steamed and stretched felt on form, the milliner would occasionally glance up to see the cat on the windowsill, a little cat smile at her mouth, her eyes closed. When the milliner put the final stitches attaching brim to crown, she turned to the taboret and pulled it over, then hesitated.

The ribbons and feathers, all that would entice a cat to mischief, were in the taboret, and the milliner worried the cat would interrupt her hat making. She looked up at the cat, who looked back at her expectantly.

Tentatively she drew out a length of grosgrain ribbon.

The cat yawned.

The milliner pinned the ribbon around the base of the hat, and just as a test drew out her most ostentatious ostridge feather, and pretending she was going to attach it, waved it in the air as she moved it from place to place on the hat.

The cat, as if reminded of birds by the feather, turned, to the window, to make sure no pigeon was trying to roost, and with its incessant whirring distract the milliner. Satisfied, the milliner proceeded without another thought to interruption.

And thusly they dwelled, milliner and cat, in perfect harmony… until one day.

It was the last Friday in September, when the milliner returned from showing the portfolio of her Ascot line, that someone else’s music invaded her apartment. It was coming in from the back alley.

Vivianne went to her workroom and opened the window. She had a new neighbor, housewarming party in full swing. The milliner stared a little longer then necessary, trying to pick out the people and the furnishings. A man came to the window, and waved at her… with what must have been a smile… his eyes squinted, lips turned up and the corners, but the milliner was taken aback, the “smile” repulsed her.

Vivianne sat, brow wrinkled, deep in thought, trying with all her reason to shake the impression that what the man across the alley had given her was a smile of malicious superiority. She couldn’t reason out the why and the wherefore of it, because after all who in their right mind would intentionally foster discord with their neighbors? To what purpose?

The milliner had no choice but to conclude that she had been mistaken about the meaning and intent of the smile. Blanche looked at her, questioning. Vivianne patted her on the head. “It’s Ok. It’ll be fine.”

All was not fine. As night fell the music got louder, and the people more shrill. Vivianne resisted calling the New York City quality of life complaint line, by telling herself it was only one night, and he was her new neighbor, and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Although it didn’t seemed to matter to him that he was getting off on the wrong foot.

Blanche watched Vivianne all night. She washed dishes, vacuumed the rug, took a bath and played her own music, but the disturbance went on and on, and Vivianne grew increasingly agitated.

Blanche looked around for a way to stop the disturbance, but there was nothing to dispatch, nothing crawled or crept around the loft.

It was after three AM, when the blue police lights flashed through the window, that the noise finally stopped.

Vivianne, Blanche padding softly behind her, went to the workshop to look out the window, and heard him arguing with the police. She looked down at the cat; “We have a problem.”

Once Vivianne was asleep, Blanche stalked into the workroom. The effects from the party still lingered as light, too much light for this time of night, poured in through the drawn blind. She pawed until she could get under it. She stared across the alley, eyes shuttling back and forth, but nothing moved to provoke her further. Letting out a long, low, slow growl, and barring her teeth in warning, Blanche sat down to wait and watch, but there was movement in the loft behind her, and she was off to dispatch a huge cockroach. She left the head on the bed as usual.

In the morning the milliner saw the dead cockroach on the bed. She patted the cat on the head and said, “good kitty”, and gave her a treat, but the cat worried that the milliner didn’t look happy. She drank too much coffee and her hands shook when she tried to tie the silk ribbons into flowers. She stopped in frustration.

Blanche knew this was not good. Hats weren’t getting made and it was her job as cat to see that they did.

That day and night all was quiet, and the milliner had every hope that things would be fine. She slept peacefully, and the next morning got up bright and early, and went into the workshop to make the hats.

She opened the blind to get the morning light and had, after a glimpse across the alley, to pull it right back down. He hadn’t put up any window coverings of any kind, and she had a full view of his studio apartment. Blanche was not at all happy at not being able to lie on the windowsill, and guard against birds, while watching the milliner. She pawed at the blind until Vivianne pulled it up a quarter. Then they both settled into work.

It was mid afternoon, when the milliner had just reached that delicate state of mind where inspiration flowed into creativity, and creativity flowed from her hands, directly into her hats that suddenly, waves of rock music crashed through the window into the workshop, jolting both cat and milliner from harmony.

Furious, the milliner yanked at the blind until it spun away, and she leaned out the window to yell at her impossible neighbor. Directly facing her window was his couch, upon which he was sitting, pants down, a woman’s head in his lap. He lifted his hand, that damnable smile on his face, and waved. She was too angry to be taken aback. When she threw up the sash, cat lunged at the window howling and spitting. Startled, the man, who happened to be deathly afraid of cats, pushed the woman away and dove behind the couch.

“You bitch.” He shouted at the milliner.

The milliner scooped up her cat as she crouched, to attempt the jump from the fire escape, across to his open window. “You better get some curtains and keep the noise down. I’m working back here.”

He poked his head up. “Yeah? How much you charge?”

The milliner didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. She closed the window, yanked down the blind, and took a deep breath to calm herself. She patted the cat on the head, and said, “good kitty,” and gave her a treat.

***

That night Vivianne went out on a date with an art director, who had used some of her hats in a photo shoot. She had such a good time she completely forgot about her new neighbor for a few hours. Buzzed with beer and romance, when she got home, Viv fell onto her bed and luxuriated in the feeling. As she was recounting the night in her mind she couldn’t remember if she had asked him if he liked cats. She jolted out of her reverie. Where was her cat?!

She found Blanche in the workroom crouched at the window staring across at his apartment. Whenever he made a move she would howl and bat at the window startling him. Vivianne smiled and went to bed. That night all was peaceful. ..for Viv.

The next morning she set to work trimming the red velvet hat that madam had specifically requested. It was a lovely Victorian wide brimmed with yards of folded velvet around the rim and crown. She was just about to attach the veil when she was interrupted.

“Hey you, hat maker!” came the voice from across the alley.

Blanche bolted upright and howled. She batted her paw at the window, claws bared. Vivianne put down the veiling and went to the window. She picked up Blanche. “What is it.”

“You better keep that fucking cat under control.”

“She doesn’t like you and neither do I.” Vivianne patted Blanche on the head. She continued to howl and hiss at him until he left the apartment, then Vivianne said, “good kitty,” and gave her a treat.

The very next day he had a gate installed over the window, and feeling safe from Blanche let out a howling “Woo hoo” and turned up the music.

Vivianne hung her head low over her hat form and contemplated moving.

Blanche sat by the window and bided her time.

Whatever had woken the Milliner was gone and all was silent. She thought it must be Blanche hunting, and got out of bed to finally discover her secret techniques, but Blanche was not in the kitchen, nor was she in the workroom. A perverse sense of curiosity propelled Vivianne to peek out the window at her tormenter

Blanche crouched at the foot of his bed. From her switching tail to her pointed nose she was a precisely aimed weapon, locked and loaded to attack at the slightest provocation.

Vivianne thought to call her back, but decided not to. The cat was intent on its prey, one action would lead inexorable to the next, and it wasn’t for her to interfere, because after all Blanche had never interfered with her work.

That morning just after awakening, the milliner shrieked, but quickly recovered herself. She patted the cat on the head, and said, “Good kitty” then gave her a treat.

And she thought to herself with a superior smile,

“The head in the bed won’t be needing a hat thanks to the cat.”