An early arrival in Paris

An Air France jet taxis to the end of the runway
at Orly Airport in Paris, and a petite Persian
exits the ramp. A silver and blue Rolls-Royce limo
with a crest and "Hotel Georges V" emblazoned on
the door pulls up to the stairway, and a liveried
grey cat holds the door open: "Bonjour, Mme.
Anaïs! Welcome to Paree! He watches the porter
cats load her luggage into the trunk, and the big
car silently weaves its way through the busy Paris
afternoon traffic. It pulls up to the Hotel
Georges V, and another liveried door-cat opens the
door as bell-cats pick up her luggage. An elegant
grey Chartreux in a pin-striped charcoal morning
coat and gold pince-nez comes over, takes her paw
and kisses it: "Ah, bonjour, Mme Anaïs, and
welcome again to zee George sank"! He escorts her
to her suite as the porter-cats leave her luggage
in the bedroom. The Manager opens the door to a
large living room with adjoining bedrooms. Lizst's
Hungarian Rhapsody Number Two is playing softly;
the Louis fifteenth furniture, brocade drapes and
paintings look timeless. Flowers are on every
table; floor to ceiling double doors open to a
terrace with a view of the Eiffel tower and the
Seine. The maid-kitties silently unpack her
luggage in the adjoining bedroom. "May I haff zee
cafe au lait and zum pastries sent up zo zat yoo
may haff a liddle somfing to eet before dinner,
Madame? Eet eez early yet. I haff made zee
reserfations at Tallievent for 8 PM az you
rekwested. Ah, oui, a shop sent ober zees for
you.." he points to a navy-blue vintage Dior
dinner dress on a hanger. "Eet weel look luffly on
you at zee Ball!" "Non, Jacques, everything is
fine. But please have the desk give me a wake-up
call at 6:30; I think I may take a nap." she
answers.

It is late afternoon, and she opens the double
doors, stepping onto the terrace; crisp fall air
filters in as she takes in the Paris cityscape. A
wait-kitty sets a pot of coffee and a tray of
pastries on the table, and silently leaves. She
sits down, pours a cup of coffee and looks down at
the city; her eyes go to the Seine, and in her
mind's eye, she sees a much younger version of
herself walking paw-in-paw with a yellow boy-cat,
strolling along the quay, listening to the
accordion players, and looking into each other's
eyes. She starts to doze off and Catablanka blends
into her dream: "What about us?" Ilsa asks; Rick
replies: "We'll always have Paris." but as Bogart
turns to face her in her dream, it's no longer
Rick, but Tiger in a tan trench-coat and brown
fedora....

--
Purrs,

Mme. Anaïs

“I love cats because I take pleasure in my home;
and little by little, the cats become its visible
soul.�
Jean Cocteau, 1889-1963

10/19/2010 7:41:06 PM