The Cat, the Rat, and the Fish

Open your eyes and you will see there is treason and danger everywhere.

The rat cowered in the reeds, soaked and cold but too afraid to move or even shiver; and his friend, the fish, sulked just below the river’s surface enmeshed in weeds. From where they hid they saw the cat crouching on the other riverbank, flicking her tail as she sniffed at the damp earth. She was hungry; she was hunting; still, the scent of the rat and the fish evaded her twitching nose. Her movement was slow and methodical, and for what seemed hours the two friends hid hoping to avoid her.

Eventually the cat moved on to prey elsewhere. The rat peeked out from behind the weeds while the fish broke the surface. “That was close,” whispered the rat.

“Too close,” said the fish.

“She’ll find us one day, you know.” The rat shivered. His wet fur clung to his tiny body like glue, and the cool breeze blowing down the river chilled him. “And when she finds us, she will eat us!”

The fish shivered; ripples of water spread from his bullet-shaped body. He was used to the cold water, but fear made it seem colder; fear chilled him to his tiny bones. “I’m going to see the diviners,” said the fish. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ve watched too many of my friends and family fall into that cat’s claws. I intend to survive.”

“I’ll go with you,” said the rat. “We’ll go together. Maybe the diviners can help both of us.”

The rat scurried upstream toward the nearby city as the fish swam alongside him. The cat walked downstream so they knew they were safe—for a time. Where the riverbank ran beside the city, the rat hoisted the fish on his tiny back; and like this, the two scurried into town.

At Mofá’s house the rat was exhausted and the fish on the verge of asphyxiation. Carefully, Mofá put the fish in a dish of water as the rat curled up protectively beside it. “You are a strange pair,” said the old man. “And fish don’t do well out of water. Something important must have brought you both here?”

“Yes,” said the rat. The fish was still trying to catch his own breath in the bowl and could not speak for himself. “The cat hunts us every day. We are tired of hiding. We came to you for help.”

“I see,” said Mofá as he busied himself, preparing to divine for the fish and the rat. He thought, “Of all my clients, these two are the strangest pair.”

The old man divined for the rat first. “The cat will eat you one day unless you make ebó,” he told him. “To Elegguá offer a goat. To your head offer four pigeons. And to Obatalá offer a goat. Do these three things and you will live a long time on the earth.”

He twitched his nose and whiskers nervously. “That is a large ebó,” he said. “I am but a poor rat.”

“How much is too much to save your own life?” He turned to the fish. “Now, fish, it is time to divine for you.”

Carefully he set the bowl of water on the mat. The rat stood to the side hoping to watch. “Rat,” Mofá said, “you have an ebó to prepare. I suggest you set off to prepare it now.”

“I’m waiting for my friend,” said the rat.

“Don’t worry about your friend,” said Mofá. “When we are done I will make sure he gets back to the river safely.”

The rat refused to move; Mofá’s eyes narrowed. “Rat, I dismissed you. Don’t make me angry.”

“Yes sir,” he said, twitching his nose nervously again. Quickly, the rat scurried off.

“You, fish, have greater enemies than the cat. Know this: There are those who would take out their own eyes if it would make another blind. The rat is such a creature.” On the mat Mofá divined; he prescribed the same ebós as he had the rat, but added, “After you finish your sacrifices we must wash you with okra and soap. Death is coming for you, fish, and this is the only way you will escape its claws.”

Not wanting to die before his time, the fish made all the ebós Mofá marked. When they were done, the old man took him back to the river.

Rat never made his ebó.

Days later the rat scurried beside the riverbank looking for his friend, the fish. From time to time he stopped to nibble on some morsel he found in the weeds; and so lost was he in the moment that he forgot there was a cat prowling the riverside looking for prey. After hours of scavenging and scurrying, the rat all but bumped into the cat. He was running with his nose to the ground, sniffing for food when his head thumped into something soft and furry. He stood on his tiny hind legs and rubbed his head with his front feet, and when he looked up fear moved his bowels.

The cat was glaring and licking his teeth. A hungry growl rumbled in his stomach.

“What have we here?” asked the cat. His eyes narrowed. “Why, it’s a little lost rat. Such a thin rat, but he looks tasty all the same.” His mouth twitched as his diamond eyes thinned.

“I am thin,” he stammered. “Too thin. Too thin to eat. Why, I’m all skin and bones.” The rat held his tiny arms out to his side to show the cat how thin they were. “There’s not much here to eat.” Slowly he tried to back away.

The cat circled the rat, and the rat stood still. “Yes, your arms are thin. But look at your chest. Look at your haunches. They are thick. They will be good to eat.”

“But I am old! And my meat is tough.” He shook in fear, trying to find a way to escape the cat’s stomach. Suddenly, he was sorry he refused to make ebó, and now was left to his wits to escape. “There are plenty of things to eat that are more tender and better tasting!”

“Really?” The cat sat back on his haunches. “What is there that would taste better than you? I see nothing else here but weeds and reeds.”

“What about . . .” The rat turned two syllables into four, speaking slowly while his mind raced. “What about . . . a nice . . . tasty . . .” He strained, trying to think of something. “Fish! What about a nice tasty fish? I can show you where to get one!”

The cat’s mouth watered. “Fish would be good. It is my favorite food. But look at the river, rat? Do you see any fish there? No. I’ve eaten most of them and now they hide from me. I’ll eat you instead.”

“Wait! The fish is my friend. He trusts me. I can call him and he will come. You can hide and when he breaks the water’s surface you can catch him with your claws!” The rat felt no shame at his offer; he wanted to live no matter the cost, even if that meant betraying his friend.

The cat thought about this for a moment. “It’s a deal,” he said. “I will eat the fish instead of you.” But the cat was not an honest creature, and he thought to himself, “After I eat the fish, I will eat you. Then I will be very full, indeed!”

Together they traveled further downstream, the cat crouching in the weeds just a few feet away from the river while the rat scurried alongside its bank. He called out for his friend, the fish, while the cat kept a careful eye on him. When the cat’s stomach rumbled in hunger he almost lost his patience, but he crouched lower and stopped when he saw the fish break the water’s surface.

“Rat!” he called out. “Where have you been? I made ebó with Mofá and he carried me back to the river. I’ve been looking for you for days! Did you make ebó so the cat won’t eat you?”

“I did,” said the rat. “I made ebó, and I’m safe from the cat. We have nothing to fear.”

The cat heard not a word of this, so intent was he on the fish. Soundlessly he crept to the riverbank, still hiding behind the weeds and reeds as he stood at the water’s edge.

“My ebó was a bit more complicated than yours, friend,” said the fish. “For Mofá said there was treason and I had to wash myself with okra and soap. After my bath the most wonderful thing happened!”

The rat paid him no mind; the cat was within pouncing distance of him and the fish was still too far away. “I must bring him closer to me,” he thought. “What did you say? I can’t hear you, fish.”

“What do you mean you can’t hear me? I’m right here!” The fish swam closer.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my ears today. I was walking too close to the river and I think I got water in them. Or something. Can you come closer and look for me?”

Fearlessly the fish swam to shore where the water was so shallow he had to push sand with his fins to move. When he and the rat were almost side by side, the cat pounced; his claws were open, and when the fish saw him flying through the air he tried to swim away but pushed futilely against the sand. The rat was fearless—the cat promised not to eat him—and he stood still.

Ten sharp claws tried to dig into the fish’s flesh; the cat scooped him up, and rolled into the water. Yet the fish slipped through those claws as effortlessly as the water rolled off the cat’s fur, for after he made his ebó his body grew thousands of tiny scales, each one as slimy as the okra and as slick as the soap, and no matter how hard the cat tried to hold him the fish slipped away.

When both the cat and the fish disappeared under the river, the rat smiled. The cat would have his prey and he would be safe. When the cat climbed out the river empty-handed and wet, the rat knew he had swallowed the fish whole and would be sated.

Instead, the cat scooped him up in his claws and held him tight. The rat could not move. Slowly the cat opened his mouth and dozens of razor sharp teeth hovered over the rat’s head.

“Why?” he squealed. “I gave you my friend, the fish. You promised not to eat me!”

“Oh, I was always going to eat you,” said the cat. His voice sounded sinister but smooth as he spoke. “I had no intention of keeping a promise to a traitor such as you. But the fish got away. His body was covered with a thick slime and I was unable to hold on to him with my claws. I tried to bite him, but he slipped right out of my mouth. So I’m very hungry, and I intend to eat you very slowly so I can enjoy each little bite.”

Slowly did the cat feast on the rat, and as he promised, he enjoyed each tiny morsel. He began with the tail and worked up to his head, and the treasonous rat felt each bite. Worse, he knew that his friend the fish would not try to save him because he himself betrayed him.

That is what happens to those who do not make ebó: that is what happens to those who betray their friends. If the rat learned nothing else in his life, he learned that before he died.