The Story of the Cat and the Leopard

It was dark in the house except for the low-burning candles, and Irosun's two children played quietly on the leopard skin rug. From his chair, Irosun watched them wearily. When he decided they had stayed up late enough, he called to them, “It's time for bed!”

“No!” they wailed in unison.

“Yes,” said Irosun, too tired to get up out of his chair. “It's late, too late for little children to be up playing.”

As if in agreement the housecat, who had been sleeping on a side table, jumped down onto the leopard-skin rug. She mewed insistently at the children, and began kneading with her claws. She growled softly.

“She loves this rug, daddy!” said the youngest girl, picking the cat up even though it protested with a hiss. Rubbing behind its ears, she turned its protest into purrs of satisfaction.

“To her, it's a trophy,” said the father, standing up and taking the cat out of his daughter's hands. He dropped it to the floor, shooing it away. “Now, off to bed.”

“A trophy?” she asked. “What's that?”

“A trophy is something you keep, like a souvenir, but it's a reminder of a contest you won.”

“The cat won a contest?” asked his older son. “What kind of contest?”

Irosun sat on the rug next to his children. “Perhaps contest isn't the best word to use, but to the cat, this leopard skin rug has a history.” Irosun looked at his two children, and they looked back at him. There was silence for a moment. “Do you want to know the story behind this rug?”

Two little heads bobbed up and down in agreement. They smiled. Irosun told his story.

Once, there was a leopard that was pathetic among his own kind; he wasn't strong, nor was he fierce. All leopards live by hunting, and no matter how hard this animal tried, everything he hunted escaped his claws. He lived by eating scraps in the forest, food abandoned by other animals. From time to time, he wandered into the city to scour peoples' garbage for food.

He was a very unhappy creature.

One night the leopard was scrounging through our trash cans, just outside this house; and he saw our cat running wildly through the streets. So fast was our cat running that he didn't see the leopard standing in the middle of our trash, and the leopard watched him scale a tree and jump, almost soaring, through an open window.

He was in awe of the tiny animal's strength and agility. “That is such a small creature, a helpless animal, but it seems so self-assured and powerful,” thought the leopard. “His legs are smaller than my own, and his claws are tiny, but he runs so fast, and climbs so swiftly. How is he able to do that?” Finally, he decided to make friends with the cat. “I can learn all he knows . . . and then . . . I can eat him!”

“That's terrible!” the small girl wailed, holding the palms of her hands over her mouth in suspenseful fear.

“Don't be a baby,” taunted the oldest boy. “You act like a girl.”

“I am a girl! I'm not acting.”

“Settle down, you two,” warned Irosun, “or I won't finish my story.”

They hushed quickly, and Irosun continued.

The next night, the leopard hid outside the house, and watched the window the cat jumped into the night before. It was late when it came out; he stood on the ledge, arching his back and flicking his tail as he sniffed the night air, and then, with a graceful jump, he landed on a thick branch, scaling down the tree headfirst.

It was but a simple hop, skip, and jump for the cat. Still, the leopard was amazed. He came out of hiding, and the cat froze in its tracks.

“Don't fear me,” said the leopard. “For you and I are as family.”

“What do you want?” Every muscle in the cat's body was tense, and its eyes scanned a route for escape. Cats knew well the treason that lived in the heart of a leopard, and our cat did not trust the beast.

“I don't want to hurt you, so you can relax. I want to learn from you.”

The cat relaxed a bit. “Learn? You want to learn from me? What could you want to learn from me?”

“You are agile. You are graceful. You scale trees as if they were ladders. I can't run. I can't jump. I can't climb. Teach me how to do these things, and I will be your best student and closest friend.”

The cat was no fool. “I know you and I know your kind, leopard,” said the cat. “As soon as you know as much as I, you would use that knowledge to catch me. You will eat me as soon as you are able.”

“I would never eat a friend!” the leopard promised. “Leopards are many things, but we are all loyal. You and I are kindred spirits. I would learn from you, and use what I learned to protect you, not to hurt you.” The great animal put his head to the ground humbly. “I will honor you always as my teacher.”

The cat didn't believe a word the leopard said, but if cats are one thing, it's arrogant. Having such a large and powerful beast putting his head on the ground inflated the cat's ego. Against his better judgment, he agreed. “I will teach you all I know,” said the cat. And to himself, he thought, “Well . . . maybe not everything. I have to keep some secrets.”

Irosun stopped his story for a moment, looking at his children. The cat sat by his feet, looking at him, purring as if in agreement with every word he said. “Wow,” said the son. “Our cat was the leopard's teacher.”

“Yes, he was,” said Irosun.

“He must have been very smart,” said the youngest girl.

“Or very stupid,” said the son.

“He was neither smart nor stupid. What he was . . . well . . . he was arrogant,” said the father. “That's just how cats are.”

The two new friends began their lessons the next night. They met outside the cat's house, this very house. The lessons were simple to teach, but hard to master. The leopard's body was large and clumsy while the cat's was small and supple, but in a matter of days, the leopard learned how to arch his back so his jumps were strong and forceful. He learned how to extend his claws, turning them into powerful weapons. And he learned how to crouch and crawl beneath the thickest bushes so he could hide from his prey.

After a month of lessons, the cat finally announced, “My friend, you know everything I have to teach you, and you have been a wonderful student!”

“I know everything?” asked the leopard. “You have nothing left to teach me?”

“No, my friend, I have nothing left to teach you. You have been the most wonderful student.” He paused for a moment. “Well, you have been my only student, but you were wonderful and learned quickly.”

This was good news to the leopard—his teacher had no more to teach him. “And if there is nothing left for him to teach me,” thought the leopard to himself, “then it is time for him to feed me!” His mouth twitched, and his stomach rumbled with hunger.

Suddenly, the cat was afraid. “Did you not eat tonight?” he asked, shaking. Instinct told him he was in trouble.

“No, I did not. And that squirrel in the tree looks very tasty. It is making my mouth twitch and my stomach rumble.” Of course, the leopard was lying; it was really the cat that made his mouth water, but he wanted the cat distracted so he could pounce on him quickly.

“What squirrel?” asked the cat, pretending to look up into the tree. But truly, his eyes were on the leopard.

Thinking the cat unaware, the leopard extended his claws and opened his mouth as he pounced; and the cat, which was prepared for the attack, leapt into the tree and scaled it to its highest point. The leopard's teeth closed on wood, and he roared as splinters sliced into his mouth and tongue.

“Help!” screamed the cat, but to the world it sounded like a hateful screech. The leopard let out a bone-chilling roar. “You tricked me,” he screamed.

Fear left the cat; quickly, it was replaced by anger. “I tricked you? Of course, I tricked you. I taught you everything I knew except how to climb trees, you fool. And thank Olófin I saved that for myself, or else you would be chewing on my meat instead of this tree!”

The little girl clapped her hands,and hugged her brother joyfully. “Our cat is smart!” she said. “He tricked the leopard and saved his own life!”

The boy scratched his head. “That doesn't explain this,” he said, looking down at the rug. “How could our small cat kill such a large animal and make a rug from it?”

“There is just a bit more to the story, children.”

The leopard made such fierce roars, and the cat such bloodcurdling screams, that I grabbed my machete and ran out into the darkness.

Surprise was in the faces of both children.

Yes, that's right. I went after the leopard! The moon was full, and there was more than enough light to see the evil leopard clawing at the tree, trying to get to my pet in the branches above. So intent was he on killing my cat that I was able to sneak up behind him, undetected, and when I was close enough . . . well . . . that's not for small children to know. But that is how we now have a leopard skin rug.

“There is a moral to this story, children. Never tell your secrets to anyone, and never teach another all that you know. For no matter how much good you do for others, in the end, most pay you back with evil. Now, off to bed, and goodnight.”