Basil and the Pygmy Cats
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By Eve Titus
Illustrated by Paul Galdone

(c) 1971 by Eve Titus and Paul Galdone

15
The Ten-Day Truce
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When the Rosetta sailed into Bengistan Bay, thousands of cheering mice jammed the docks.

At a banquet that evening the Prime Minister delivered a stirring speech in which Basil was given the Mousterian Medal, the highest award in the land, and made a honorary citizen of Bengistan.

General Garmize spoke. He said the Bengistan now had the best-trained army in the world, and would never fall prey to rats like Ratigan.

The Maharajah spoke last. By rights, all the valuable relics belonged to Bengistan, the mouse kingdom nearest Kataarh. Besides, the Maharajah had equipped our expedition and lent us the yacht.

But the Maharajah said, "Basil, one half of the antiquities you discovered will go to the museum closest to your heart--the British Mousmopolitan. As for the other valuable relics, I'll sell some to museums of other lands, for there is much poverty among my subjects. I'll tear down slums, build homes, schools, libraries, and good roads. A great many things of Elyod's time will be housed in our own museums. When mouse scientists from abroad come here to study the antiquities, Bengistan will become a center of learning and art."

Basil rose and shook the Maharajah's paw.

"For your generous gesture I thank you, and in the same breath ask a favor. What of the pygmy cats? I could bring them to London, where every mouse will want to get a glimpse of them. But they'd be unhappy, like animals in a zoo, always on display. Away from the tropical climate they are used to, they might become ill. Could you possibly--"

The Maharajah beamed. "Say no more, Basil! There's a private park on one of my estates. I'll have it fenced in, on top as well as on the sides, lest larger animals try to enter and harm them."

Thus was the fate of the pygmy cats decided, most happily for all concerned. Later, letters from the Maharajah told how wonderfully content the cats were. They had even asked for a teacher so that they could learn to read and write.

As for ourselves, we returned to London, where honors were heaped upon our heads--awards, conferences, banquets, scientific meetings. Basil, the center of all the ado, was elected president of the Royal Academy of Mouse Orientalists.

On the way home from the Academy dinner, Basil exclaimed, "Dawson! Why did I not think of it before now? The cats, the cats!"

"Pygmy cats?" I asked.

"No indeed. British cats!"

He would say no more, much as I questioned him, but a week later he announced The Ten-Day Truce!

He had asked himself who else besides mice would wish to know about pygmy cats. The answer was crystal clear.

Through Cyril the Stoolpigeon, Basil made contact with the leading cat scientists of Britain, inviting them to a series of lectures he planned to give.

Subject--the pygmy cats ruled by mice.

Place--Rockhenge, the ancient mouse ruins he himself had discovered and excavated.

Terms--for the ten days of the lectures, no British cat was to catch, kill, or eat a British mouse.

The cats accepted, and the famous ten-day truce began, an achievement that has never been equaled.

What peace and goodwill among cats and mice--smiles, paws waved in friendly greeting, friendly little chats! It was a fine, good feeling.



The lectures were a huge success. While it was true that Lord Adrian and I quailed when the audience of cats crowded around to congratulate Basil after the last brilliant lecture, we needn't have worried.

Basil had chosen Rockhenge for a most practical reason--he knew the site well. There were plenty of holes to hide in, and every mouse attending the lectures was given a detailed diagram.

Kitty Milkington, a cat biologist, said to Basil, "I've thoroughly enjoyed your talks, and the truce, too. Perhaps there'll be another truce soon."

"Very soon, I hope," said Sir Thomas Catsworth.

Basil nodded. "I quite agree. But my next case will take me out of England, all the way to Mexico."

"Best of luck!" said the cats, and departed.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Mexican case?" I asked.

Basil of Baker Street smiled. "My dear doctor, that's another tale!"

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