Another successful play was over and I have to admit I was exhausted. It was extremely hard work, pretending to be a cator while secretly working undercover solving mysteries for the Kontinental Kat Agency. Yet, working with my Savoy, certainly, helped alleviate to stress. In fact, this very weekend, we were to have an official date!
Yes! You see, I managed to score tickets to the latest art show at the Glorious & Free Art Gallery, featuring the avant-garde artist known as Foodsy. He (or she?) was an anonymous person who worked in the medium of food.
The newest show entitled, ‘Bananas’ was rather intriguing. There was a great buzz throughout the city for the risqué exhibit. Some would think the World Cup was ‘the’ event to be at this summer but the art lovers of the world were congregating in TO. And I was lucky enough to escort my Savoy to the Premiere.
It’s funny how one never really notices the mundane aspects of life until something important occurs to remind them. Take bananas, for instance . . . I have to admit, never in my life have I given them much thought. While they aren’t toxic for us cats, I can’t meow that I’ve ever wanted a taste. But here I was coming off the stage after our final curtain call, for the play Desdemona-Cleo, and I ran smack-dab into our prop manager, Rosie (he’s a male rabbit with a long story about his very female name 🙀). The fluffy, grey rabbit munched slowly on an oblong yellow piece of fruit. He spotted me eyeing up the banana in his paw and generously offered me a piece.
I took a nibble. “Hmmmm . . . They’re quite good.”
Rosie twitched his nose at me and his back leg began to thump. He leapt into the air and nearly scared the life out of me.
“Ack . . . !! You haven’t seen a ghost, have you?” I inquired. I still hadn’t recovered from our last caper.
“It’s this banana. Keep it. If I don’t stop eating it, things may get out of paw. It’s like rabbit crack!” He told me while refusing the return of the fruit.
I finished it off and wiped my whiskers while the rest of the cast came offstage and disappeared into their dressing rooms. There were still plenty of the usual hangers-on mingling around, so I decided to spend some time with the props manager.
This was a chance to gain some background knowledge in case the Boss needed it for whatever the assignment was that we were on. Our mission was so secret, I wasn’t told what we were doing here at the theatre. But I needed to research bunnies for my next role, too.
“How did you become the props guy?” I asked Rosie.
“I wasn’t always in this lowly position!” He began. “There was a time that I tread the boards, just, as a you do.” He sounded a tad bitter.
“What happened?” I, genuinely, wanted to know.
“I tried to sleep with the boss, Maisy. She wouldn’t have me.” Rosie took the prop sword I held and along with all the other play props, made his way to his domain. I followed.
“It must be a little satisfying to still be working in the theatre, though?” I tried to put a positive spin on things.
He dumped the props on a table. “Oh yes . . . it’s very gratifying to watch the others get the glory and accolades while I sit back and watch them all sleep their way to the top of the billboard.” Rosie snorted.
“Not all of them get to be stars that way. There are some who have genuine talent and are good at their craft.” I added, thinking of my Belovéd.
“Of course there are. I’m good at props. But it doesn’t beat being a star.” Rosie lamented. “Take next week’s play . . . I’ve got all the props ready. Nip mead, swords, buck teeth . . . They’re all here but what I wouldn’t give . . .” Rosie highlighted another pile as he dreamed of superstardom.
“Ha, ha, ha . . . Who has to wear the buck teeth?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the poor fool who would have to humiliate themselves. I knew my next role, as Reggie the rabbit, would be a chance for me to shine, at last. I expected good reviews. It was the meaty role of a vegetarian but sometimes props could help a performance. Not buck teeth, though.
“The part of Reggie.” Rosie sneered.
My face fell. “But that’s . . .” I hung my head.
“I’ve had problems with cator’s and these teeth, in the past. So, I’ve got a couple of new adhesives for them to try. I wonder who will be playing the part? They haven’t told me. They never tell me anything. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s really going on here. This play is notorious for backstage romances. The cators, mostly, end up being paired off. But the money guys like to come in and steal the felines.” Rosie told me while ignoring my reaction to his words.
Luckily, Savoy was starting to warm to me or I might have to step in to prevent any unwanted attention from these monied-artists-wanna-be’s.
*********
At the office on Caturday, I met with the Kontinental Kat before the big date with my Savoy. She sat at her desk basking in the praise that the Boss lauded upon her.
“You were wonderful. I wouldn’t be surprised if Catte Davis tried to get you fired. You, by far, outshine her and steal every scene.” The Kontinental Kat gushed.
“I heard she’s more interested in her romantic life, at the moment.” I interjected, meowing about Ms. Davis.
“Is she?” The Kontinental Kat questioned. “Who’s she involved with?”
“Rumour has it . . . the director. In fact, it seems most of the Tibbspearean Company are paired up.” I continued with a longing look at Savoy.
“Are they?” Savoy wondered.
“They’re all at it! But at least you and I aren’t mixed up with any of the cators.” I explained and was about to mention our date when the Boss deflated my balloon.
“Work romances never work. It’s silly to even begin them.” The Kontinental Kat observed. “Actually, I want you to come with me tonight, to meet Myer. He saw you in the play and asked specifically to meet you.” The Kontinental Kat addressed Savoy.
My Belovéd looked at me forlornly (or was that relief I saw in her eye?).
“But we have plans.” I insisted.
“Work comes first.” The Kontinental Kat took Savoy by the paw and they exited the office.
*********
Monday morning and our first rehearsal of the play ‘The Merry Felines of Cheshire’ was late getting started. As we waited for the stars to show up, the rest of the cast discussed the Great Banana Split art heist which had occurred over the weekend. And to think, Savoy and I could have been there! I was pretty sure we could have prevented it. If only the Boss hadn’t scuppered our date.
Rather than kicking myself for the missed opportunity, I got on with the present. I went over my lines as the stars and the director still hadn’t appeared.
Sir Rocky came in first, eating, of all things, bananas. He seemed slightly out of sorts. I approached him and suggested, “Once again we have an intense fight scene. Shall we practice while we wait for the others?”
Sir Rocky smiled weakly. “That’s an excellent idea. I’m, just, in the mood for a fight. Let’s go . . .”
We made our way to the props room to retrieve the decommissioned swords. Rosie handed them to us without uttering a word.
Sir Rocky and I worked with the fight choreographer to make our duel look both real and dangerous. It did not take more than five minutes for the much older and far less athletic, Sir Rocky, to work up a sweat. You’d think this Tom was out of shape or something? 🙀 He, certainly, seemed distracted.
He threw himself into the scene where his character is insanely jealous because the feline he’s in love with, has taken a shine to another.
“You’re playing this scene very realistically.” I complimented him.
“I can draw from my own experience.” He replied enigmatically.
I thought I had solved this little mystery when in walked Ms. Davis, followed closely by Stevo, the director. Both of them were in a most disheveled state. Was Sir Rocky bothered by their relationship? Was he in love with the star? Before I could indulge in this line of questioning, Harvey Spielcat, the producer, came in with another Tom. This other cat was quite good looking. He ate a bunch of bananas while he and Harvey schmoozed with the cast.
“Who’s that?” I asked Sir Rocky as we continued to execute our sword play.
Sir Rocky let up and glanced to where I indicated.
“That’s Myer Michaels, the head of Strong & Free Productions. He’s a tomcat. No feline is safe with him around.” Sir Rocky ground out with venom.
Just then Savoy joined the two wealthy Toms and I saw red. At the same time, Sir Rocky went ballistic. Our sword fight resumed with a fury. We lunged . . . We parried . . . We thrust . . .
The swords whooshed, clanged and clinked until I felt a stinging in my ear. Sir Rocky’s sword had pierced my left ear and stuck me to the set.
“Owwwww . . .” I yowled while attempting to extricate the sword from my ear.
The others came running over to help. Mr. Michaels pulled the sword out of the wall while I collapsed into the ever-loving arms of my Savoy. I sobbed uncontrollably.
*********
I entered the office, that night, after a very long vet visit. My ear was packed in ice and bandaged up like a war hero from WWI.
“What happened to you?” The Kontinental Kat threw down his newspaper and helped me to a chair.
“This play will be the death of me.” I answered dramatically. “What exactly are we trying to accomplish this week? There doesn’t seem to be a mystery to solve, other than the strange things going on with the prop department.” I pointed to my ear as exhibit #1. “No one seems to know how the tip protectors went missing.”
The Kontinental Kat looked to the newspaper he was reading. The headline read, ‘The Banana Has Split’. I did not care about the Great Art Robbery that had taken place over the weekend. Because of Myer Michaels, I had missed the greatest theft since the vet took my Crown Jewels. What did I care about that, when he was blatantly trying to steal my Savoy?
“There may be a connection between the Banana robbery and the theatre.” The Kontinental Kat suggested.
“Oh, please tell me that you suspect Mr. Michaels . . . I don’t like the way he’s eyeing up my Savoy.” I rubbed my ear and flinched.
“Keep your eyes peeled. You aren’t going to miss any performances because of your injury, are you?” The chubby, black cat asked in concern.
“No! If Savoy is, possibly, in trouble, I shall be ready to protect her!”
*********
The opening night performance was going beautifully. There were no hitches so far and the props were in perfect working order. I, purposely, checked and re-checked to make sure the swords had, indeed, been fashioned with a rubber blunt and were rendered harmless. I, only, had one ear left. I did not want another malfunction to occur during the play.
As we neared the crucial fight scene between Sir Rocky and myself, I began to experience a weird foreboding. Something was off. I adjusted the buck teeth I wore for the role, as Sir Rocky circled me. He thrust his sword at my face and managed to, ever so slightly, catch my buck teeth. They flew off into the audience!
I clamped my paw over my mouth. I could not finish the play without my teeth. I ran offstage and looked for Rosie, hoping he could replace the teeth with the other set. But Rosie was nowhere to be found.
The play ended in disaster. I had to retrieve the teeth from the audience. They laughed hysterically at me and the cast could not help but corpse. I felt like Tim Conway to their Harvey Korman for forcing the entire cast to break character in this Tibbspearean play. This was not the reception I had expected.
Had I ruined the play?
End of Part I
*Will Dash redeem himself? Will the Tibbs In The Park Festival recover from being laughed off the stage? Will Dash have more prop issues? Where is Rosie, the props manager? And will Savoy have to save the day again? What a lot to pack into the next blog! Be sure you don’t miss the continuing saga next week!
*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate. Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement. Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing. And it may just indirectly fund future silliness. I thank you in advance. 😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/
Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg
About the Author
