Omega (13) "Of course, Ambassador. The usual ambassadorial suite. We've kept you as far away as possible from any Canine guests who might be staying here..." The Cat shuddered. "That is most thoughtful of you!" "...And I'm sure you'll find that it has every luxury you require. However, if you could excuse me, I have another guest to see to!" She smiled apologetically and strode over to the tiger who'd earlier been stretched on the floor but was now leaning unsteadily on the mantelpiece with a glass of wine in one paw and the other struggling to keep himself upright. Zitha floated to his side and chattered to him oblivious of his inebriation. "So, young man," asked the Ambassador solicitously, "do you know many of the other guests at this party?" "Not really," I admitted. "I was brought here by someone who I appear to have lost. But I have met someone I know. Tudor, he's called." "Tudor?" Mused the Cat. "That's a Mouse name isn't it?" "I suppose it must be. Tudor was the Mouse in here just a moment ago..." "And I daresay he had some very unflattering things to say about Cats. Mice are so Anti-Feline! They have no understanding or appreciation of the Feline cause, and constantly bemoan the fact that to bring civilisation to their so-called motherland it's been necessary to also bring them the benefits of Feline Government. These Mice are so ungrateful! Do they really believe they'd be better off if they were under the yoke of a Canine Republic?" "Is that what Mice want?" "Well, they call it self-determination. But how can Mice be capable of running a country by themselves? They've proved to be a damnably unruly and uncooperative lot in the Cat Kingdom. The only way they could possibly take over in what they misguidedly call their ancestral home is by mortgaging themselves to the wealthier Dogs. And I've yet to see evidence that Dogs have anything like the standards of good government and tolerance evinced by us felines!" "Is there some dispute about sovereignty in the Cat Kingdom?" I asked. The Ambassador mewed. "You could say that!" He picked up another fish and dropped it down his throat. His furry throat convulsed briefly as it descended down his oesophagus. "It's a fairly meaningless dispute because there really is no case for the land to be anything other than Feline. As has been agreed by the international community which mostly recognises the sovereignty of His Majesty the King. Only the damnable Canine Republics and a few Mouse-sympathisers withhold their recognition, not that it ever prevents them trading with us. After so many years of Feline Diaspora in which Cats have been denied a nation of their own, forced to rely on the open hearth and generosity of northern neighbours, we have at last attained our historical homeland for which our rights by historical primacy cannot be seriously denied. We imagined we would finally see an end to the persecution that has hounded us over the millennia from the Canine scourge, the false accusations of witchcraft and the compulsory sequestering of our hard-earned wealth by whatever complexion of government has envied it. But even now there are those whose claims on our land being so much more recent are judged somehow to be the stronger as a result." "Is it only because you're Cats that some people do not like you?" I wondered, remembering Tudor's intense dislike. "I daresay that for most of our enemies it is quite simply that we are Cats they discriminate against us. They call us foul abusive epithets such as Pussy and Moggy. They mock our purring as growls and our tail-wagging as perverse. It may be that they are just envious of our arboreal and hunting skills, our nimbleness and adaptability, and our ability to see in the dark. However, that's not the professed reasons our enemies give for their enmity towards us. Many pretend that it is distaste for our system of government in which the King has prime political power. The Canine Republics in particular oppose our model of government as archaic, arbitrary and unfair. They ask how a Cat can be endowed with the Divine Right to rule. However, surely hereditary government, vested in one trained and tutored from birth in the arts of government, is better than power which falls so arbitrarily into the hands of petty dictators, as in so many of the Canine Republics, who might even have originally taken power by democratic means, but more often in a coup d'état, usually with the unfulfilled pretext of restoring democracy. And few of these petty dictators relinquish power, often bequeathing it to close relatives or their own puppies. Moreover, the Divine Right of the King to rule is bound deeply with the religious practices of feline kind. The King is both the spiritual and temporal leader of the realm. He defends both sovereignty and the faith. No Canine dictator can pretend to responsibilities as grave, however much they may bark on about the Bible and religion." "Does the Cat Kingdom get on with the Canine Republics?" "Not in the slightest. We're constantly at war with one Dog Republic or another. It's a great strain on our economy, but the wealth of Cats throughout the world has ensured that this is a fight the Dogs can never win. Whatever the complexion of dog - spaniel, terrier, poodle, collie or whatever - the Dog is too disorganised and stupid to do more than merely harry and unsettle our nation. These Dogs just don't have the political stability or historical traditions to compete with Cats. They dress like undertakers, forever preaching about God and Duty, live lives of unspeakable drabness and are just too incredibly diverse in kind. The Dog is a racial mess. When you look at a Cat, you know it's a Cat. We're all about the same shape and size, differing only in details like colour and length of fur. What can be said about an Animal of the mongrel varieties of Chihuahuas, Rottweilers, Pekinese, Daschunds, Doberman Pinschers and bulldogs? They're just a heterogeneous mess!" "Who wins these wars with the Canine Republics?" "Why, us of course. The Cat Kingdom! Who else? As we have always done. As we are destined to always do. It is our right and duty to always triumph. It's not that we have any designs on the land of our neighbours, although we have been reluctantly obliged to occupy some of their land as guarantees of territorial security. We don't want our nation overrun by a host of poodles, corgis or pit bull terriers. We're quite happy to leave the Dogs where they are, - and only ask that they display the same magnanimity to us. And to stop going on so much about these accursed Mice. If they're that enamoured by rodents why don't they welcome them more in their own territories." "Still talking?" Asked Zitha who had unexpectedly come back. She had found the opportunity to change yet again: this time into a long black dress with a very high collar and another wide hat. The tiger she'd been talking to had vanished, leaving only a pool of vomit and fish-bones where he'd been slumped. "You must circulate, Ambassador! There are many more guests to see. And you, as well, you must meet a few more guests." "Actually I'm waiting for Tudor to return. He said he'd let me stay at his castle." "Did he?" Laughed Zitha. "That's jolly generous of him. But I wouldn't expect him to return while you're chatting to a Cat. The Mouse probably thinks His Excellency would like to tear him apart for sport or something like that." "The Feline reputation for wanton cruelty is much exaggerated," mewed the Ambassador. "I'm sure it is," agreed Zitha. "But if you could excuse us please, Your Excellency, we'll search for this gentleman's companion. There are a number of other ambassadors in the main dining room, if you would wish to join them." "Thank you for your advice," the Cat replied, nonetheless remaining around the fish dinners that were laid out for guests, while Zitha led me on out of the drawing room, an arm locked through mine. We passed a veritable scrum of guests milling about outside rooms lit by red lights for which Zitha gave no explanation. We passed a darkened room, where a number of guests lay collapsed on cushions smoking from a large hookah-pipe appended to an ornate glass bowl. We trod over inebriated guests, including the tiger who had somehow negotiated his way along several corridors only to collapse in another stupor with many clothes now inexplicably absent. As we walked, Zitha chatted on about how the weather had been particularly warm recently, but looked like it might soon be on the turn; how she hoped that whoever won the General Election wouldn't in any way spoil the fun of the Party by excessive taxation; how she wondered at the dietary tastes and dining habits of several guests as we passed a pile of empty snail shells, fish-bones and hay; and how she hoped that I was enjoying her father's Party. "Well," wondered Zitha. "What is it that takes you so far from the Suburbs? We get very few people from that borough coming to this Party." I explained to her about my search for the Truth as we walked through a library in which books were stacked high up to the ceiling. "The Truth!" she exclaimed. "We get many guests here with the most bizarre ambitions. Eternal Peace. Love and Death. The Kingdom of God. But never one before with a quest to find the Truth. This is really, I'd have thought, the very last place in the world I'd visit if I were searching for the Truth. I've never come across it here. We've got everything else you might look for, and I'm sure there are plenty of books in this library on the subject. Not that anyone ever reads them! Did you seriously believe you'd find the Truth at my father's Party?" "I don't really know where to look," I admitted. "When I was invited here I thought I might find some clues as to its whereabouts." "There are certainly a lot of guests here who'd say they could advise you. Some of the best minds in the world come to this Party. That I know! But I can't believe that even the brainiest or wisest or most widely travelled can really claim to know what the Truth is or where to find it. Quite honestly, I don't know why anyone would ever bother." "Why's that?" Zitha paused by a globe of the world standing on a desk. She put a hand on it and theatrically spun it round. The continents and oceans passed by caged in by lines representing latitude, longitude and the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. "Why bother? There are so many much more fun things to do in life. Look at the Party. It's been going on and on, all in the pursuit of pleasure. And however hard it is pursued, there is yet more pleasure to be found. And aren't there absolutely loads of people who say that the purpose of life is to find happiness? And, if that's the case, isn't there just a fantastic amount of happiness to be found here? Look at everyone! Aren't they happy? And is there really anything else you'd want in life?" I looked around at the company which included a very drunken yale chatting to a hippogriff, a couple of aardvarks smoking reefers underneath the collected works of the Marquis de Sade, a canoodling pair of pygmy chimpanzees on the top of a bookcase, a wolf chatting amiably with a protoceratops, and a large hare slumped unconscious on a leather chair. Everyone certainly seemed happy, but I felt sure that this apparent happiness was not the Truth I was looking for. "Life is for the living!" continued Zitha. "We're only on this planet for a few years and then we die. It could all end tomorrow. And what regrets we'd all have if we knew on our deathbed there were so many pleasures we'd not indulged in. Culinary delights uneaten. Alcohol unimbibed. Partners denied. Plays, films or video games not enjoyed. How can there be anything more to life than living it to the full? And where can life be enjoyed more to the full than here?" "I'm sure that there are no pleasures in the world that aren't catered for at this Party," I agreed. "Absolutely right! And the only struggle I think worth making is to find new ways to enjoy them. And to find new exotic and unexplored pleasures. These are the challenges that face every dedicated hedonist. My father struggles night and day, taking the advice of the greatest expert, to provide pleasures for all: however bizarre, perverse, cruel or refined. There is no pleasure that he would hesitate to provide: from total immersion in sensory deprivation tanks, from virtual sex, from blood-sports, from lively and witty conversation, from meditation, to whatever else our insatiable guests may demand. And in this pursuit of pleasure there are undoubtedly victims, but ultimately isn't their sacrifice worth the greater pleasure of those fortunate enough to be guests at this, the ultimate and eternal Party?" "Are there casualties amongst the guests, though?" I asked, considering the unhealthy state of several of them, such as the tiger Zitha had been ministering to. "In any great pursuit there are martyrs to the cause," mused Zitha, folding her arms and frowning. "Drug Addiction. Venereal Disease. Lethargy. Lung Cancer. Bankruptcy. Insanity. Delusion. Liver Disease. But it'll all have been worthwhile if the pleasure gained in acquiring these maladies outweighs the long term pain and degradation." "I'sooth!" came Tudor's familiar voice. "Thou'rt being most uncharacteristically philosophical, Zitha. Nay, thou'rt nigh metaphysical in thy discourse!" The Mouse stood by us, supporting his weight on the table where the globe was slowly losing the momentum of its earlier rapid spin. "It's the influence of your Suburban friend!" laughed Zitha, as if she'd been discovered doing something she wasn't permitted. "He's got the most bizarre notions!" "'Swounds! I little ken the Suburbs, but ne'er hath I heard it described as the home of metaphysics or high discourse. 'Tis oft spoken as a place bereft of all great thought, immersed only in its own perfection, imposing little on the world beyond and intent only on the provision of amateur dramatics, local history societies and supermarkets." "It sounds absolutely bizarre!" mused Zitha. "There are places outside the pages of literature and the situation comedy living room which engross themselves in such things. I thought it was all a myth to make everyone feel jolly smug that their lives were tons more exciting." "I know not," admitted Tudor. "Perchance, young man, thou canst impart details of thy home unto us. Is't so 'tis but a land of small concerns and, yea, smaller ambitions?" "I don't know how best to describe it," I admitted. "It's very different to here. Or anywhere else I've visited recently." "Mayhap 'tis true!" sniffed the Mouse, scratching his muzzle with a gloved claw. "But now, dearest Zitha, 'tis time, I trow, for mine friend and I to depart. 'Tis as ever with the greatest regret that I do so." "And I don't imagine it'll be too long till you come back!" giggled the young girl. "I'sooth!" agreed Tudor, before ushering me through the mass of guests to the main hallway which was far further away than I'd imagined. We passed all conceivable species of guests along opulent corridors, past defunct mediĉval armour, Ming vases, tall and imposing portraits of Zitha's ancestors, videophones, Hogarth cartoons, the heads of slaughtered deer and foxes, velvet curtains and finally the wide expanse of the staircase in the main hallway. Tudor's carriage was waiting outside amongst a fleet of Mercedes, Rolls-Royces, Porsches and Bentleys. It was quite modest in comparison, being an open-top horse-drawn carriage, although the armour-covered horses were magnificent and the carriage stout and resplendent. "'Tis but a few leagues until mine estate!" Announced the Mouse as his chauffeur cracked his whip and the horses thundered off away from the mansion house. It was several furlongs until we passed through the garden gates past long avenues bordered by grand statues of all examples of exotic and extinct fauna. 7 Evening descended as Tudor's carriage passed over the drawbridge to his castle and parked inside its dark grey walls. Within his walls, as without, there was great evidence of the Mouse's wealth in the form of fishponds, ornate hedges and enormous rosebushes. Several of Tudor's servants, all hares in livery, gathered to greet us when we arrived. One hare in dark clothes, a ruff about his neck only slightly less magnificent than Tudor's own, came directly to the carriage to welcome his master.
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