A carol for the Cathedral Cats

 (For those of you who have not met them the Cathedral Cats live in and around a Church of England Cathedral. I "met" them some years ago. They are working cats. Bach, the eldest, is responsible for them. Aside from Bach there are Matins and Vespers, Cantori and Decani, Cadenza and others. Apart from "Mouse" they live with the other residents of the Close. Mouse is not exactly a Cathedral Cat. He lives with Tom-the-Organist and Tom's sister Lizzie. There are also some Cathedral Mice. They live quite peaceably with the Cats. )

The Cathedral Cats loved music - but they could not sing. They had tried. They had tried more than once. Each time they tried Tom-the- Organist and David-the-Choirmaster would tell them to be quiet. 

"But we can sing!" Matins complained to Bach.

"They don't understand how we sing," Bach told Matins. Bach was not actually certain that his young charges could sing but it seemed to be the best answer.

"Well they should," Vespers told him crossly, "Look at all the work we have to do so they can have music too."

This was true. The Cathedral Cats had two big responsibilities relating to music. 

First they had to keep the organ clean. They had help with this from the Cathedral Mice. The Cathedral Mice cleaned the inside of the organ pipes where the cats could not reach. The Cathedral Cats did the rest. They kept all the stops in working order, the keys on the four keyboards shining and the pedals and pipes polished. It was a very big job and it never finished because when they finished one part they would start again on another. By the time they finished the last part it would be time to start on the first part again.

And then they had to clean the notes coming off the pages as Tom-the-Organist played them. That was an even bigger job. It meant picking up all the notes which had been played, and there were thousands upon thousands of those.  They had to clean them carefully and put them back in the right spaces on the page. It was a bit like a jigsaw puzzle. The cats were very good at it. Bach could do every hymn in the book in not much more than the flick of his upper right whisker. It was very useful when Tom-the-Organist was learning something new. Cantori liked to do what he called "the loud bits" of Handel. Decani, always a thinker, liked contemplative pieces of Bach and could help David-the-choirmaster with Pergolesi, Vivaldi and Poulenc.  Matins and Vespers were surprisingly good at Parry and Rutter. All the other Cathedral Cats and Mouse, who was Tom-the-Organist's cat, helped too. 

They were paid to do all this of course. The Bishop's Secretary kept their Post Office books in the bottom drawer of his desk.  Tom-the-Organist and David-the-Choirmaster always thanked them as well. 

But none of this really satisfied them. They wanted to sing too. Sometimes at night they would try. They would gather together in the cloisters and try but even the Bishop, who was the most tolerant and gentle of men, would stop them.  

It was no good. They could not sing in a way the humans appreciated. 

Bach worried that the younger cats might want to give up working altogether when the Verger told them to "stop that noise" and threatened them with no kipper heads for breakfast. Of course the Verger did not understand they had been singing as they worked.

Bach explained this yet again to the younger cats. They looked at one another. It wasn't fair. They wanted to join in the singing! Their tails drooped and work seemed to take even longer than usual.

"Extra tuna for anyone who can think of a way of joining in," Bach finally told them. It would mean giving up his own Sunday tuna but he was too worried about morale. Nobody seemed to have any ideas but it gave them something to think about.

Then, at the end of the evening service some weeks later, something strange happened. Mouse and Decani spent an hour padding slowly up and down the cloisters. Their whiskers twitched. Their tails were erect with the importance of what they were saying to one another. They spent some time just sitting in conversation. 

The following day Tom-the-Organist, coming in to try a new carol he had written, found Mouse and Decani sitting side by side in the organ loft. 

"What do you two want?" he asked settling himself on the long organ seat. They jumped up next to him.

"Well don't get in the way and you can stay there," he told them. 

He played the melody for the new carol he had written. As he did so he heard a sound. He stopped. That could not be right! He tried again. He heard the sound again.

Tom looked at the two cats. They were staring intently ahead. Tom played the entire melody through again. No, he was not mistaken.

"You're purring it!" he said amazed.  The two cats swished their tails impatiently. He played it again, this time with twiddly and curly notes. The two cats purred in tune. 

Tom was astounded. Because Tom had been composing the carol at home he thought Mouse might recognise it but he had never before heard a cat purr in that way.

 "Can the others do this too?" 

Decani jumped down and came back with Bach and Cantori. They joined in. Tom thought it was a very restful sort of sound, really rather pleasant. 

"Will you do it for our Choirmaster?" he wondered."Dave - come and listen to this!"

The Choirmaster had just brought the youngest choristers in for a rehearsal.  The cats looked at each other. Now was their chance! Matins and Vespers had followed the boys inside. They came running up too. They all sat there in a row with their tails curled neatly to the right. Tom played the carol once more. The cats purred the melody again. The two men could not believe it. They called in the Dean and then the Bishop to listen. 

     "I think we should have them join in on Christmas Day," Tom-the-Organist and David-the-Choirmaster told the Dean and Bishop.

Join in? They might be able to be part of the choir on Christmas Day? The cats sat quite still and waited. Would they be allowed to do this?

     "Why not?" the Bishop said, "People will understand they are part of the community too, a very important part."

And that is how on Christmas morning all the Cathedral cats filed in to the choir pews with their tails erect and their whiskers out at just the right angle. The Bishop's wife had brushed their coats and Bach had inspected every paw for cleanliness.  They sat quietly at the feet of the choir boys - keeping them nice and warm and not in the least bit fidgety for once. And when the new carol was sung they joined in with their purring. At last they could join in. They could purr even if they could not sing!