Orthodox Parables and Stories: "Not every cat is a Shrovetide"

Hegumen Ignatius lived on the outskirts of the city in a small wooden house with a wing. His aunt, an old, lean, lived in the outhouse, but she was wiry and energetic. They had chickens, a rooster, a goat and a couple of turkeys in the farm. The turkeys did not bring tangible benefits, as both were male. It was a shame to chop them up, and there was no one to do it. And they labored with the father, as the aunt said, "embodying the beauty of nature". However, they were still useful at times. No one else could go into the yard and get away with it. All day long they sat on the roof of the wing and looked for enemies cherishing the idea of penetrating the fence. Thanks to this guard, the local drunkards did not bother the hegumen with their hangovers and pleas. Home peace was provided for him by turkeys, while spiritual peace was provided by divine services, to which Fr. Ignatius daily went to early in the morning.

At 5 o'clock in the morning his aunt woke him up by banging on the battery. The hegumen got up, poured cold water on himself, read the monastic morning rule and went to the service. At his 50th birthday, he was athletic. Laziness and idleness were alien to him. He did everything on his own. He loved, studied and practiced various kinds of gymnastic techniques and exercises. He didn't smoke, and he hardly ever drank. He was literate and read, and in his leisure time he determined the translations from Italian of various medieval poets-menestrians. He was responsible and diligent in his services. He did not speak sermons ornately, but simply and intelligently. The parishioners loved him.
His aunt, who lived in the outhouse, was doing household chores - washing, washing floors and windows, milking goats, watching chickens, making scrambled eggs and omelets, going to the market, making healthy infusions and tinctures on various herbs and berries. She made pickles, jams and everything else... Her aunt also liked classical literature and poetry. Sometimes, staying at home alone, she would sit on a bench by the porch and read poems aloud - Esenin, Gumilev, Blok. The turkeys listened, with knowledge of the case looked and cheered approvingly. And cats rumbled gratefully, squinting in the sun.

But the cats in this house occupied a special niche. Seeing and feeling compassionate people, at first they cautiously, and then openly, did not hesitate to express their emotions. From all around, they came to the abbot and to his aunt to cry about their cat's share and get a treat in the form of goat milk or yesterday's omelet. Some would come and go, and some would stay alive. At that time there were as many as 9 souls of cats at the hegumen's house.

One evening, when Aunt Ignatius and Father Ignatius were sitting and drinking tea, something appeared on the doorstep that resembled a raccoon and hyena at the same time. As we approached, something began to make hoarse and long sounds. It became clear that it was a cat. But such a disgusting appearance! It was obvious that the cat had suffered a lot from fate - limp, with a black eye, pulled out hair, hanging knots, the cat cried and called for help. The merciful owners could not leave the humiliated and offended in trouble. But a couple of months later it became clear that this is not just a cat, but at least an illegitimate kitten prince. And his transformation was so bright and delightful that even turkeys bowed their heads respectfully when they met His Majesty. Huge, expressive amber eyes, lush mustache, wavy, glossy black fur, white shirt and socks, emphasized the irresistibility of his aristocratic walk. And I must say that the cat's behavior was impeccably noble. The cat did not shout in trifles, did not bully his brothers, and loved to listen to Gumilev. And on special days, he went on royal hunting. And every time his aunt, leaving the house, shouted, finding neatly folded in a row trophies in the form of mice. And the hunter himself lay close by and smiled smugly in his mustache. The hegumen and aunt fell in love with the cat and called him Maximilian.

The news that the metropolitan is going to visit the modest dwelling of Fr. Ignatius on Maslanitsa week made his aunt and the hegumen himself rather nervous. Cleaned appliances, a crystal chandelier, a set, glasses, mirrors, new curtains and a tablecloth - everything was ready for the arrival of the high and honored guest. It's been almost 3 years since the new metropolitan headed this diocese. And only now he has made it possible to please the hegumen with his visit. One can, and should understand the great archpastoral importance and employment. Synods, conferences, symposia and other similar bishopric activities sometimes do not even allow you to sleep well, and not just to travel around as a guest. And if there is such an honor, His Eminence must remain content and happy, whatever the cost.

And so, on the third day of the week, in the evening, Fr. Ignatius was called and informed that Vladyka would arrive in half an hour. Everything played, lit up, hissed and whistled in the aunt's kitchen. Fritters and pancakes of various grades of flour, types of sourdough, configurations and sizes, slowly cooled down on the table. Liquid and thick sour cream, melted butter stood in low clay pots. Red-hot, like lava, sterleta ears languished in a tureen. Wrapped in foil baked trout, salted and thinly chopped salmon, salmon caviar, pot-bellied misty bottles of home-made berry liquors. And all this, apart from pickles and marinades, decorated the holiday table.

The Metropolitan arrived at the appointed hour. Keleynik, a white-eyed, blond-haired youth of about twenty, accompanied the bishop, dragging a suitcase on wheels with him. Cleverly grabbing the winter cassock from Vladyka’s shoulders, and the white klobuk, opening the suitcase, and, in an instant, putting everything in order, Keleynik removed the box from the suitcase and offered it to Vladyka. Vladyka went to the mirror, stretched out his hand, and took out a heavy silver comb with stones. He carefully combed his beard, gently coughed, smiled and welcomed all present with his blessing.

“It’s good here, mother, it’s comfortable,” Vladyka said, sitting down in a chair. His velvet baritone sounded soft and gracious. The hegumen approached the bishop and respectfully adjusted the chain of his Panagia.
"Welcome to the table,Vladyka."
"Now, brother, now, I’ll just catch my breath a little."

Vladyka was just over 60. Completeness did not spoil him, but, on the contrary, emphasized the status and solidity of the person. He walked, moved and spoke powerfully, as, probably, befits a permanent member of the Holy Synod. His broad beard, like nothing else, corresponded to his status and rank. Arriving somewhere, the first thing he took out was his famous comb, and carefully combed his dark blond, sometimes decorated with gray hair, magnificent beard. It is difficult to say, if he had formed such a habit on his own or indeed it was supposed to be so to a permanent member of the Holy Synod.

Yeah ... it’s nice here, it’s comfortable,” Vladyka said again, inspecting the home decoration. And then his gaze settled on the opposite armchair, on which, in a half-nap, lounging on his side, a cat, the very Maximilian the Magnificent, was lying.

"What a beautiful cat! Truly wonderful are thy works, Lord! Ah, what a handsome boy you are." said the bishop and his eyes lit up.
“I’ve been dreaming of getting a cat for a long time, but they're all wrong... Pathetic and stupid. And this one is like a bishop's cat!"

As if after hearing the praise, the cat got up, and arched his back, sweetly reached out and yawned wide. He sat down, and stared at the bishop with huge spherical eyes.

"Here it is to become! This is beauty!" Vladyka continued, "I would certainly buy such a cat and love!"
"Take, take, take, Vladyka for the glory of God! If you like this cat so much,” the aunt chattered,."We have a whole bunch of them, which we don’t know. ”
"I’ll take it with pleasure!" flashed the bishop. "He'll ride like cheese in butter! And what's his name?"
"Maximilian," answered the aunt.
"Maximilian is not very expressive, I think he's called Archibald! А? What do you think? Do you like it? Do you like me, Archibald?  Vladyka said jokingly and everyone laughed.
"Come on, Father Ignatius, give it to me!"
The hegumen took the cat and put it on Vladyka's knees. And only the bishop laid his pure hands on it. But something unimaginable happened. The calm cat rumbled belligerently, straightened like a spring, grabbed the bishop by the beard with his teeth, and, hitting his nose with his paw, jumped out of the room as if he had been scolded. It all happened so quickly that for a while everyone was frozen in a daze. The Bishop had a piece of his luxurious beard removed and two scratches on his nose.

When the aunt came to herself, she quickly ran to the cabinet and with shaking hands pulled out a box of pills, ointments, bandages, cotton swabs and drops. Having run up to Vladyka with the words “now, now!”, She opened some bottles, emptied the contents on a cotton swab, and put it on the bishop’s nose, which was beginning to swell. Having soaked away the scratches and removing her hand, the aunt abruptly bounced off, and in a stifled whisper she said in horror, “Oh, Lord have mercy!” The aunt was slightly blind, and the situation required the adoption of immediate antiseptic measures. So there was an embarrassment. It was green!

From the bishop's past greatness there is no trace left. In the chair now, often blinking with surprisingly frightened eyes, sat something with a green nose and a disheveled beard. Something like this is usually depicted in Russian folklore of goblins, lord of filthy swamps and impassable thickets.
Vladyka went to the mirror, swallowed his saliva, and said in a trembling voice:
 “Pavlik, get dressed!”
Keleynik extended his comb, but Vladyka shook his head negatively. They left quietly.

"What will happen now?" asked the aunt, in whose eyes a waterfall formed.
“There will be nothing,” replied Fr. Ignatius.
The hegumen went to the table, poured half a glass of liquor and drank. “You know, he doesn’t want to be called Archibald! And that’s it ... Sleep, mother, sleep! Tomorrow we have service."

In the evening of Forgiveness Sunday, the Metropolitan approached Fr. Ignatius.
"Forgive me, father!" said the Bishop. " I came to you then, like a pompous turkey, like Santa Claus, from whom miracles are expected. I'm ashamed of myself. I wanted to treat myself. Here is the Lord through the creature of God and treated me. And I embarrassed myself, and I baffled you. They don't understand cats, whether you are a member of the Holy Synod or a fickle hegumen. Not all Shrovetide cats will be Lent. And by the way, few people know the full version of the proverb..."

The bishop bowed, hugged and kissed Fr. Ignatia.
Vladyka never recalled or told about this incident. But each time, noticing cats going about their business, radiant wrinkles clearly appeared in the corners of the eyes of the bishop.

Susanna