Mayor Simon

Not so long ago, and not so far away, there lived a tailor with nimble fingers. He was a clever man, a kind man, a tired man, and a lonely man, for his wife and friends had long since gone. This is not his story.   On a raw October day, this man, we shall call him Henri, was wrestling with the shutters of his shop windows. It was raining hard that day, and the cold water ran inside his tunic and leaked into his poulaines. Frustrated, he turned to go inside, when he heard a high, squeaky sound coming from the alley. Curious, he turned the corner to find a little kitten, half-drowned from rainfall, struggling to find shelter by a broken barrel. Henri, kind man that he was, scooped up the tiny bundle of fur and brought it inside.   Once they were both dry, the tailor could see that this was a rather ordinary cat, a mix of grey striped tabby and white, with longish fur, but your average mouser. Still, Henri was indeed lonely and this little soul gave him something to do, so he made a bed for the kitten, and found the little one some food.   A customer came in with her child, and the little one spotted the cat, "Ooh, what's his name?"   Henri thought about it, then replied, "He hasn't told me yet."   Puzzled, the child fell silent.   All through that day, people would come in, customers, merchants, neighbors. Each would ask the new kitten's name, and get the same answer. That evening, he put the kitten on the desk with his ledgers as he closed the books for the day. He stopped to look at the kitten, trying to play with his pen.   "He really does need a name," he thought. The kitten stopped and stared at Henri for a long time, then returned to chasing the pen.   "Simon," Henri suddenly thought, "Is that your name, little one? Well, we'll try it."   Within two days, neighborhood kids could be heard up and down the block, "Here, Simon! Come here kitty!"   The name had stuck. But this was not the amazing part.   Simon grew up into a handsome tomcat, a good mouser, and a loyal friend. One night, Henri fell asleep while doing the books, and Simon meowed loudly and tapped his face with a paw, until the tailor woke up, just in time to find the candle tipped over, and him in danger. "Such a good friend," he murmured, sharing his dinner with Simon.   Several months later, Henri was again awakened by insistent meowing and a paw on his face. As soon as he woke, he knew something was wrong. He dressed, searched the house, and, finding nothing, stepped outside, and caught the faint whiff of smoke in the air, coming from the next street.   "Simon, stay there, I'll get the watch," he commanded, but Simon bolted down the street before him.   By the time Henri reached the square, he saw a rather bemused guard being herded toward the smell of smoke, by a cat. Before he could call out, Simon darted down the lane, toward the source.   Soon, the alarm was raised, and neighbors started arriving in the courtyard, disheveled and unhappy, but alive. Henri could here snatches of conversation.   "Do we even have a cat?"   "..Found us just in time."   "It was that damn cat that woke me!"   Finally, Simon himself trotted out of the smoke, with a pleased little grin on his face.   A little boy saw him and yelled out, "It's the cat, hooray!"   "That's Simon," another boy corrected   "Three cheers for Simon," a grateful woman cried out.   Soon the square was full of cheering for the hero cat.   The story spread, as stories do, and the whole of the city was gossiping about the Alarm Cat, who saved a neighborhood. Simon found he was welcome wherever he went, and he used it to his advantage. He was always there to inspect new meat at the butcher's. The local fishermen knew to expect an inspection at least twice a week. The dairymaids knew to pay tribute with a dish of cream first thing in the morning. Henri's cat was no longer just his, Simon belonged to the neighborhood.   As he always did on Tuesdays, Henri was playing draughts in the square with the baker. Simon was supervising, to ensure fair play on all sides. The baker looked at the cat, chuckled and shook his head.   "If I were ever given a say in the mayorship, I'd give it to that cat!" he exclaimed.   The name stuck, as names do, and soon all of Auberris was calling him Mayor Simon. But Simon, himself, said nothing at all, and went on eating some very fine fish heads.   Now some say this happened during the Great Fire, others say it never happened at all. But last week, in the quiet hour before dawn, I swear I saw him, slipping through the fog, as if the story was still being written.