John R. Weguelian’s ‘Obsequies of an Egyptian Cat’
Obsequies of an Egyptian Cat, by John R. Weguelian, 1886
An Ekphrastic (based on art) Story by JKForward
Perched in the prow of the family felucca, I felt as elegant as I knew I looked, especially as I was wearing a new jewelled collar. Down the Nile we glided. Above us, the tall and narrow triangular sail was taut in the warm morning breeze; it would luff and flap as Man tacked back and forth across the wide river, doing his best to navigate around other craft large and small. On the shore, the great pyramids were blindingly white in their limestone coats, and the rising sun rivalled their golden caps.
We were wending our way towards Bubastis and the festival at the temple of Bastet, Cat Goddess of protection. The Family was excited and chattering noisily as they breakfasted on partridge-filled pastries, figs and grapes. My ears turned, keeping track of Toddler as she scrabbled about behind me, a rope around her waist in case she should fall overboard. Toddler tried in vain to capture my tail as I swept it back and forth, snake-like; our favourite game.
Woman approached and gently laid partridge meat before me, then collected Toddler to take her, complaining, to the stern and to leave me to eat in peace.
At last, the boat nosed into the reeds at the riverbank’s edge and Man and Boy jumped into the knee-deep water, splashing me where I balanced on a gunwale. They turned quickly, apologizing, and then slowly drew the boat in so it stopped smoothly on the silty river bottom. They bowed, standing aside for me to gracefully leap ashore. I stood still on the hot dry soil, tail twitching, my senses alert.
Toddler squealed behind me as Woman lowered her into the shallow water. She splashed towards me, almost hidden by the reeds, calling my name, “Cat!”
But I was distracted; a movement in the sun-bleached grass had caught my eye. I crouched, hiding behind the blades, my gaze intent. Only the tip of my tail twitched slightly. Toddler saw it and rushed forward. In that moment, Cobra rose from the grass, its hood flaring, a tail’s-length from the two of us. Woman screamed, Boy bent to pick up a stone, Man leapt forward. It was I who foiled the fangs meant for the child. And I died.
Today Toddler, Woman now, kneels before me where I stand erect on an altar at the Temple of Bastet, embalmed in honey and resin, wrapped crosswise in linens. The scent of incense and flowers mixes with the tones of reverence and thankfulness in her voice as she relates this oft-told Story of Me.
This story was a finalist in the Ekphrastic Review’s Cats Contest