The Ball of the Cats

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(As remembered by someone who definitely wasn’t there and maybe dreamt it after too much cheese.)

Once, in the shimmering kingdom of Meowlinia—a land entirely ruled by cats who had overthrown their human overlords through passive resistance and overwhelming cuteness—there was a most mysterious annual event: The Grand Cat Ball.

Now, you may think this was a ball as in a spherical object, perhaps one rolled around for feline amusement. That’s what the pigeons say. But no—this was a ball as in gowns, chandeliers, and questionable waltzing.

Every year on the night of the second full moon of May, thousands of cats from across the Whiskered Realms would don their finest velvet cloaks, lace collars, and monocles (for flair more than function), and descend upon the Glimmerpaw Palace for an evening of utter nonsense.

But this particular year, something… went wrong.

First, there was Sir Mewford, the tuxedo cat from the Eastern Alleys. He claimed to have discovered the legendary Yarn of Eternity, a magical artifact that, once unraveled, would allow its holder to relive any nap from the past. Naturally, this caused a stir among the elder cats, who hadn’t had a good nap since the invention of vacuum cleaners.

Then Lady Snufflewhisker, a Persian with ambitions of sorcery, accidentally transformed the ballroom’s chandeliers into floating ghost-mice. This led to an hour-long frenzy that nearly tore the tapestry of Time itself (which was embroidered with scenes from ancient Catlantis, a city that both exists and doesn’t).

Amid the chaos, the royal harpist—a particularly fat tabby named Sir Pudding—revealed that he was actually a dog in disguise. The scandal.

And then, at the stroke of midnight, when the yarn was about to be unwound and the mice-ghosts exorcised, an enormous actual ball—yes, the round kind—came rolling into the hall. It was bright blue, covered in glitter, and humming with forbidden power. Some say it was sent by the Moon Cats of Saturn. Others believe it was just an overexcited toy gone rogue.

Whatever it was, it bounced once, twice, and then—poof!—the entire palace turned into a giant litterbox.

The next morning, no one could quite remember what had happened. The cats all agreed, unanimously and mysteriously, that there had been

no ball at all. Only a pleasant evening of fish canapés and polite conversation.

But sometimes, when the wind is just right, you can still hear the music playing… and see a single blue sparkle drifting through the air.

Moral of the story?

Never trust a harpist named Pudding.