COCKIE-LEEKIE AND THE WITCH KITTENS

Peter sat up in bed in the middle of the night. He had been awakened by two bumps on the floor, just beneath his window, followed by a scampering sound. Then there were two more bumps as two somethings jumped on his bed. Very bravely, Peter turned on the light. And there, sitting on his bed, by his feet were two pretty little kittens. One was black, with big, round, yellow eyes, and the other had a cream coloured coat with dark grey face, ears, paws and tail. Its eyes were of two colours. There was an outer rim of pale yellow surrounding a circle of pale blue. “Good evening,” said the black kitten. “I’m Blackberry and this is Lilac. We are witch kittens and we have come all the way to Northern Ireland to invite you to come back to Canada with us.”

“You’re witch kittens!” gasped Peter. “Then you must be bad!”
“Oh no,” said Blackberry, looking shocked. “We’re not nearly big enough to be bad. Besides you’re only bad if you do bad things on purpose. Nobody has ever told us what’s good and what’s bad, so if we ever do do bad things, it’s not our fault, is it?”
Lilac agreed, in a very heartfelt manner. “Then, if you’re not bad, why do you call yourselves witch kittens?” asked Peter. “Well, we’re magic, of course,” said Blackberry. “All cats are, if you give them half a chance. Besides, we belong to a witch.”
“Is she bad?” asked Peter. “I should say so!” said Lilac. Blackberry moved closer to Peter and whispered “Do you know what she did to Lilac? She caught her peeing on a leather hassock another witch had brought her from Africa. Lilac had been peeing on it for weeks, but the witch never saw her doing it. So of course Lilac thought that was what the hassock was for, and she went to do it in front of the witch. And the witch caught her such a smack! Now wasn’t that wicked?”

Peter was a little puzzled by this reasoning. “Is it wicked to smack cats?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed,” said Blackberry, “Cats should always be treated with the utmost respect, because they do a house an honour by living in it. That’s why those nasty dogs always bark at cats. They’re jealous, and they’re afraid that if they let a cat move in, it will take their place. In ancient Egypt, people who harmed cats were severely punished. Anyone who killed a cat was put to death. And when a cat went to sleep on the sleeve of the daughter of the Prophet Mohammed, when she was praying, she cut the sleeve off sooner than disturb the cat. That was in Arabia. Ask anyone who knows and they’ll tell you that what I’m saying is quite true.” And Lilac and Blackberry sat there looking very smug and pleased with themselves.

“Your witch doesn’t sound all that wicked to me,” said Peter. “Of course it’s wrong to smack such lovely kittens,” he added hastily, “But perhaps she was upset about the hassock.”
“Not so upset as I was,” said Lilac. “But I punished her until she was sorry.”
“How did you punish her?” asked Peter.
“I wouldn’t let her come near me,” said Lilac. “Every time she tried to stroke me, I just ran away from her until she realised what an awful thing she had done. Now I know she’s sorry, because she said so. So as a great favour I have been sleeping on her bed. But I still won’t let her stroke me. She has to be taught to behave.”
“That certainly is a very bad punishment,” said Peter gravely. “Maybe if I came with you, I could make peace between you. But how are you going to take me to Canada? You haven’t got wings.”
“Oh, we just borrowed the witch’s broomstick,” said Blackberry airily. “It’s all of plastic, not the good, old-fashioned broom of wood and twigs, but it does pretty well. Come on, we left it just outside the window.”
“But I can’t jump from the window,” said Peter. “I’d break my neck.”
“Don’t worry,” said Blackberry, “We’ll bring it up to you.”

The kittens jumped out of the window, and in an instant they were back with their broom, hovering level with the windowsill. Peter got on. “Now hold tight,” said Blackberry, “Because this thing goes very fast. We’ll be there in five minutes.” Peter held on tight and shut his eyes, and in five minutes they were at the front door of the witch’s house in Southern Ontario.
“How do we get in?” asked Peter. “The witch might be angry if a strange little boy rang her doorbell.”
“Oh, we don’t have to ring any doorbells,” said Lilac. “We’ll just glide through the doors and take you with us. Don’t worry, you’ll be invisible.” So through the front door they went, and then through an inner door, and they found themselves in the kitchen. The witch was standing over the stove, stirring an enormous pot and talking to herself. But she wasn’t saying anything about “eye of newt” or anything like that. Instead she was worrying about something called “cockie-leekie.”

“I got four packets of chicken thighs on special, because that was cheaper than a whole chicken,” she muttered, “But it looks as if that was too much. There’s hardly room for anything else in the water, even in my biggest pot. I’ll have to take the chicken thighs out before I put the other things in. Six leeks — I do hope that’s enough. Aunty Maidie said ‘a lot.’ Is six leeks a lot? Maybe I should have got a dozen. Six carrots — that should do, and it gets rid of all my carrots before they start growing whiskers. Two and a half onions — I thought of using three, but half of one of the onions was mouldy. Rice — how much? Let’s try a cup. Then the spices. Salt and pepper, of course. And I’ll add sweet basil, marjoram and oregano. That’s Italian, not Scottish, but I think it will improve the taste. So here we go!”

Then she turned and looked straight at Peter, “What’s an invisible little boy doing in my kitchen?” she asked. “Not to mention two invisible kittens. You’ve been playing with my broomstick again, haven’t you? You know I told you not to. You’re pretending you don’t hear, but I know it’s just put on. Now, do become visible, my dears, and we will be much more comfortable.”
Peter looked at the kittens and saw they were visible. He looked at his own hand and saw that was visible. He felt a bit awkward at being in a strange lady’s kitchen in his pyjamas, but she seemed kind enough.
“What’s your name, little boy?” asked the witch.
“Peter Jones.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Holywood, near Belfast.”
“You don’t have to tell me where it is. I know where it is quite well. My aunty Maidie lives there.”
“Who’s aunty Maidie?”
“A neighbour of yours. She sent me directions for making cockie-leekie, but I’m not sure I got it right. Do you know what cockie-leekie should be like?”
“No,” said Peter, “But if you gave me a taste, maybe I might.”

The witch ladled a plateful each out of the pot, and she and Peter sat down on either side of the kitchen table to taste it. But before they could begin, Blackberry and Lilac were on the table pushing their noses in the plates. “Those kittens think they own the place,” said the witch, putting a shutting-out spell on them. Peter had doubts about his role as a peacemaker, since it did seem that the kittens did pretty much as they liked. The witch really had quite a lot to put up with. So he turned his attention to the cockie-leekie.
“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the witch.
“Well,” said Peter thoughtfully, “It’s something between stew and soup, but it’s very good, whatever you call it.”
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” said the witch, “And I really don’t think this would be any better if I had put twice as many leeks in it.”

The witch put some of the cockie-leekie on a plate on the floor for the kittens and let them into the kitchen again. They sauntered past the plate disdainfully. Their feelings were hurt because they had not been allowed to share the human beings’ meal at the table.
“Those kittens are really full of themselves,” thought Peter.
“No, I won’t say anything about their being badly treated.”
“Blackberry and Lilac, are you going to take Peter home?” asked the witch. But they just sat down and started washing themselves, like ordinary kittens. "I can see I'll have to take you home myself," said the witch. "It won't take a minute. Now see you two kittens don't get into mischief while I'm gone." And in five minutes Peter was home, tucked up in bed.