Think Before You Wish, or, Let Your Cat Be a Cat

Have you ever wished your cat could be someone else? First of all, why on earth would you wish for something like that? And second, you should be careful what you wish for, as the old widow in this US folk story found out the hard way.

Once upon a time, there was an old widow woman whose only companion in life was her faithful cat. Woman and cat spent hours every day in their comfortable chair near the fireplace, the woman reading and the cat curled on her lap, purring. They so enjoyed this spot that they often spent not only the day but also the night alternately reading and dozing before the fire.

And that is where they were late one night, the woman snoring contentedly as the final embers of the fire faded, when suddenly the cat stood up, arched his back, and hissed. The woman stirred herself awake and was startled to see a short but lithe figure standing between her and the fire.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, reaching for the cane she kept propped against her chair.

“Greetings! I am your elf,” said the figure.

The woman’s fingers brushed against the cane but only succeed in knocking it to the floor.

“Let me get that for you,” the figure offered, stepping closer.

“No! You stay where you are, you … you.… What did you say you are again?”

“An elf. I’m your personal wish elf, come to grant you three wishes. Whatever you want, just name it, Granny.”

The cat hissed. The woman laughed. “No such thing as elves,” she said.

“And yet here I am,” the elf replied quite reasonably. “Come on, just tell me your wishes, I’ll grant them, and we’ll both be happy. I’ll be that much closer to making my monthly wish quota, and you’ll get some stuff you want. What can it hurt to wish?”

At this point the woman realized she must be having a dream. This elf—or whatever it was—was right. What could it hurt to wish?

“All right,” she said. “First, I wish I were rich. And not just a little bit rich—I want to be filthy rich. Second, I wish I were young again, and beautiful. Third, I wish my cat here were a handsome young man. But not too young. Something Channing Tatum-ish. You got that?”

“Sure, Granny. Wealth, youth, pretty plaything. This is all standard stuff. You’ll have it when you wake in the morning. If you’re not completely satisfied, call 1-800—”

“Oh, get out already!”

With that, the elf vanished. Chuckling at the mere thought of a “personal wish elf,” the woman dozed off again.

The next morning, the woman woke to find herself in a luxurious bed in the most extravagantly furnished bedroom she could imagine. Seeing a mirror on the wall, she slipped out of bed—without any pain or creaking joints, she noticed—and hurried to look at herself. Her hair was once again long and blond, her wrinkles and age spots were gone, and—she smiled and then opened her mouth to be sure—yes, she had a full set of her own teeth! If all this had happened, then the cat …

She turned to see a shirtless Channing Tatum lounging on a chair, staring seductively at her.

“Darling!” she squealed and ran to him, squeezing herself into the chair with him.

He put his arms around her and kissed her passionately. It was perfect—everything she had wished for.

Then Channing said, “Now don’t you wish you’d never had me fixed?”

Adapted from the story “Three Wishes” in Frank de Caro’s The Folktale Cat (August House, 1992).

Illustration via Adobe Stock.

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