The Cat Who Went Creole

Blaise Zabini, a short, slender man in his thirties, with olive skin, black curly hair and black eyes, in a rose velvet coat, was walking on the cobblestones of Bourbon Street, eighteenth-century houses on both sides, a restaurant or a grocery in every second of them. A lively crowd marched along the street - floats with people dressed in fancy costumes, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men, or Pan with his centaurs, and beside the floats people dressed as kings, queens, dukes and ladies-in-waiting, and also dancers, bands and clowns. The cat sitting on Blaise's right shoulder stared at the commotion wide-eyed.

Blaise smiled to the little slender red-gold tom with leopard spots, large ears, long whiskers and enormous green eyes.

'That's Mardi Gras for you, Macavity. It's a sight worth going to the New World for a weekend. New Orleans is worth it too, of course - the most French town in all the America.'

'Yaow!' Macavity said.

'Now let's go and buy one of the famous King Cakes,' Blaise said. 'I've never had one.'

He entered a small grocery and saw the King Cakes - the circles of braided Danish pastry iced with purple, green and gold - the colors of Mardi Gras. Blaise asked for one in French, and got it along with a smile and a Merry Mardi Gras.

Blaise then left the grocery and continued along the Bourbon Street. He looked around amiably, and suddenly he saw a little restaurant called Zabini's. Blaise looked attentively - the letters twinkled, though they were painted. Blaise darted resolutely across the street and into the restaurant. It turned to be a quaint place with a great fireplace, massive beams across the ceiling and wooden tables and chairs. Blaise took a free table near the fireplace. He saw a man coursing around the hall, rather portly but in other respects quite like what Blaise saw in his mirror each morning. Blaise waited till the man came to his table.

'How can I help you?' the man asked.

'Er, some New Orleans bouillabaisse, please,' Blaise said.

'By all means,' the man said and was about to leave, but Blaise added:

'I noticed that this place is called Zabini's. Is Zabini your name?'

'Why, yes,' the man answered.

'And do you by any chance hail from Corsica? From Ajaccio?'

'Yes, I do', the man said, puzzled.

'And was the founder of your line Ruggero Zabini?' Blaise asked.

'But certainly.'

'Then I come from the elder branch of the family that stayed in the Old World,' Blaise said. 'My name's Blaise Alcide Zabini. Here's my Apparating license.'

He fished out of his pocket a little card with his name and photo.

The man looked into a mirror on the wall and lit up.

'Gaston Zabini,' he said. 'Yolande, come here!'

A buxom witch answered his call.

'Yolande, here's Cousin Blaise from Europe!'

Blaise smiled engagingly.

'I came here for Mardi gras and saw a certain name on your establishment. Naturally, I went to enquire. This is my familiar Macavity.'

'Mrroaow,' Macavity said.

'On the house!' Gaston announced.

'Thank you,' Blaise smiled. Gaston brought the soup at once.

'What is your trade, Cousin Blaise?' Gaston asked.

'I'm teaching at Hogwarts. Care of the Magical Creatures,' Blaise said and caressed Macavity.

'It must be exciting!' Gaston said.

'It is.' Blaise smiled. 'Did you make this soup yourself, Cousin Gaston?'

'Yes,' Gaston said proudly.

'My congratulations, Gaston, you really know how to cook. I dabble at cooking myself, but this is a masterpiece. I've tasted bouillabaisse in Marseilles, but now I agree with Nero Wolfe that the New Orleans bouillabaisse is much better.'

'Thank you,' Gaston said and blushed. 'Who is Nero Wolfe?'

'A great detective and a great gourmet.' Blaise explained.

'Cousin Blaise, do you have where to stay?' Yolande asked.

'Sure, La Jolie Colombe, Chartres Street,' Blaise said.

'Stay with us, Cousin Blaise!' Gaston said. 'After all, you are our cousin from overseas!'

'I thought overseas is here.' Blaise smiled. 'But I agree.'

'Yaaow,' Macavity said dreamily.

'Yolande, show Cousin Blaise the guest room,' Gaston said.

'But yes.' Yolande smiled.

Yolande led Blaise upstairs. Macavity followed him, tail up. The guestroom was an old-fashioned bedroom, with a lot of frilled cushions on a motley quilted bedcover.

'Nice.' Blaise smiled. Macavity just jumped onto the bedcover and kneaded it.

'You went all Creole, didn't you Macavity?' Blaise said.

Yolande smiled:

'I'm glad the kitty likes it here.'

'And so do I.' Blaise smiled too.

'Splendid.' Yolande smiled broadly.

'Yes. This room - it's really Old American,' Blaise said.

'You're in New Orleans.' Yolande smiled.

'I feel it.' Blaise smiled.

They went downstairs. Blaise said:

'The room is excellent, cozy and quaint. Thank you, Gaston.'

'You're welcome, Cousin Blaise.' Gaston smiled.

'Now I'll go and look at some antique French cookware in Chartres Street,' Blaise said.

'Sure.' Gaston smiled.

So Blaise stepped out of Zabini's Restaurant, Macavity on his shoulder.

'Let's see what Chartres Street has in store for us, Macavity,' he said.

Chartres Street had a lot of antique shops. Blaise delved through them in rapture. Some time later he was the owner of a French enamelware canister set with letters written in blue Gothic script on white, some glass jars and a majolica basket.

'Like them?' Blaise smiled. 'They'll liven our rooms at Hogwarts, won't they? They'll be souvenirs of New Orleans.'

'Yaow!' Macavity agreed.

As they returned to Zabini's, Blaise went to leave his parcels on his bed. Then he heard the doorbell ring. Blaise went to look who it was. Macavity followed him. When he asked who it was, a male voice asked:

'You are Zabini?'

Macavity bristled up.

Blaise promptly said, 'Yes.'

'I want to speak to you,' the man said.

Blaise opened the door.

'Come in, please, and have some coffee,' Blaise said.

The stranger, a small, weakly man, followed him. Blaise guided him to his bedroom and conjured two cups of capuccino and a saucer of croissants. They sat down.

'Are you comfortable?' Blaise asked courteously

'Yes, thank you,' the man said.

Macavity sat near them, his ears laid back, his hair still bristled. Blaise said calmly:

'So, how can I help you?'

'Mr. Zabini, I am a fan of your culinary talents. I wanted to meet you long ago.'

'Is that so? I'm flattered,' Blaise said.

'Will you instruct me in the art of cooking?' the stranger asked.

'With greatest pleasure,' Blaise said.

The stranger began to ask him questions. Blaise answered leisurely, while keeping an eye on the stranger. Macavity twitched his tail. Blaise expatiated on cooking. In the course of the conversation the guest, carried away, even waved his hands over the cups. Blaise bent over his cup, inhaled the steam and said:

'Ah, what a delicious drink coffee is! Especially if it's capuccino.'

He reached to take his cup and upset it. The coffee now was all over the carpet.

'Ah, how clumsy I am! But my name means so much in Latin, so you mustn't be surprised.'

'Gaston doesn't sound Latin,' the guest said.

'Gaston? Have I ever said my name was Gaston?'

The guest's jaw dropped.

'No, my name is Blaise, Blaise Zabini, Gaston's cousin from the Old World. Professor Blaise Zabini from the Hogwarts School.' Blaise smiled.

The stranger leapt to his feet, but Macavity leapt to the man's shoulder and got his claws into his hair. The stranger screamed, and Blaise took out his wand and commanded, 'Petrificus Totalus!' The stranger dropped to the floor.

'If you were Gaston Zabini's fan, you should know him by sight,' Blaise lectured. 'And you should know more about cooking. Not to mention I noticed you slip some hemlock into my coffee...and Macavity really didn't like you, and he's a Kneazle!'

'YAOW!' Macavity said.