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The wedding was in three days. Just three.
“I had to swipe it from one of the shoemaker’s elves,” said Kitty Softpaws, clearly annoyed at the inconvenience she had been plagued with. She hid behind a large mirror. “The tailor said that he wasn’t expecting a cat for a customer.”
“I’m sure it looks beautiful,” said Puss in Boots, his tone genuine and curious, yet he still strived for a sense of seduction with his cadence.
Kitty rolled her eyes behind the mirror. “It’s really… poofy,” she decided was the right word.
“I’ll like it no matter what,” assured Puss with an enthusiastic laugh.
So, Kitty’s paw emerged nervously from behind the mirror, before she took one more big step to reveal her big and, indeed, very poofy wedding dress. “So..?” she asked, feeling a bit like a fool in a dress clearly not made for her.
“It’s just missing one thing,” replied Puss, standing up from his seat on a little wooden chest. He turned to open the box and pulled out a long, beautiful, shiny silk veil. He turned sharply back toward Kitty, and walked toward her with an almost cocky sense of confidence and pride, before gently placing the veil on her head, and brushing her whiskers aside. “There,” said Puss, “now it’s perfect.”
She stood for a moment in awe, staring at the veil. “Where did you get this?” she asked, finally looking back up at Puss.
“The itsy bitsy spider’s mother spun it for me after I saved him and his whole spider village from a flash flood,” Puss lied (without thinking twice).
Kitty crossed her arms and flashed Puss a look of disappointment. The itsy bitsy spider and his spider village were eaten by the frog prince almost six decades ago.
Puss laughed nervously, his shoulders and voice raised higher to acknowledge his mistake, and his face painted with a guilty grin. “I bought it with some of the money we stole last week.”
Kitty scoffed. “Thank you for your honesty,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t hold back a smile.
Kitty looked beautiful.
Puss was so thoughtful.
And yet he wondered—
And yet she wondered—
—if she wanted this.
—if he did it for her.
If he wanted this.
If he did it for himself .
They could both tell that something was wrong.
When Puss agreed to marry Kitty, it didn’t feel like a big deal. It felt like a heist or a quest. What Puss realized, only when buying Kitty’s veil, was that heists and quests are temporary. This would last for a lifetime. His relationship with Kitty had always been unorthodox. For two famous loners— two legendary outlaws— two cats— to be getting married, it felt almost comical. Unorthodox, just like Puss and Kitty as a pair, but comical nevertheless. And almost wrong . When Puss hesitantly handed the shopkeeper his payment and took the veil in his paw, he felt the smallest bit of static flow through the fur on his arm. He thought nothing of it. Puss in Boots cannot be afraid. And yet, he secretly asked himself, was he?
When Kitty proposed, Puss acted so melodramatically because he had wanted to. He wanted to make some big romantic gesture toward Kitty, but was never given the chance. At the time, she found it charming. It was one of the things she loved about him; he always wanted to impress her, bigger and better and more romantic than the last time. But now, looking back, Kitty wondered if it was all just to reassure himself of his status as a big time macho legend; a cat who would go down in history for his bravery, heroism, and seduction.
They made eye contact. Puss smiled, trying to give Kitty a sense of reassurance, though he was the one who really needed it. Kitty put on a fake face of content. Inside, she was panicked. They took each other's paws.
“Kitty—” Puss said in a low and quiet voice. He paused, searching for the right words to say.
Kitty finished his sentence for him. “I am glad that I have you to trust.”
Puss’ smile widened just a bit, and, for a moment, it was genuine. Kitty’s stress eased ever so slightly, too.
Still, though, they could both see clearly that something had changed between them. As they held hands in silence, their minds began to race once again. Puss felt a small wave of static flow across his body and through his fur. He tried his best to ignore it. Kitty felt her paws tense. Her claws would have ripped right through Puss’ skin if she had any claws to begin with.
They didn’t say another word before going home that afternoon.
———————
The wedding was in two minutes. Just two.
Puss stood on the hill outside of the church of Santa Coloma, his sword suddenly seeming a bit too dull, his hat suddenly seeming a bit too silly, and his boots suddenly seeming a bit too big.
He was late. Perhaps it was just the nerves that caused him to get ready a bit slower than he intended to. But of course it wasn’t nerves, he thought, Puss in Boots laughs in the face of fear. Puss in Boots embraces the unknown. This time though, as he looked upon the church, he wasn’t sure that he could. Something acted as a trillion pound weight, anchoring his boots firmly to the dirt beneath his feet, and he couldn’t take another step toward that church, or the guests and fans inside, or Kitty.
So, he admitted to himself, maybe he was just a bit nervous. But of course, that’s only natural. It wasn’t fear — Puss in Boots is feared , by all who have decided to get in his way, and loved by those who haven’t. Puss in Boots is not fear ful . And still, he thought about the other day. Usually, after a playful outing like he and Kitty had shared, they’d make sure to end it with a kiss, even if just a small one. But when Puss held Kitty’s hands the other day, he couldn’t kiss her. Her paws in his, mixed with the sense of distance in her expression, the quiver in her cadence, and the strange feeling lingering in the air all made Puss in Boots’ heartbeat quicker, and louder, and colder. Usually when he was with Kitty, his heartbeat was quicker, and louder, and warmer. So, he worried, something, the other day, was different. Something today was different. And, he began to fear, perhaps something would be different between him and Kitty for the rest of his life.
Now, thinking back on that freezing feeling the other day, Puss’ heartbeat grew quicker, and louder, and colder, and quicker, and louder, and colder, and quicker, and quicker, and quicker, and his pupils grew smaller, and his head began to spin, and his throat constricted until he couldn’t breathe, and an icy electric shock ran through his body and filled every inch of his fur with an unwavering static as it stood straight into the air.
The speed of his heartbeat and the confusing onslaught of emotions and sensations almost knocked the wind out of Puss. It was like he had been stabbed; he took a step backwards and began to breathe heavily, trying to regain his balance. His eyes watered as he looked toward the church and he blinked tightly to dispel the tears that had threatened to roll down his cheek. He turned away as quickly as he could. Puss in Boots doesn’t cry.
The wedding was one hour ago. One whole hour. Kitty stood in front of that same large mirror that she had with Puss only a few days prior, staring into her own eyes, unmoving, unable to smile. Every second that she spent staring at her reflection was another second spent full of doubt and worry and hatred. Hatred for that stupid dress. For that charming little church and the sunset outside which she couldn’t enjoy. For this whole day. For herself . Why did she have to doubt every good thing in her life?
She hadn’t moved since she had put the dress on. She had let the time tick by, and tick, and tick, and tick. She did notice, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. Eventually, she decided that it would be better for everyone involved if she just didn’t show in the first place. What a waste of a day, and, if she were to follow through with the marriage, what a waste of her own nine lives. Kitty wasn’t even sure that she could spend the rest of her life with Puss. What if she followed through and it all went terribly wrong? How could she spend nine lives with Puss while not even sure about this one?
Her nose began to itch, snapping her out of her daze as it reflexively twitched. She started to feel her surroundings again, looking at her paws on the cold, wooden floor and her body wrapped in that stupid, itchy, poofy dress. She looked back up toward the mirror. The dress was so big and ruffly and uncomfortable , and not at all her. Quite quickly, she grew angry. Kitty loathed that dress. She wanted it off of her, as quickly as possible. Not only that, Kitty wanted the dress out of her sight. She wanted it destroyed.
She began to tug on the dress where it constricted around her neck, trying to stretch it out, but as she let go it snapped back toward her. She couldn’t breathe. It tangled her fur underneath its scratchy fabric, and she wanted out. Her eyes began to water with rage as she tore and tore at different parts of the dress, but the firm stitching wouldn’t budge a bit, and the dress remained firmly intact. She tried to claw it apart, yelling and cursing with each failed swipe and with every time the fabric brushed against her soft fingers. She tackled herself to the ground, desperately trying to get the dress to tatter, but still, even as she pulled and tugged, nothing. She stopped, still sitting on the floor, and breathed heavily, exhausted, frustrated, and filled once again with hatred. For the dress. For herself. Kitty had finally given up. She looked at herself in the mirror, the dress still perfectly pristine, and began to cry.
She had let herself down.
She had let Puss down.
Why did she have to doubt every good thing in her life?
Kitty wiped her eyes and stood back up, taking the dress off carefully. She examined the ugly thing for a moment, and looked out the window toward the stars. Suddenly, her eyes lit up.
Outside was a lit street lamp. Kitty looked up and down between the light and the dress; once, twice, three times. She jumped with the dress toward the windowsill, and swung on the opening window pane toward the light, where she climbed toward the top, opened the small glass door, and, without hesitation, held the dress up toward the flame.
Her pupils shrunk and her eyes widened as she stared, unblinking, at the raging sparks in front of her, and off of her blue eyes reflected a bright orange, as the flame overtook the white lace of the dress, staining it black, and, eventually, turning it to ash, which was carried off by the wind into the darkening sky.
This did not ease the ache in Kitty’s heart. She stared at the twirling ash for another second, sighing in disappointment. Her gaze lingered on the sky, until she felt a gust of wind brush something against her shoulder. Her eyes shifted, leading her vision to the veil that trailed behind her. Her expression softened; filled with a bit of surprise, a bit of nostalgia and sadness, and even a bit thankfulness. She ran her paws along the soft silk, gently, before abruptly yanking the veil off of her head and feeding it to the fire. She shut the little glass door with the veil still inside, and slid down the lamppost. She could go for some nice warm leche.
As Kitty approached the bar, she heard a ruckus inside. Usually, this meant trouble; trouble which she’d ordinarily try to avoid. Today, though, was different. It had already been so strange, so a bit of adventure couldn’t hurt. Besides, she really wanted that leche. So, she peaked her head inside to get a lay of the land. Most of the noise came from a corner at the front of the bar where men huddled together, laughing with and applauding whoever was at the center. Kitty rolled her eyes. There was no real danger here, just a lot of irritation. She took a step though the door, before the voice from the center of the huddle stopped her dead in her tracks.
“And I said, ‘To hell with it! I live for myself!’”
It was Puss. He sounded fairly intoxicated, but nevertheless full of confidence with each word he spoke, which was only heightened by the applause and cheers. Kitty went stealth mode, racing further into the bar and hiding beneath a stool just close enough to the scene to see Puss. She squinted her eyes. Puss’ usual order here was multiple glasses of leche. Today, it was just hard liquor. Of course he came here instead of the church, Kitty thought, it was just like him. Before Kitty’s anger could consume her, however, it was interrupted with sadness. Maybe he didn’t show because she hadn’t. She had done something horrible. She had let him down. She had doubted the one good thing in her life. Kitty’s self pity was quickly interrupted by Puss’ words:
“I am a legend ! I am not tied down by— women or, or marriage, or any— any of that— stuff. So I didn’t even go !”
Kitty scoffed. It was just as she thought.
“I thought of her in that dress and thought to myself, ‘No, Puss! You do not go to that church! Puss in Boots rides alone!’ And I left feeling much happier than I did before.” He laughed, as the other men joined in. “More free!” he added, raising his glass. The men cheered.
“You did a good thing, Puss,” one agreed.
“Gracias, mi amigo,” replied Puss. “Legends—” his words slurred as he addressed his entire audience, “Legends do not answer to anything! Or any—body!” He raised his glass once again as the people around him cheered and laughed and agreed with what he had just said. Puss knew, though, that he was lying to himself. Nevertheless, he took another sip and grinned, joining in with the men and their cheers; that is what Kitty saw.
She angrily stormed out of the bar, but not before kicking a nearby table and sending its empty glasses toppling to the floor where they shattered into a thousand pieces, and its full glass into her hand, where she drank the entire thing in just a few big swallows. It wasn’t noticed above all of the commotion.
As the wood beneath her feet transitioned into dirt, Kitty noticed a classic Puss in Boots ‘P’ drawn in the sand off to the side of the bar’s entrance. She walked toward it to inspect it closer. This one was a little more crooked and sad than usual. “Legend,” Kitty scoffed when she noticed the jagged lines.
She drew her sword and contemplated for a moment how to properly vandalize the iconic symbol. She nodded with decision, before adding a few letters after the droopy P. The dirt now read “Pelagatos.”
She put her sword away and looked at her handiwork, full of contempt for the cat she had the misfortune of loving. She furrowed her brow. “You are nobody, Puss in Boots,” she whispered behind gritted fangs, before turning away, never to return to Santa Coloma again.