“Hi, Pouf!” Toulouse called to the squirrel. “Can’t talk now! Important kitten business!”
Berlioz, Toulouse, and Marie pursued the ball as it traveled across the street, around a corner, and into an alley. There, it bounced off a wall and flew back toward them.
Marie jumped for it but missed. Berlioz leapt next, but he missed, too, and landed on Marie. Toulouse made a final grab for the ball, but it escaped his paws as he fell onto the kitten pile.
“Ow!” they all yowled.
The ball was headed straight for a metal grate in the wall…when a tiny door in the grate opened! A rat scampered out. The kittens watched the ball sail through the door and disappear.
“Um…” Berlioz said. “What just happened?”
“Should we go after it?” Marie asked.
“Mama did say it was our job to be curious,” Toulouse replied.
The kittens inched toward the open door and, one by one, crept through.
They tumbled down a couple steps and landed landing in a dark space. Toulouse and Berlioz flattened their ears and puffed up their tails, but Marie just sniffed the air. Light glowed from around a corner.
“You go first,” Berlioz said to Toulouse.
Toulouse sprang forward, but then he froze, glancing back nervously at his siblings. “It’s not like I’m afraid, but I…um…”
“Oh. Meow. Gosh,” Marie said. “I’ll go first. Follow me.”
Slowly, stepping softly on their paws, the kittens slinked around the corner.
They gasped at what they saw.
An empty restaurant. More than empty. Old and abandoned, with dust everywhere. Some of the wooden tables and chairs were broken. Windows were cloudy from dirt, and a rickety piano stood against a far wall.
“Is this some old café?” Berlioz asked. He walked over to the piano and played some notes, but they rang out horribly off-key.
“I think so, but something’s not quite right,” Toulouse said. “What is it?”
Marie thought for a moment, her whiskers twitching, and then exclaimed: “It’s small! Everything’s our size!”
Toulouse’s face brightened as he bounded through the room. “You’re right! I bet you—pffft…pffft…Yuck, I just ran through a cobweb!”
Marie and Berlioz started laughing at their brother. But then:
“GRRR…WOOF!”
The kittens jumped, their fur standing on end.
“GRRR…WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!”
An angry French bulldog stood behind them, baring his teeth.
The kittens huddled together, flattening their ears.
The French bulldog growled again and took a step closer. He had light brown fur and a white chest.
“I’ve got this,” Toulouse whispered as he moved protectively in front of his littermates. He then arched his back and fluffed up his tail, trying to make himself look much, much bigger. “Mrrrow! Ffft-ffft-ffft-ffft. Go away and leave us alone!”
Toulouse held up a paw, showing his tiny claws, and swiped at the air.
The bulldog froze in his tracks. His eyes grew wide.
“He’s frightened!” Marie whispered to Berlioz. “Maybe Toulouse has actually gotten much scarier!”
The dog burst out laughing.
He laughed so hard he flopped onto the ground, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
Toulouse flattened his ears and tilted his head, looking confused. Marie took a deep breath and inched closer to the dog.
“What are you doing, Marie?” Berlioz called softly after her. “You could get hurt!”
Marie looked back at her brother and said, “Mama always tells us, ‘Good manners and kindness are always in fashion.’”
“Yeah,” Berlioz said, “but…I don’t think that bulldog cares about what’s in fashion.”
Marie kept approaching the dog, her whiskers quivering with fear. She’d almost reached him when he stopped laughing and suddenly sat up straight. She took a deep breath, gathered all her courage, and smiled her friendliest smile.
“G-good afternoon, monsieur. My n-n-name is Marie. Charmed to make your acquaintance.”
She held out a dainty paw.
The bulldog stared at the paw.
“Is it just me,” Berlioz whispered to his brother, “or does he look hungry?”
The bulldog sat up extra straight and…broke into a huge grin. He held out his own paw, touching it to Marie’s.
“Bonjour, Marie,” he said in a gruff but polite voice. “My name is Pierre.”
Marie looked over her shoulder at Berlioz and Toulouse. Her expression said, I told you so!
“I sure do hate it when she’s right,” Toulouse murmured.
“These are my brothers, Toulouse and Berlioz,” Marie told the bulldog. “I’m sure Toulouse is very sorry that he hissed and swatted at you like that. We were just frightened.”
“Oh, no harm done,” Pierre said. “I was scared, too. Apologies for all the barking and snarling. I often find rats here playing cards and eating the furniture, so that’s how I chase them away. When I got closer, I realized you were kittens!”
“Is this where you live?” Toulouse asked.
“Bah, no!” Pierre replied. “Perhaps you’ve seen the Luxembourg Brasserie restaurant across from the park? My humans are the owners. I live with them in the apartment right above.”
“We have seen the Luxembourg Brasserie!” Marie exclaimed. “Every time we walk by, our stepfather, Thomas, says those are his favorite smells in the whole world.”
“So what is this?” Toulouse asked. “Is it part of the restaurant?”
Pierre let out a sigh and started walking around the room. With his nose, he pushed a fallen chair back into place.
“This was a separate restaurant,” Pierre said softly. “Le Café des Creatures. Or as we all knew it, the Creature Café.”
“Humans,” Berlioz said, shaking his head. “Where do they come up with these names?”
“This wasn’t a human restaurant,” Pierre said with a knowing smile. “It was a restaurant for animals. All the animals of Paris, in fact! Whether you had fur or feathers or scales, if you had a tail or no tail…everyone was welcome. Even the rats—as long as they behaved themselves.”
Marie looked around at the broken chairs and tables and the old piano in the corner. “Oh, it must have been just super.”
Pierre sighed, then ran a paw along a dusty tabletop. “It really was. Always filled with music and delicious food and excellent company.”
“Well, now it’s a super mess,” Toulouse said.
“Toulouse!” Marie scolded, swatting her brother. “That’s rude!”
“Not rude at all,” Pierre said. “It is a mess. Bah! My dear friend Monsieur Midnight would be so sad to see his beautiful restaurant like this. He was the best feline chef in all of Paris, and he was always so proud of the café. My job was to bring him leftovers from the restaurant upstairs, and—voilà!—like magic, he would turn them into the most amazing dishes.”
“Where is Monsieur Midnight now?” Toulouse asked.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s living a fabulous life in America with his human,” Pierre replied. “Midnight’s human and my human are brothers, you see, and together they ran the restaurant upstairs. But the brothers had a big fight, and then Midnight and I had a fight over their fight. When his human left for New York City, Midnight went with him.”
Tears formed in Pierre’s eyes, and he dabbed at them with a paw.
“Oh, no,” Toulouse whispered to Marie and Berlioz. “I didn’t mean to make him so upset.”
“How can we cheer him up?” Marie asked.
“We could sing a song,” Berlioz suggested. “The one that always cheers up Mama when she’s feeling down.”