Sultan Maaj'noon had seven sons and a big cat, of all of whom he was
very proud.
Everything went well until one day the cat went and caught a calf. When
they told the sultan he said, "Well, the cat is mine, and the calf is
mine." So they said, "Oh, all right, master," and let the matter drop.
A few days later the cat caught a goat; and when they told the sultan
he said, "The cat is mine, and the goat is mine;" and so that settled
it again.
Two days more passed, and the cat caught a cow. They told the sultan,
and he shut them up with "My cat, and my cow."
After another two days the cat caught a donkey; same result.
Next it caught a horse; same result.
The next victim was a camel; and when they told the sultan he said:
"What's the matter with you folks? It was my cat, and my camel. I
believe you don't like my cat, and want it killed, bringing me tales
about it every day. Let it eat whatever it wants to."
In a very short time it caught a child, and then a full-grown man;
but each time the sultan remarked that both the cat and its victim
were his, and thought no more of it.
Meantime the cat grew bolder, and hung around a low, open place
near the town, pouncing on people going for water, or animals out at
pasture, and eating them.
At last some of the people plucked up courage; and, going to the
sultan, said: "How is this, master? As you are our sultan you are
our protector,--or ought to be,--yet you have allowed this cat to do
as it pleases, and now it lives just out of town there, and kills
everything living that goes that way, while at night it comes into
town and does the same thing. Now, what on earth are we to do?"
But Maajnoon only replied: "I really believe you hate my cat. I suppose
you want me to kill it; but I shall do no such thing. Everything it
eats is mine."
Of course the folks were astonished at this result of the interview,
and, as no one dared to kill the cat, they all had to remove from
the vicinity where it lived. But this did not mend matters, because,
when it found no one came that way, it shifted its quarters likewise.
So complaints continued to pour in, until at last Sultan Maajnoon
gave orders that if any one came to make accusations against the cat,
he was to be informed that the master could not be seen.
When things got so that people neither let their animals out nor went
out themselves, the cat went farther into the country, killing and
eating cattle, and fowls, and everything that came its way.
One day the sultan said to six of his sons, "I'm going to look at
the country to-day; come along with me."
The seventh son was considered too young to go around anywhere,
and was always left at home with the women folk, being called by his
brothers Mkaa'ah Jeecho'nee, which means Mr. Sit-in-the-kitchen.
Well, they went, and presently came to a thicket. The father was in
front and the six sons following him, when the cat jumped out and
killed three of the latter.
The attendants shouted, "The cat! the cat!" and the soldiers asked
permission to search for and kill it, which the sultan readily granted,
saying: "This is not a cat, it is a noon'dah. It has taken from me
my own sons."
Now, nobody had ever seen a noondah, but they all knew it was a
terrible beast that could kill and eat all other living things.
When the sultan began to bemoan the loss of his sons, some of those who
heard him said: "Ah, master, this noondah does not select his prey. He
doesn't say: 'This is my master's son, I'll leave him alone,' or,
'This is my master's wife, I won't eat her.' When we told you what
the cat had done, you always said it was your cat, and what it ate
was yours, and now it has killed your sons, and we don't believe it
would hesitate to eat even you."