It is late evening, and the voices in the tavern are subdued, as the weight of battles fought and those yet to come seem a burden upon the minds of so many officers.
A Legere Lieutenant sits at a table, having forsaken his usual bottle of wine for a steaming pot of tea. Through the haze of pipe smoke he watches as a lithe and supple cat, a long gray haired variety, slinks along a wall, slipping effortlessly through table legs and the press of feet about them.
A smile breaks the previously somber countenance of the Lieutenant. The target of the cat has become obvious to him. Carefully pouring more hot tea for himself, he continues to observe the farce unfolding before him.
Across the way, the usual table of Germanic Brigade officers was full. They alone of all the rooms occupants appeared animated in the most lively of fashions. No doubt reminiscing of swords purloined from past foes, and seriously sizing up the enemy sabers yet to be gained. Fluttering about the men was a shrike, it's hooked bill accepting the occasional bit of seed offering from them.
Closer and closer crept the cat, keeping to the shadows. It drew low to the floor, and it's haunches began to quiver in anticipation of the pounce.
Just then a Russian Hussar, loudly drunk and upset at the apparent loss of considerable monies to a Belgian rake of a Chasseur, pushed back his chair and stood, shouting loudly about "No honor in cheating! I cannot lose!" and other such baleful wailings, added to which were the loud Meow! as the cat was leaping into the air, having been brushed by the Hussar's chair when it fell backwards, and it fairly flew towards the table of Germans.
The shrike was in it's turn flying now above the men, some of whom were covering their heads with hats or hands, others gazing in stupefaction at the cat now in their midst, scattering papers, glasses, and the like as it skidded across the table top.
One paw managed to snatch at the shrike's long tail causing a feather to float gracefully down through the air. Then, the cat was gone, vanishing back into the shadows before the Germans could think of aught else to do.
The Lieutenant chuckled to himself. From the flagon of milk he had for the tea, he poured some out in the cup saucer, and setting it on the floor carefully by his feet, he watched as the cat moved near to him.
"There, there," he said to it, as it came up sniffing and then began to lap at the milk. "One cannot always account for the actions of a Russian lost in the spirits, but," he spoke while stroking the cat's head, "Josephine, I'm sure you'll catch that bird yet." Looking over at the Germans who were returning to their conversations, as one was soothing the ruffled shrike, "Perhaps sooner than later. We shall see."
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