In the far away island kingdoms, in the lands of three kings and eleven princes, there lived a woman with a beautiful voice. Though nobles would reputedly offer up fortunes in gold and jewels for her services, she would never accept more than a humble sum, and she could never be lured from her small home on its small street in the large city where she lived with her husband. She would train men and women to sing, she would put on her small performances, and for her own pleasure she kept birds who sang songs of her own composition. Many a time friends or clients and nobles would comment to her, “That’s great, miss Moly,” (her name was Moly, you see) until such a time as it simply became common practice to call her great miss Moly.

Now miss Moly had a kind heart and so, among other things, she always saw to it that a bowl of milk and a dish of scraps were left out for the many stray cats of the city. As they would all crowd around the back door of her small flat, she would set down the milk and scraps and say, “My thanks to you, cats, for keeping our streets safe and clean, and guarding the shadows where no one else will go.”

One evening, as she was returning to collect the empty bowl and dish, she found a great, gray tomcat still standing by the door, as if waiting for her. She bid him good even, and expressed her wish that he had enjoyed the repast. The cat seemed well pleased with this, and allowed itself to be petted behind the ears before leaving, as its fellows had. Well, this continued for some time, the gray cat waiting for his due every evening, and eventually great miss Moly started letting the cat into her home for a few minutes or a few hours of warmth by her stove, and would feed him an extra sweetmeat or two. The cat accepted this, as well, as if it were only what he was due, and thus miss Moly’s evenings passed in this way for some weeks.

All seemed well until an evening when one of her caged birds trilled its song, as she was feeding the gray tomcat. The cat was upon the wrought iron cage in a flash, and before miss Moly could draw a breath, he had taken the cage from its hook, struck open the door, and crushed the life out of the poor bird in his jaws. “Oh, you wicked cat!” said miss Moly. “I have fed you and sheltered you for many weeks, and in a thrice you have killed my bird for no reason at all. Why would you do such a thing?”

The cat, now cleaning his paws, seemed as if he would ignore miss Moly, as is the province of cats, but after a moment more he spoke. “My good lady, you have fed me, and you have sheltered me, and every evening you feed and praise my subjects for the good we do this city. You have no small measure of my favor and some of my gratitude, and so I will offer you this: If you think a caged bird ever sings to the kindness and praise of its captor, you are mistaken. But I see you are upset, and I will take my leave. Know only that you still have the favor of all cats and their ruler, and I may help you in your hour of need.”

With that, the gray cat leapt up and out of a window which miss Moly was sure she had locked.

Now, the reputation of the great miss Moly had spread well and far, including tales of her amazing talent in training even the birds to sing more beautifully than nature’s endowments. These praises came to the attention of a wicked prince, who heard the singing of one of miss Moly’s trained birds, and determined he would not be refused where others had been. Thus the prince sent his soldiers to the home of miss Moly, and because they were the soldiers of a prince, she had no other choice but to go with them.

She was brought before the prince, who said to her, “I have heard much of how you sing and train the birds, but I do not think the birds need to know how to sing any better than they already do. So I will judge for myself. My aviary has a thousand birds. If you can teach them songs more pleasing to the ear than what they now play, you shall be rewarded in gold. But fail, and I shall have your tongue cut out and your throat scalded.” And with that, miss Moly was taken from the throne room to the aviary, where the doors were barred and where countless birds flew about her, making their beautiful cacaphony. The prince was sure miss Moly would be unable to complete his task. Her life forfeit, she would be his thereafter.

Miss Moly slipped to the floor and wept with her head on her knees. Even the training of a single bird was a work of weeks or months. She had nearly abandoned hope when she heard the faintest of noises and looked up. Through her tears she saw the gray tomcat, calmly watching her, as if waiting for her to be done with her tears. “My good lady,” said the cat, “I see your hour of need is upon you.”

Thus miss Moly was not without all hope, but she wondered what a cat might to do help. The cat explained to miss Moly how all cats knew all the songs of birds, and how they caught their prey with such enticing melodies as that the birds could not resist. “Come, I will teach you these songs, and with all my subjects the birds will sing as one by morning.” With this pronouncement, hundreds of thousands of cats began streaming into the aviary, though miss Moly could not fathom from whence they came, as all windows and doors were well shut.

Through the night, after the cats rounded up every bird in the aviary, they stood amongst the birds and sung the secret songs of the cats, over and over again until the birds had no other thoughts in their heads, and returned the call of the cats perfectly. At first light, the cats took their leave, the ruler of cats accepting the praise and pets from miss Moly as no more than his due. When the sun reached its zenith, the door was unbarred and the wicked prince came into the aviary.

He looked about and listened and his countenance was well pleased. “You have done well, miss Moly, so let us return to my throne room and there you may claim your reward.” The prince led miss Moly out of the aviary, and in the throne room she found a chest of gold and jewels to the left, and a gilded chair to the right. “You are a marvel, miss Moly,” spoke the prince. “Even more than the tales were told. So I offer you this: you may have a reward of gold, or instead a place by my side in the palace, where your voice will be enshrined. Which would you?”

Now, miss Moly was tempted by the throne, but she remembered the words of the gray cat about caged birds, and thus she said, “I must humbly accept your gold and jewels, my prince, for to take a throne of my own would be most prideful and selfish, for I wish only to share my music.”

The prince grew furious, so certain had be been she would take the throne. “What is this? Do you dare to say that a mere trifling of gold and jewels is the equal of the whole palace? Do you dare to suggest that a paltry sum should be of greater value than my lineage? This insult to the three kingdoms and my family shall not stand. Guards, my sword. I shall put her to death by my own hand!”

The prince took up his sword and would have struck down miss Moly on the spot, but as he moved to do so, the gray cat leapt upon his head and tore out the wicked prince’s throat with a single swipe. And hundreds of cats followed, and the bore the prince down  to the ground, tearing his body to pieces and stripping from his bones all his flesh.

The cats carried the great miss Moly back to her home, bringing with them the treasures she had been promised, and none stood in their way. Miss Moly set free all her birds, and though she still taught men and women to sing, and still left milk and scraps for the cats of the city, she never again kept a songbird in a cage.