The Aristokittens #1 (Volume 1)

“Huh?” the waiter said, glancing down.

Marie moved like lightning to hide behind Pierre. The waiter couldn’t see her, so he shrugged and closed the front door, then walked away.

“Bah!” Pierre said. “That was a close one.”

“I guess sometimes being little is a good thing,” Marie added.

“Follow me. The restaurant kitchen is over there.”

It wasn’t long before Marie and Pierre were climbing down the restaurant’s back stairs to the old Creature Café. Each carried a basket filled with berries, nuts, cream, flour, butter, eggs, and more.

When Marie saw what the café looked like now, she almost dropped her basket. The floors were already sparkling clean!

Pouf sat on a windowsill, brushing his tail. “Did I do a good job? Did I? Yes? Yes?”

“Good?” Marie laughed. “Pouf, you did an amazing job! How can I ever thank you?”

“Three words: Acorn. Berry. Tart. Acorn berry tart! Remember that!”

As he dashed out the door to the alley, Marie shouted after him, “You got it!”

Toulouse and Berlioz returned, and there was no time to waste. Roquefort happily agreed to act as the customer for their tryout and would be there soon, along with some hungry mouse friends.

Marie popped a tray of cheddar walnut puffs into the oven. They didn’t look exactly like the ones she’d once cooked with Louis, but she hoped they tasted just as good. Berlioz rehearsed on the old piano while Toulouse worked on his mural. As Marie started to wash some old plates she’d found in the kitchen, Berlioz’s voice rang out through the café. He sang about scales and arpeggios.

“Urrrrr!” Marie grumbled. “It sounds like that piano hates the scales and arpeggios. We’re lucky Mama isn’t here.”

“Well, it’s not my fault,” Berlioz replied. “I tried to tune it, but it didn’t help.”

“Could you at least stop playing until we find someone to fix it? It’s really distracting!”

“Toulouse doesn’t seem distracted.” Berlioz pointed at their brother, who was scooping up green paint from a can with his paws.

“You know how he gets when he’s doing art,” Marie said. “He doesn’t pay attention to anything else.”

They both watched Toulouse for a moment. He smeared a blob of the green paint on the wall next to a blob of pink paint.

“Hey, Toulouse!” Berlioz said, moving closer. “What exactly are you painting, anyway? I thought you were going to make it look like a window with a view of the park.”

Toulouse glared at his brother. “Ahem, that is what I’m painting.”

“Really?” Marie asked. “Because it looks like you just splattered colors all over the place.”

“It’s modern art,” Toulouse said, “and it’s better than your music on that broken piano!”

The brothers scowled at each other as Marie looked over the rest of the wall. At the very top of the mural, big letters spelled out THE PAINT PALETTE PâTISSERIE.

“And what’s that?” Marie asked Toulouse, pointing to the letters.

“That’s what I think we should name the café. Do you like it?”

“But this isn’t a café about painting!” Berlioz protested. “Plus, I have a much better idea for the name: the Jazz-a-ma-tazz Pâtisserie.”

Marie and Toulouse exchanged glances.

“That’s too hard to say,” Marie said. “And we might want to play other music besides just jazz.”

“Let me guess,” Berlioz said. “You’ve come up with the perfect name.”

“Well…” Marie began, smiling. “This is a critter café, right? And the food will be tasty. So I was thinking we should name it the Tasty Tails Pâtisserie.”

“Ew,” Toulouse said. “It sounds like we’re baking tails into the food!”

The brothers laughed while Marie sat there, thinking. “Okay, that does sound a little strange. But you don’t have to tease me about it.”

Suddenly, Berlioz stopped giggling and sat up straight. “Hey, do you smell something burning?” he asked.

Marie sniffed the air. “My puffs!” she cried, darting into the kitchen.

When she opened the oven, a cloud of gray smoke billowed out. Marie removed the tray and dropped it on the counter. One of the puffs had caught fire! She blew on it like a birthday candle until the flame went out. But the other puffs were completely black and burnt on the bottom.

Marie sat down on the kitchen floor, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Maybe Pierre was right,” she said, sniffling. “Maybe it’s just too hard to run a café. Especially for us. We can’t do anything without ending up in a fight.”

Berlioz’s tail drooped, and Toulouse shuffled his paws against the floor. The brothers exchanged guilty looks. They both went to their sister.

Berlioz gave Marie a quick, comforting lick on her nose. “I’m sorry I made fun of your name idea.”

“And I’m sorry your puffs got burned,” Toulouse added, nuzzling her. “I’ll paint a better mural, and Berlioz will get that piano fixed. Won’t you, Berlioz?”

Berlioz nodded and said, “Don’t give up yet, Marie. I know we can make this happen.”

Marie wiped away her tears with one paw and looked at her brothers. “Hey, you both said sorry without Mama here to remind you. Maybe we can work as a team.”

“Maybe we just need some helping paws,” Toulouse suggested.

Marie suddenly sat up straight. “Yes, we do! And I know exactly who to ask!”