The King of the Cats

From Hollywood, the CBS radio workshop. The world's divided into two kinds of people. Aliener of phobes and aliener of fields. Cat haters and cat lovers. There's no in-between. The man is yet to be born who can take cats or leave them alone.

Either you love them or you hate them. I hate them. And even if you're a sweet old lady who lives all alone with thirteen pussies, I'm sure you won't think too ill of me when you hear what the King of the Cats did to me.

SCATCH OF BLACKFINE! The CBS Radio Workshop, dedicated to man's imagination, the Theatre of the Mind, presents The King of the Cats by Stephen Vincent Benet, adapted for radio and directed and produced in Hollywood by William N. Robson.

If I hadn't been so young, I suppose I could have taken it in stride. Of course, I didn't think I was young. I was two years out of Yale, and I thought I knew all the answers.

Certainly I knew I was in love. They say the most beautiful women in the world are Eurasian, and they're right. Vivranca's skin was like gold and velvet, her long straight hair, ebony, and the moonlight.

And her eyes, blue, is a field of larkspur, fathomless as the center of heaven. Her mother had been an American missionary. Her father, Siamese, and undoubtedly a prince, my Aunt Emily insisted. Ordinarily, Aunt Emily wouldn't have approved of Ivanka, but this was the year that the king and I was a sellout at the St. James Theatre, so a hostess who

could decorate her dinner table with a breathlessly beautiful Siamese princess was definitely a hostess with a moustess. At least Aunt Emily always addressed her as princess, and Vivronca always replied. My dear dear Princess, how sweet of you to drop in, and tell me how nice you would get away from the office early. Lemon or cream, Princess? Neither Mrs.