Summary
Under a moon that drips like molten silver, two velvet-pawed felons—whiskers twitching to the syncopation of alley-cat jazz—scale the shadowed façade of a tenement where every cornice curls like a baroque mustache. Their target: not bullion, not gems, but a wheel of Parmigiano whose perfume drifts through cracked plaster like an aria of temptation. A bull-terrier constable—badge glinting like a fallen star—patrols below, his tail a metronome of civic virtue. Inside, the cats crack the Frigidaire cathedral; hinges squeal in ecclesiastical horror. The cheese, lunar in heft, is smuggled beneath trench-coat tails, but a single squeak betrays them. Pursuit erupts: cobblestones become piano keys, moonlight a strobe over Expressionist rooftops. Hauled into a courtroom whose oak reeks of mothballs and moral certitude, the thieves face a beak-nosed judge whose gavel is a guillotine for feline hubris. Equitable partition is decreed; yet the clerk—human appetite incarnate—carves clandestine slivers until only rind remains, a parable of scarcity etched in wax. The gavel falls; quarrel turns costly, cheese evaporates, and the cats exit with nothing save the sour epiphany that discord is the most exorbitant tariff of all.
Synopsis
Two burglar cats carry out a midnight job under the nose of a canine cop. They enter a flat and open the ice-box, from which they steal a large cheese. They are caught as they attempt to escape and brought before court, where the judge decides that the cheese should be divided equally. The court clerk, attracted by the aroma and his appetite, eats part of the cheese and passes around the remainder. The moral brought out by this cartoon is that it is expensive to quarrel.
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