Charlie The Kitten Who Saved A Life

CHAPTER NINE

Despite all my worries, I knew my priority now was, of course, to get hold of some food. I’m not a bad hunter, even though I do say so myself. Oliver here gave me lessons from my early kittenhood. But the scrubby little bush things near the café didn’t look very promising in terms of mice or shrews, and the only birds around were seagulls. I certainly wasn’t intending to mess with them after what I’d just witnessed. I sat down and washed myself again – always a good bet in times of uncertainty – and suddenly a voice behind me said:

‘Well, little puss, shall we see if we’ve got anything nice to reward you with?’

It was the female from the café, and before I knew it she’d picked me up and carried me inside with her.

‘What are you rewarding him for?’ the boy asked her as, to my delight, she proceeded to pour me out a big dish full of milk and started looking in the fridge for some scraps.

‘He came to let me know about that little girl, I’m sure of it. Told me there was an accident down on the beach, he did.’

‘Yeah, right, Auntie Stella!’ the boy laughed. ‘The amazing talking cat, is he?’

‘You can laugh,’ she said, giving me a stroke as she put down a second bowl, full of bits of lovely leftover fish. ‘But I’m telling you, if he could speak he would have been saying: Quick, it’s an emergency!’

Fancy that. At last, a human with a pretty good grasp of Cat! I’d have to converse with her a little more, just as soon as I’d finished this delicious meal. I was enjoying it so much, I was purring out loud while I ate, but I still couldn’t help hearing the conversation going on between the female, who seemed to be called Auntie Stella, and the boy.

‘Hope the little girl will be all right,’ she was saying. ‘That was a nasty cut on her head.’

‘I thought you said it was her finger?’ the boy said.

‘I knew you weren’t listening. I told you, she hit her head when she fell over. She was running away from the dratted seagulls because one of them bit her finger when it pinched a bit of her sandwich. Damn things are getting to be a real nuisance around here, if you ask me. There’ve been a few people lately who’ve been attacked like that on the beach.’

‘Poor kid, she must have been frightened. I don’t like their big beaks myself.’

‘No, well, you’re a big wuss, aren’t you,’ she said, laughing. ‘And yes, I do feel sorry for the girl of course, but you know, they were asking for trouble, running away from home like that – silly children. God only knows what might have happened to them, far worse things than a sore finger or even a bumped head.’

I stopped eating for a minute at this, and gave a little meow of agreement. Wasn’t this exactly why I’d been so worried about the girls myself? I agreed with Stella – it had been a relief, in a way, that they had to go to hospital rather than carry on with their mad running away idea. But it wasn’t until I’d finished my food, licked the bowl clean and started to wash myself that the reality of my situation came flooding back to me in a rush. I was lost and alone in a strange place, and although my poor Caroline was safe now, I had no idea how badly injured she might be or whether the hospital would be able to make her better. Or whether I’d even be able to get back to her again, to find out. Now that my urgent need for food and milk had been satisfied, these worries were suddenly so overwhelming to me that I didn’t know what to do, apart from pacing up and down and crying.

‘Poor little thing’s still hungry,’ said the boy, watching me.

‘I don’t think so, Robbie.’ The female bent down and picked me up, giving me a little stroke and looking at me carefully. ‘I’m sure he’s somebody’s missing pet, you know. But he’s not wearing a collar.’

No, I wasn’t. I never do. I know some of you are happy about wearing them, but personally I can’t stand the things. After I chewed my way out of the first two Julian bought me, my family gave up trying.

‘Tell you what,’ the boy said. ‘Shall I put a picture of him on Twitter?’

‘Bloody Twitter, leave off about it for God’s sake. You’re never off your bloomin’ phone doing your cheeps and whatnot when you’re supposed to be washing up.’

‘Tweets, Auntie Stella!’ he said, laughing. ‘Tweets, not cheeps.’ He held his phone up in front of me and pressed something on it. ‘Look this way, little cat,’ he called. ‘That’s it.’ He pressed again. ‘Good one. Right, I’ll just share this on Twitter – and on Instagram and WhatsApp, while I’m about it. I’ll say he’s a lost kitten—’

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, bloomin’ What’s Up,’ Stella grumbled. ‘How’s a picture of him on your phone supposed to help?’

‘Oh, Auntie, you’re, like, so old school,’ he said, laughing again. ‘The picture goes all over the world! Everyone who sees it can share it with other people and thousands of people will end up looking at him. Someone’s bound to recognise him. That’s how these things work, see?’

Needless to say, I didn’t understand what he meant, any more than Stella seemed to. Caroline had sometimes done that thing before, holding up her dad’s or Laura’s phone and saying she was taking a picture of me, but when she showed me the picture of a little cat on the phone later, I couldn’t understand why she thought it was me. It could have been any little tabby, surely.

‘Well, for someone so old school, as you put it,’ Stella was saying now, ‘at least I know the right thing to do with our little furry friend here. I’m going to take him to the vet up the road, and they can scan him with their scanner thing to find out whether he’s got an identity chip.’

If the boy responded to this, I wasn’t there to hear it. As you can probably imagine, as soon as I heard the word vet, I’d yowled in fright and jumped out of Stella’s arms. And by the time she’d finished her sentence I was on my way out of the door. Pity. I’d been enjoying her company up till then.

*

I started off running back past the beach huts and past the bench where I’d slept the previous night. Then the pathway ran out, and I plunged into an area of little soft sandy hills with tufts of horrible stiff grass, and spiteful prickly bushes growing on them. It was difficult to run, and I didn’t like the feel of the sand – I had to keep stopping and shaking my paws. Yes, it was a bit like when you walk on snow, Smudge, but it was hot instead of cold, and had a gritty feel to it. Sometimes I felt like I was going to sink. But I was too scared to turn back now, in case the Stella woman was coming after me to take me to the vet. It was slow going, and seemed to go on forever. Despite feeling a bit stronger thanks to my delicious meal, I was getting tired from the effort of running on such difficult ground. After a while, I obviously had to stop for a cat nap, so I hid myself behind one of the prickly bushes. I didn’t sleep too well – I had a very vivid dream where I was being attacked by a giant dog with big sharp teeth, and I woke up to find I’d inadvertently wriggled closer to the bush and got scratches on my head and my back. Yelping to myself miserably, I trudged on through the sand, without any idea where I was going. It was only by sheer luck that I caught a tiny little bird who’d been feeding from the prickly bushes. I’d never seen one like him before, and he was barely more than a mouthful by the time I’d dispensed with his feathers. But he kept me going for a little longer.

To my relief, soon after I’d finished my makeshift lunch I noticed a rough path leading up the cliff, away from the sea again. Treading gingerly through an overgrowth of the horrible spiky grass, I followed the path and found to my surprise that it came out on a road. Not only that, but I was pretty sure from my superior feline sense of direction that it was the road where the girls and I had started our journey away from Mudditon-on-Sea the previous night. I was heading home, and by following the coast it had taken me far less time than it took us to make the journey on the road! All I had to do was find the little lane that led to the holiday cottage, and I’d be safe, back with Julian and Laura and baby Jessica and … well, eventually Caroline and Grace, too, once they’d been rescued from the hospital place.

Oh, if only that had been true, my friends! I raced along the road and turned hopefully into the next little lane. I didn’t recognise it, but I was sure that at any moment I’d smell something familiar, preferably my own scent markings from the night before. No such luck. I went from one lane to another, and then into streets that were more built up, with big houses, shops, and lots of humans wandering about looking in the shop windows. I turned this corner and that corner, but it was no good. I was hopelessly lost.

Finally I turned down a narrow road that arrived back by the sea, but instead of the sandy beach thing I’d come to expect, this time there was just a pathway and a sheer drop down into the water. I backed away from the edge, terrified of falling in, as you can probably imagine, and stared at the sea. It wasn’t moving so much here. There were lots of little boats floating on the water – I knew what they were from pictures I’d seen on the television. They seemed to be tied up here to stop them from running away, and they were nudging each other in their sleep, some of them making a jangling noise like the bells on cats’ collars but much louder. There were humans around here too, some of them walking along the edge, others sitting on benches looking out to sea. There was a little café, with a picture of ice creams on a sign outside, and a pub – it looked very similar to the one where you live Oliver, in our village – with a roof made of that thatch stuff, and baskets of flowers hanging by the door.

‘It’s so pretty here, isn’t it,’ I heard a female human say to her male as they walked past. ‘I’m so glad we decided to come to Mudditon again this year.’

So I was right, I thought to myself. I’m back in Mudditon. But it seemed Mudditon was quite a big place, even bigger than Little Broomford, and just my luck, I was in the wrong part, with no idea where the right part was. There was nothing else for it but to find a warm little spot in the sun behind a wall, and have another little sleep. As always, cat logic decreed that I’d feel better afterwards, and even if I didn’t, it’d be easier to cope if I was well rested.

When I woke up, it was dark. I must have had a longer sleep than I intended. For a minute I couldn’t think where I was, or what had woken me up. I lifted my head and pricked up my ears. I could hear something, but more to the point, I could sense something – some kind of threat nearby. You’ll understand what I mean when I say I could feel it in my whiskers. Then the sound came again, and I was up on my paws at once, instantly alert. There was a strange cat somewhere close to me, and whoever it was, he was making the low, rumbling, growly noise in his chest that we all know means only one thing. He wasn’t best pleased to see me.

I waited, still and tense, only my eyes moving, checking all directions. I knew I had the disadvantage. I was a stranger, in someone else’s territory, and I still couldn’t see the other cat. If I ran, I’d only precipitate the attack. But when it came, it still took me by surprise. The skinny black cat jumped out of the shadows and went straight for my throat with his claws, forcing me to the ground.

‘OK, OK,’ I managed to squawk desperately as I wriggled on my back, trying to get free. ‘Sorry. I’ll clear off.’

But that didn’t seem to be enough for him. With his claws still into me, he rolled us both over so that his back paws were kicking me. At the same time he was trying to get a mouthful of my face to sink his teeth into. Obviously not a happy chap at all.

Now, I should say here that I hadn’t forgotten your lessons, Oliver, my mentor. I know you taught me that it’s always best to try to resolve a sticky situation like this by the most expedient means possible. By running away. Yes, you did explain that most sensible cats will drop the aggression if you retreat. After all, what’s the point in wasting energy? But I don’t think this guy had ever had the rules explained to him. He didn’t seem to like me at all. I was getting less and less keen on him by the minute, too. Fighting back was now my only option. For a few minutes we rolled over each other, teeth and claws out, screaming abuse at each other. It was the first time ever, you understand, that I’d been involved in a real, full-on, serious cat fight, and looking back I’m quite surprised at how my survival instinct took over. I did get myself free at one point, and managed to jump up on my paws again, arching my back at him, my fur up on end, hissing in his face, swiping at him with my paw. Take that, you skinny, stinky black Tom cat, you! And then it happened. Out of nowhere, there was another cat on my back, clawing me, biting me, and then another pounced from the other direction, wrestling me back onto the ground, swiping at my face. I tried to wriggle free but he’d got me in the eye, and I felt it swell up and close. Yet another body landed on top of me and I began to realise I was done for. Oh, I tried my best to fight back, my friends, I can assure you. I didn’t want to forfeit one of my lives at such a young age. But it was three cats, or four, or maybe more – I couldn’t tell anymore – versus one.

‘I submit!’ I cried, flattening my ears and trying to roll onto my side to prove it.

The biggest of the cats who’d joined in as reinforcements, a scrawny looking manky tortie with one ear missing and scars on his head, towered over me scornfully.

‘All right, boys,’ he said to the others, although his Cat accent was so strange, I had trouble understanding him. ‘Let’s leave the Cowardy Cat to wallow in his own pee, shall we? I don’t think we’ll see him around here again.’

With that they all slunk away, looking back over their shoulders once or twice to smirk at me.

I lay there for a moment panting, watching them out of my one good eye. I hurt all over, my heart was racing and I felt like crying for my lovely warm bed in my lovely comfortable home with my kind, gentle human companions. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was not going to lie here and die, and I wasn’t going to give those thugs the pleasure of seeing me behave like a terrified new-born kitten. I was not a Cowardy Cat! And I was not wallowing in pee! The cheek of that ugly great bony bruiser – I was a well brought up, decent, family pet who’d been taught to respect other cats’ territories and stay out of fights. I wasn’t going to stand for this! The physical abuse was bad enough but the insults simply could not be borne.

I struggled to my paws, gasping from the pain in one leg and shuddering at the dark stain of blood I’d left behind me on the ground. I felt a growl growing in the back of my throat as my anger and determination took hold of me. And crazy though it might have been – looking back, I guess it definitely was – I decided that perhaps it would be better, after all, to lose a life defending my honour against that gang of hoodlums, than to lose it lying broken and defeated on the ground. I took a couple of deep breaths – and hobbled after them.