Charlie the Kitten Who Saved a Life

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Morning, everyone. I hope you’re all feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today? No? What’s up? Oh, you didn’t get much sleep, Smudge? Or you, Oliver? Nancy? None of you could get to sleep, could you … for worrying about the end of my story, wondering how I finally got brought home again? Well, I’m sorry, I must say. Imagine how I felt, wondering about it myself, night after night, curled up in that nook in the brick wall with Big snoring next to me. I might have gone a little bit feral myself in some ways, but I never quite got used to not having a soft, comfy bed to sleep in. So think yourselves lucky! I shall never take my good fortune for granted again, I can assure you.

One of the things that bothered me most during those long, uncomfortable nights, when I was often sleepless with homesickness and anxiety about the future, was that my family would be getting used to living without me. Caroline might have forgotten about me. What if they gave up on me, and got themselves a new cat to replace me? If they saw me now, would they even recognise me? I had no doubt I’d changed since I’d been living rough. Quite apart from the scars I’d got from that fight, and the slight limp I still had because of my leg wound, I could feel that I was thinner. I was probably unhealthy-looking from my peculiar diet, too, although my muscles felt harder and stronger. My fur was getting matted because, although I refused to neglect my personal hygiene, and I puzzled my new friends by insisting on washing myself thoroughly after every meal, I’d been used to having my coat cared for and brushed by my humans too. I guessed I’d be taunted and teased if I mentioned any concerns about my appearance, but I hated to think that I’d probably also got fleas by now. All the boys spent so much time scratching themselves, I had to accept it was inevitable, and started to regret all the times I’d fought against Julian and Laura when they’d been administering flea treatments to the back of my neck. We really should show more appreciation of how much our humans do for us, you know, but of course, we cats prefer to think we could manage without them. I’ve learnt my lesson the hard way. I always thought they needed us more than we need them, but in fact – I hate to say it, and you might not believe it – but the reverse is probably true.

Another thing I missed was playing. It probably sounds strange, but feral cats don’t play, not once they’ve grown out of their kittenhood, anyway. Their lives are too dangerous, too hard, and they have enough to do, trying to get food and keep safe from predators. Ah, don’t cry for them, Tabitha. They don’t know any different, remember. They’ve never had humans getting down on a nice soft carpet with them and rolling balls to them or tickling them, never had presents of toy mice filled with catnip … All right, I’m making you all upset now, I can see, so I’ll move on. But, you see, I missed it. I missed just having the freedom to leap around in the sunshine, chasing my tail or my shadow or some fluttery butterflies. After all, I was still only half grown. Now you know what I meant at the beginning of my story when I said I’d had to grow up fast.

Walking the streets day after day with one or more of the gang, trying to find the part of town where I’d been staying with my family, I was getting more and more dispirited. I knew I needed to find the holiday cottage before they moved back to Little Broomford, otherwise how on earth would I ever find them again? But I had no idea how much time had passed, and whether in fact they might have gone back already. Even if Caroline hadn’t forgotten about me, I hated to think of her missing me as much as I was missing her. And what if all the worries had proved true, about her being ill again? Or what if they hadn’t been able to make her head better at the hospital? I meowed to myself in distress at the thought of poor Caroline lying in bed, sick or in pain, without me there to cuddle up to her. Even if my family had left Mudditon now, I couldn’t give up searching for the cottage – it was my only link with them here. What else could I do?

‘I’m beginning to forget what my holiday home looked like,’ I admitted sadly one day to Big. ‘I’m not sure I’d know it now, if I saw it.’

‘Well, you know you’re welcome to stay with us permanently,’ he said. ‘You’ve fitted in really well. I’d never have thought it, when we first met. You’re almost one of us now.’

He was being kind, and I rubbed my face against his to show I appreciated it, but I don’t think he really meant it. I was doing my best, but I’d never quite be able to embrace their lifestyle. I was too fastidious, my accent still too genteel, and I couldn’t share their obsessive interest in female cats. And more to the point, however kind he was, and however much I could feel myself gradually changing, becoming more like my new friends and less like the little kitten I’d been before, staying with the feral cats permanently was obviously not what I wanted. I wanted to go home. I wanted my old life back. I just didn’t know how to make it happen.

But to pay them back for their friendship, I continued to act as their Human language translator, and I was able to report to them that there was a lot more talk around the town about our campaign against the seagulls. On one occasion, when I managed to sneak back to see my two human friends outside the café again, I found the one called Shirley reading a newspaper.

‘Look at this in the local paper, Jean,’ she said suddenly. ‘Wild cats chase seagulls off Mudditon beach. “They saved our toddler from attack” says local mum Claire, 32. “The feral cats are doing a good job. Let them stay!”’

‘You see?’ said Shirley. ‘I told you the cats were helpful in their way. Good for them. I’m glad people are taking notice. I never liked seeing those poor starving cats being persecuted.’

I’d been listening from behind the fence up till then, but now I decided it was time to join them again.

‘Talking of poor starving cats,’ said Jean when I trotted towards them, ‘here’s our little tabby friend again, Shirley.’

‘Ah, he seems to have adopted us!’ Shirley said as I rubbed against her legs, purring.

‘Yes. He certainly seems too friendly to be a feral.’

‘But he isn’t wearing a collar, Jean.’

I was only half listening at this point, as I’d found a little bit of cake that someone had dropped under the table, and was intent on gobbling it up.

‘Look at him eating those crumbs, though!’ Jean said. ‘He must be absolutely starving, poor thing. Is there any milk left in the jug?’

At the mention of milk, as you can imagine, I let out a huge meow and, throwing caution to the wind, jumped straight up onto Jean’s lap.

‘Oh!’ she said, making a surprised noise that turned into a laugh. ‘He must have smelt it!’

She was pouring milk from a little white jug into a saucer. I tried to get my head under her arm so that I could drink it, but she held me back, saying ‘Careful, little cat! You’ll spill it!’ and she put the saucer down on the ground instead.

‘There you go, boy,’ she said, as I jumped off her lap again and began gulping up the milk furiously.

‘Thank you, that was delicious,’ I meowed. ‘Have you got any more?’

But they both just watched me, laughing, as I washed my whiskers.

‘He’s so sweet,’ Shirley said. ‘I’m tempted to take him home with me, you know. He’s just crying out for some love and care.’

I froze on the spot. They were nice humans, and I was grateful for the milk, of course, but I didn’t like the sound of this. If they took me home, they might want to keep me. And then what? I’d never get back to Little Broomford or see Caroline again.

‘Goodbye,’ I said. ‘Thanks again.’ Well, I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. But I ran back to the yard where my friends were dozing in the sunshine, and lay down next to Big, feeling slightly ashamed now of my secret visits. It wasn’t fair that I’d had a lovely dish of milk and hadn’t been able to share it with them, but I knew they’d have been too afraid to trust Jean and Shirley.

I tried to make up for it by telling them later that I’d overheard some humans talking about the report in the newspaper while they were asleep. I emphasised the part about people calling for feral cats to be allowed to stay. This was all good news to my friends, of course. Not that they ever lost their distrust of humans in general, but they began to understand that not all of them were intent on hurting them or getting rid of them.

Everything started to change a couple of days later, because of a woman with a chocolate ice cream.

She was quite an elderly human, one of those whose fur have gone white and hobble along holding a stick in one paw. Why they don’t just give up and walk on four paws when they get too old to balance on two, I’ll never understand, but there it is. The boys and I were patrolling the seafront on the other side of the harbour this particular day. We’d already seen off a few seagulls, and had attracted the attention of a group of holiday humans who stood watching us, exclaiming and cheering us on. This old woman came tottering along with her stick, and in the other paw she had a chocolate ice cream, the type they eat out of a pointy biscuity thing, with a stick of chocolate poking out of it. My mouth watered as I watched her licking it, remembering how much Caroline loved those, and how she sometimes gave me the last bit to finish off. I wondered if I’d ever get to enjoy that kind of treat again.

Suddenly there was a shout from the crowd: ‘Watch out, love!’

A huge seagull had swooped down from a lamppost and was aiming straight for the woman, trying to grab her ice cream. Suddenly I had a flashback to the day I’d watched Caroline being attacked on the beach for her sandwiches. I pictured Caroline’s poor bleeding finger again, remembered how she’d fallen, and the noise she’d made when her head hit the rock. How she lay there, lifeless, for a minute, before opening her eyes and looking so ill. I let out a little mew of anguish. Where was my poor Caroline now? Perhaps she was still at the hospital – I had no idea what they did at these places, except what Oliver had told me about Caroline being in one when she was very ill before, and that they’d kept her there a long time, trying to make her better. Perhaps this time they hadn’t even been able to make her better – it was bad enough her seeming to be ill again, without having got so badly hurt that day on the beach. And it was all the fault of a nasty, spiteful seagull – just like this one who was going for the poor old female’s ice cream! Overcome with fury at seagulls in general, I didn’t even stop to consider whether the rest of the gang was behind me, or whether in fact they’d even noticed the poor old human’s desperate situation at all. I just charged forward, hissing and spitting for all I was worth.

Of course, the other boys quickly came after me, Big shouting at me for not staying with them. I like to think I got the gull pretty flustered on my own, jumping up at him and yowling my head off, but once I had the gang’s support he didn’t need telling anymore. He flapped away crossly without having nabbed the chocolate ice cream. The poor human had dropped it on the ground, though, as she stumbled, letting go of her stick, and she was only saved from falling over by a couple of young male humans who rushed to help her.

‘Well done, Charlie,’ Big said gruffly, as between us all we quickly licked up as much of the ice cream off the pavement as we could. No point in it going to waste and, as you know, humans are far too pernickety to eat off the ground. ‘But it was a bit daft, wasn’t it, not waiting for us? For the love of catnip, don’t you realise that gull could have had your eye out?’

I flinched. One eye was already still quite sore and swollen. The thought of the other one being pecked out by a seagull was enough to make me realise how lucky I’d been, and how foolhardy. I’d landed badly on my wounded leg too, with all that jumping up at the gull.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just felt so cross, I got carried away.’

‘It was bloody brave of you, young Charlie,’ said Black, coming to rub his face against mine. ‘I don’t think I’d have dared go for that gull on my own. Good for you.’

This was praise indeed, coming from Black. He was the most aggressive of the boys and I hadn’t forgotten that he’d been the first one to attack me, that day when I’d been alone and defenceless. Up till now I’d always believed he still looked down on me somewhat as a naive, posh little house kitten.

‘Thank you,’ I purred. ‘Thank you all,’ I added as the other boys joined in with the congratulations. I looked around at them all. My new friends. I finally felt completely accepted by them now. I should be able to confide in them, shouldn’t I – explain why I’d suddenly been able to behave so bravely. ‘It was because of Caroline, you see – my human kitten,’ I said. ‘I told you she got attacked by a seagull, didn’t I?’

‘So what?’ Stinky said.

‘Well, she hurt herself – badly. Her poor head was broken, and bleeding, and she might still be in hospital, and she might be very ill, everyone’s worried about her, and … and I miss her so much, she’s my favourite human in the whole world, and I just want to go home to her again and find out if she’s all right, and …’

I stopped. All the boys were staring at me. I realised I’d been making a terrible mewing noise at the back of my throat all through this long meow – that in fact I was probably sounding more like a pathetic baby kitten than a brave seagull-chaser.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But that was what made me so cross with that seagull.’

‘Well, at least something good came of it, then!’ Black said cheerfully.

They all turned away, and I tried to calm myself down again. It had been pointless, after all, trying to explain to them how I felt about Caroline. They’d never understand.

But just then, Big turned back again, breaking away from the others, and he came over to me and rubbed his face against mine. He didn’t say anything. He probably didn’t have a clue what to say, probably hadn’t even followed a single word of my meow. But he was showing he cared – and that, for now, was something. For now, it had to be enough. But after that day, I was even more determined I’d somehow find Caroline again, even if it took me the rest of my nine lives.