Oliver The Cat Who Saved Christmas

CHAPTER NINE

All right, little kitten – do I really have to call you Kitty? – yes, I suppose it’s about time I told you what happened to me. You have to understand, I don’t find it easy to talk about. But perhaps it’ll be good for you to realise that not all little kittens have a nice start in life, like you have, with a kind family and plenty to eat right from the start, to say nothing of having a wise older friend like me to look after you and teach you the ways of the world.

So, where do I start? With my earliest memories, I suppose. I vaguely remember being nursed by my mother, but it’s only a dim, distant recollection of warmth and softness and lovely milkiness, lost to me so soon after I was born. I was one of five kittens, and my brothers and sisters were the first things I saw when my eyes started to open. My eyesight wasn’t very good at first – yours will have been the same – but I was aware of the others as we all clambered over each other, competing for our mother’s milk. Our little ears didn’t work at first either, but gradually I became aware of the sound of my mother purring as she groomed us, and the funny little squeaks my siblings made. Obviously we were too young to have any idea where we were, but it was dry and warm, and our bed was on some kind of rough material. There was nobody else in my little world at that time – just my mother, my two sisters and two brothers.

Then everything went badly wrong. One day, soon after my ears and eyes had started to work properly, we were all startled by a sudden loud noise, and a gust of cold fresh air. My mother jumped up, trying to hide us all under her body as we kittens scrambled around on the bed in fright. We were only just beginning to learn to walk and, I have to say, I was the best at it. I’d managed to stray off the bedding once or twice, but my legs were wobbly and I couldn’t wait to get back to my mother’s warmth. Now, though, I was cowering under her tummy, shaking with fear.

‘What the hell?’ someone shouted, and there were heavy footsteps coming towards us. ‘Bloody cat – how did you get in here? Bloody shed’s been locked up for weeks. Drat, should have fixed that damned window, might have known all the pesky strays in the neighbourhood would get in. Get out of it – go on, clear off, you manky old thing.’

He was looming over us now. I could feel my siblings shaking as hard as I was. My mother was hissing and spitting, her whole body taut, her tail suddenly twice its normal size. You have to remember I’d never seen a human before, and I had no idea what they were. But this one was big, loud, and very angry, and my mother was making him even angrier.

‘Get off me, you vicious brute,’ he shouted at her as she dug her claws and her teeth into his huge hairy front paws. ‘Ouch! Right, that’s it – I’m gonna get you in this sack and…’ There was a pause. His horrible red face and bulging eyes had come suddenly into focus. ‘Blimey,’ he exclaimed. ‘Bloody kittens too.’

By now we were all squeaking and mewing in distress. Our mother was trying frantically to hide us, but he made a grab for us, one at a time, by our tails, our necks, whatever he could get hold of as we tried desperately to crawl out of his reach.

‘You horrible little vermin can go in the sack first,’ he said, and he pulled our bedding out from under us all, shook it so that it opened into a kind of big bag, and started dropping us in it, one by one. All the time our mother was shrieking at him and attacking him with her claws, until he threw her onto the floor and held her down with one of his huge great back paws. I was the last kitten to be dropped into the sack, and as he grabbed me by the neck I was just in time to see him kick my poor mother so hard, she wailed in pain and shot of the shed door. I can’t tell you how hard I cried as I fell down into the darkness of that sack and joined my siblings in a heap at the bottom.

‘Come back ’ere, you,’ the human was shouting after my mother. I heard him run out of the shed, still shouting, but he was soon back, muttering about catching her next time he saw her. ‘Meanwhile, let’s get rid of this bag of vermin,’ he said, and the next thing we knew, we were being lifted up in the air and swung along, falling over each other and squeaking with fear.

I can see I’ve upset you already, little kitten, and you haven’t heard it all yet. Are you sure you want me to go on? I did warn you it wasn’t a nice story. You’re not going to have nightmares, are you? Look, I can promise you there’s a happy ending. If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you now, curled up nice and cosy on this cushion together with the sunshine coming through the window, would I? But yes, you’re quite right, that was the last time I ever saw my mother. Well, we all have to leave our mothers, as you know, but I was still too young, and of course, the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. But since I’ve grown up, I’ve always told myself I’m glad she got away from that horrible man. I know she wouldn’t have left us if she’d had any choice in the matter.

Well, there we all were in that dark sack and, of course, I don’t actually know how long we were in it, or where we were taken, but when we felt ourselves being dumped on the ground, we all started crying as loudly as we could – which wasn’t very loud – to be let out. For a long, long time we heard nothing outside the sack apart from birds singing. We were all hungry, and thirsty, and beginning to get weak. I had an instinctive feeling that we needed to keep still to conserve our energy, but my two brothers didn’t seem to understand this, and kept jumping around, looking for a way out. There wasn’t one, of course – the sack was tied up at the top – and they were just making themselves more and more tired and thirsty. It was hard to breathe, and the two girl kittens were both starting to struggle. Eventually we did all have to lie down quietly because we were too weak to do anything else, even to cry.

We lay there for a long time, maybe hours, maybe days, listening to each other’s shallow breathing getting fainter. And then there was a sound outside – a loud sniffing sound – and the sack was being nudged backwards and forwards. By now I was almost too weak and sick to care what happened, but suddenly a new human voice was calling out:

‘What have you got there, Rupert? Leave it alone, boy. Here! Sit! Stay!’

And then there was light, so sudden and so bright, I had to close my eyes, only for them to fly open again with fright at the terrible noise that came next. Have you met any dogs yet, little kitten? Believe me, you need to give them a wide berth. Some of them are quite friendly to cats, others are complete psychopaths who would kill us as soon as look at us. But the main problem with them is, they’re loud and excitable. Their humans have to tie them onto long straps just to keep them under control, and if they’re unstrapped, they go berserk, running around in circles, shouting their heads off, chasing anything that moves, even though they never seem to catch anything. Well, this was my first introduction to a dog, and it was terrifying. The minute his human had opened our sack, this dog got his nose right inside it and let out a cacophony of horrendous shouting. The human was shouting too, telling him to shut up and sit down, and eventually the dog’s face was replaced in the opening of the sack by the human’s face. After my experience with the first human I’d ever met, you can imagine how I felt about seeing another one – and this one’s voice was just as loud as the first.

‘Kittens!’ he yelled, staring down at us. I tried to give a little cry of fear, but nothing would come out, and I wasn’t the only one – none of my siblings seemed to be able to raise a squeak, either. ‘Half dead by the look of ’em. Poor little beggars. Who the hell would dump a bag of kittens in the middle of a field like that? Criminal, that’s what it is. Well, I’d better take ’em somewhere, though I reckon it’s probably too late to save ’em. Come on, Rupert – let’s go, boy. Back to the car. You’ll have to have your walk later.’

With that, we were hoisted up in the air again and I was tumbling on top of my poor sisters and brothers, all of us too weak to care. I was barely conscious as I felt the sack being put down again. But a few minutes later, there was an even louder noise, if possible, than the din the dog was still making, and I lay there quaking and shivering, sure it must be the end of the world. I’ve since worked out that we were in a car, and the noise – I’ve heard it lots of times since, of course – was the car waking up. They roar at the top of their lungs at first, and then settle down to a kind of loud purr as they run along. It’s horrible being inside one, at the best of times – you can feel the vibrations of their tummies rumbling, and they make all sorts of horrible noises, stopping and starting and sometimes screeching. George plays music inside his car now if he has to take me out in it, and that helps a bit. But I shudder to think how scared I must have been back then, in the blackness of that sack, with no idea what was going on. It’s probably a good thing my memories of that part are quite dim now.

In fact I don’t remember anything else until I found myself being lifted out of the sack. I could hear the human who owned the dog, still talking, and another voice, higher and softer, but my brain couldn’t interpret what they were saying any more. As you know, we cats are born bilingual, able to understand Human as well as Cat, but apparently no humans have ever realised this because, of course, we can’t speak it. Didn’t you know that, little kitten? Didn’t you ever wonder why they don’t get annoyed when we completely ignore them? They’ve come to expect it, so it can be quite useful – we cats don’t have to do as we’re told, like they expect dogs to.

But by now, I think my brain had almost given up working. I didn’t like the high-voiced human picking me up, but she was a lot gentler than the horrible man in the shed. Her voice was comforting compared with the loud booming of the male and the shouting of the dog that was still going on. She gently felt me all over, and the next thing I knew she was dripping milk into my mouth from a little tube. It was heaven. I gasped and almost choked on it, I was so desperate to drink. And then I must have fallen asleep.

Well, the next thing I remember was waking up in a kind of cage, and I was all on my own. I tried to cry, and this time I managed a few pitiful little whimpers. The female human immediately came along and, to my relief, my brain was working again enough to understand her.

‘Ah, this one’s awake,’ she said. ‘Hello, little one. Are you feeling better?’ She opened the cage and picked me up again. I struggled a bit, but when I saw she had the little tube thing in her hand and was going to give me some more milk, I relaxed. ‘That’s it, puss,’ she purred at me gently. ‘Drink up, you need all the nourishment you can get. I think this one’s going to make it,’ she called to another female standing behind her. And then she laughed. ‘He’s looking for more. That’s a really good sign – he’s nuzzling me for more milk. I think we’ll have to call him Oliver. The boy who asked for more!’

And they both laughed, and although I didn’t understand the joke, and although I was really too tired to care what they called me, I must admit I thought it was a very fine name.

I must have spent a long while like that, drifting in and out of sleep, being fed milk whenever I woke up, gradually feeling stronger and eventually managing to get up on my little legs again. When I was finally able to scamper around like a proper kitten, I was allowed out of my cage for short periods to run up and down the room. I still had no idea where I was, but I knew I was being looked after. Several of my baby teeth had come through, and as well as the milk, I was being given tiny mouthfuls of meat to try now. Because I knew how it felt to be starving, I promised myself I’d never refuse anything I was offered.

Day by day, I felt myself growing bigger and fitter. Just as I was getting used to my new routine, I was moved to a different cage. This one was bigger, with room to run around and with my own comfy bed and toilet facilities. The female human had taught me to use a litter box. She’d looked very sad as she told me this was something my mother would have taught me if I hadn’t been separated from her. The thought of my mother made me cry, and then I started wondering about my brothers and sisters. I hadn’t seen them since I’d been taken out of the sack. I wished I could find them and play with them, but nobody ever mentioned them. I still don’t know, to this day, what happened to them. But … I think I can guess. I’m not even sure whether the thing about us having nine lives is true, anyway.

Ah, sorry, little kitten. Don’t cry. Come on, we’re just coming to the nice part of the story. It gets more cheerful now. I’ll cut to the end. One day, when I woke up in my little bed, there was a new, strange, male human looking at me through the bars of my cage.

‘Hello, little Oliver,’ he said. I instantly shrunk back against the edge of the bed, my fur standing on end, and gave a little growl. Male humans were bad news. To be fair, this one was keeping his voice quieter and softer than the others, and his face looked smiley, but how could I trust him?

‘Would you like me to get him out for you?’ my friend, the female, asked him.

‘Yes, please.’

‘He’s had a very traumatic start,’ she said quietly as she unlatched my cage. ‘Abandoned before he was weaned – probably at about three weeks or so. We didn’t expect him to make it, but he’s done really well and he’s ready for his first vaccinations now.’

I struggled as she picked me up. I didn’t want the male to get me.

‘It’s all right, Oliver,’ she said. ‘Don’t be frightened. He’s a bit nervous of new people,’ she explained. ‘We think he was probably mistreated before he was dumped.’

‘Poor little fellow,’ the new human said. ‘He’s such a beautiful little thing, too.’ He seemed so different from the other males, with their loud shouting, and especially that first one with his big rough paws. He gave me a little stroke and although I flinched a bit, it was actually quite nice. ‘Would you like to come and live with me, Oliver? I promise you’ll never be mistreated again. We’ll be best mates, you and me. We’re both lonely boys who need a pal, aren’t we?’

And despite myself, I found myself purring. It would take me a little while to trust him completely, and when he moved me to my new home he let me live quietly upstairs in his private rooms until I was brave enough to face the customers downstairs. But from our first day together, when he sat me carefully on his lap and told me how his own female had died and left him all alone in the world, and that he’d gone to the Cats’ Protection home to find himself someone to keep him company, I knew that what he said was right. We were best mates, destined to spend our lives together and look after each other.

That, little kitten, was how I met my George.