The Killer Cat Runs Away

10

The Perfect Home

I spent the night in the tool shed. Then, in the morning, I set off to find a better home. I had a tiny thought that I might go back to Ellie. I was quite sure she would have realized her mistake by now, and be lying face down on her bed, sobbing her poor broken heart out and wailing my name to the heavens.

But as I strolled along the street, what should I see but a notice stuck on a lamppost.

And then another.

And another.

And more and more. All the same.

I stretched up to take a look. It was a ‘lost cat’ notice, with a photo of the roughest, toughest, sourest, grumpiest-looking moggie you’ve ever seen in your life.

I couldn’t help but think: Who’d want to have that thug back?

Then I peered a little closer.

It was me.

I took a long look down the street. Sure enough, far in the distance I could see Ellie’s mum, stopping at every lamppost to stick up yet another of her insulting posters.

The cheek of it! For one thing, I am not a ‘lost cat’. I am a cat who has moved on to better things! And for another, they’d picked the worst photo ever. Not my best side. I mean, I do not look like that! Not all the time, anyhow! Not every day. Sometimes – perhaps – if I am in a really fed-up mood. But hardly ever! Almost never!

No one would recognize me from that photo. No one. Not in a million years!

So I strolled on quite happily – though it was odd how many people I saw glance at the posters then bend down to try to pick me up. (I simply spat them off.)

And then I found what I was looking for.

The perfect home.

It had wide windowsills to lounge on. The garden was a jungle. (Good hunting there!) Some of the windows were unlatched. The wheelie-bin lid was off. And, best of all, there was a fish pond with sweet little goldfish darting about in it.

Oh, bliss! Oh, sheer and perfect bliss! If there’s one thing I love to do, it’s stretch out along the side of a fish pond in the sun and idly dip in a paw to try to—

No. No time to think about that now! I went to meet the owner. He was washing up. We had a conversation. It went like this:

Him: Hello, puss. Where did you spring from?

Me: Purr, purr. (I’m slinking round his legs to let him know I’m feeling peckish.)

Him: Hungry? Fancy some leftover fish?

Me: Purrrrrrrrrrrr!

Him (putting down a dish): There you go. Finish that lot and you’ll feel a whole lot better.

Me: Chomp, chomp, chomp.

I thought I was in heaven. I ate the fish. (A little too much dill, I thought. But, hey! not everyone’s a master chef.) I had a nap on one of his windowsills. When it got chilly I slipped back into the house through one of the unlatched windows, and when I felt like a snack at lunch time, I set off for the little pond.

Shame! He was out there, hanging out the washing.

Well, never mind. Fish fresh as that will keep. I took a turn round the side of the house and had a poke through the recycling bins.

Half a fish finger. Delish-lish. Just like the song. Yes, I’d found The Perfect Home.

Or so I thought. But then, at half-past three, my world caved in. There was a stampede up the garden path. A pack of carrot-topped hooligans, all shrieking and yelling.

‘Look! On the windowsill! A cat!’

‘Daddy’s got us a real pet! Not just those stupid goldfish, but a real live cat!’

‘Bagsy I cuddle it first.’

‘No! I’m the one who saw it, so I get first cuddle.’

‘Then me.’

‘Then me.’

‘Then me!’

‘Well, if I’m last, I want to be the one to take it in to school for the “My Wonderful Pet” show!’

Nice to be wanted, of course. But really, the noise was horrendous! While they were crowding round, I counted them. Five carrot-tops! Five horrid noisy children all reaching out to grab me. I tell you, it took a good bit of hissing and spitting to get off that windowsill.

Didn’t they change their tune then!

‘The horrid thing!’

‘It’s scratched me! Look! I’m actually bleeding!’

‘It must be wild.’

‘Who’d want to take that into school? I’d rather show everyone our lovely goldfish.’

‘We didn’t really want a new pet anyway.’

‘Well, we certainly didn’t want this one.’

A good thing too, because I wasn’t staying. The Perfect Home, indeed! I don’t think so.