The Killer Cat Runs Away

19

Reprise

OK, OK! So put on your crossest face and shake a finger at me. I scratched him. Very hard and deep. While he was busy going on and on about how fat I’d let myself become, and how I’d get an early heart attack if I did not slim down to what I’d been before, I sneaked my paw through the cage bars and raked my claws right round his wrist.

That was a laugh. He yelled his head off. ‘Yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww!’

He dropped the cage. That hurt. I bumped my head on the bars. So naturally I did exactly what you would have done.

Scratched him again. On the ankle.

This time he yelled even louder.

‘Yee-oww! Yee-oww! Yee-oww! Yee-oww! Yee-oww!’

And guess what happened next. He woke up Gregory the Parrot! Don’t blame me. How was it my fault Gregory got confused under his cover and just assumed he was at home again and we had started on a quick reprise of our wonderful Wild Cats’ Chorus?

So Gregory started up, singing all four parts, all at once.

Loudly. Very loudly. So loudly that some of the more unmusical people in the hall actually put down their juice and biscuits and clapped their hands over their ears. Beside me, the hamsters started burying their heads in their bedding, trying to block out the noise. The dog was whining and drooling all at the same time. Even the snake looked rather as if it was wincing.

I thought I might as well join in and sing along. After all, it is my favourite song.

And that’s when one or two of the audience appeared to crack, grabbing their coats to rush out. (I call that very rude.) Gregory kept up the singing. In fact, he was now showing off, singing eight parts at once. And that’s when even the people who had pets in the show began to block their ears with their fingers and rush towards the stage to snatch up their cages or boxes or fish bowl. There was a small commotion at the door because two people in the hallway were blocking everyone’s path, trying to slow up the people who were hurrying out long enough to hand them a flyer.

And one of them was Ellie! Yes! Ellie! I heard her calling as the crowd forced their way past. ‘Please!’ she kept saying. ‘Please take away with you one of these photos of my precious, lovely lost pet so you can call me if you find him.’

I didn’t even crane my neck to check it was my picture that was being handed out, and not a photo of some brand-new fluff-ball kitten she’d been given called Sugar-Pie or Pansy-Wansy. I simply trusted her and saw my chance, threw back my head and yowled even louder.

‘YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW. Yowwwwwl, yoWWWWL.’

Ellie knows that song! She’s heard it often enough on moonlit nights. In any case, she recognized my voice. Everyone else was running the other way, but suddenly Ellie was pushing against them, scattering flyers all over as she ran.

Straight towards me.

‘Tuffy! Oh, Tuffy! I’ve found you at last! Thank heavens!’

I purred at her like mad.

She reached for the latch to my cage, but before she could open it, Arif stopped sucking his hand and brought it down on hers. ‘Stop! Don’t let this cat out. He’s vicious.’

Ellie stared. ‘He is not vicious! I should know. He’s mine.’

Arif shook his head. ‘No, no. You’re wrong. Lots of cats look alike, and this one can’t be yours. He is called Pusskins and he’s on the way to have his shots before he goes to Spain.’

Ellie laid her hand on the cage. ‘No, he is not,’ she said. ‘He is called Tuffy and he’s had his shots already. And he belongs to me and he’s so clever he was singing his favourite song just so I’d recognize him.’

‘He’s not yours!’

‘Yes, he is. And I can prove it.’

Quick as a flash, she’d lifted the latch and swung the cage door open.

I’m not a cuddler, on the whole. But I wasn’t going to put my pride before a rescue. I didn’t muck about. I simply jumped straight into Ellie’s arms and purred and purred and rubbed and rubbed, and did all those soppy and embarrassing things some hungry cats do when they don’t have the guts to give you the cold blank stare that means, ‘Get on with it, then. Feed me.’

‘See?’ Ellie said. ‘Tuffy’s not vicious at all. He is a wonderful, gentle, clever pet. And you can’t have him.’

Arif was going to argue. But just at that moment Ellie’s mother panted up behind and said, ‘Yes! That is definitely our cat. And he was stolen over a week ago. We put up photos all over town. Ask anyone you like.’

Ellie squeezed me even tighter. ‘See?’ she told Arif. Then she slid off my fancy jewelled collar and dumped it on the table. ‘But you can keep the collar and the cage.’

I owed her one, and so for once I didn’t struggle. I just gave Arif the look that says, ‘And you and your friend the vet can both go and boil your heads!’

Then, after Ms Whippy admitted down the phone that she had practically kidnapped me only a few days before, Arif did give up arguing, and I let Ellie and her mum take turns in carrying me home in triumph.