To Be A Cat

The Jump

NOISES.

His mother taking an item of cutlery from a kitchen drawer. Something he wouldn’t normally have been able to hear from up here. Now it was as sharp as if he was in the room with her.

She was feeding Guster. He heard the spoon tap three times against the ceramic bowl, shaking off the dog food.

Mum! Barney shouted. Except he didn’t, obviously, as his mouth didn’t work any more. It was a cat’s mouth, dry, which could conjure nothing more than the feeblest miaow.

Then his whiskers curled (cat-magic trick number six, as you’ll remember) and tingled with the knowledge of imminent danger; a danger that soon made every one of the hundred thousand new hairs on his body stand on end.

Guster.

Within five seconds of the food reaching his bowl Guster would have gobbled his breakfast. Then he would do one of two things. Either he’d fall asleep in his basket or – most likely – he’d trot quickly into the bedroom to lick Barney’s face. Only today he wouldn’t be able to find Barney’s face. He’d find a cat’s face. And Barney knew that Guster was to cats what an oven was to ice cream.

A memory flashed in his mind: Guster chasing after a Siamese cat in the park. The cat had disappeared out of view before Guster got the chance to do anything, but that was only because it had been a super-fast cat, disappearing as if by magic in a second or two.

At the time, as Barney had jogged after Guster, it had seemed quite amusing. But now he was the cat he couldn’t see the funny side.

He looked down at the carpet.

Jump. You have to jump.

If you don’t get out of here, Guster will kill you.

And there it was.

The rising, deadly thunder as the spaniel galloped up the stairs.

Jump! Barney told himself one last time.

He closed his eyes. Saw his dad’s face at the side of a swimming pool, long ago, encouraging Barney to jump from the diving board. You can do it, Barney. He heard the pounding of heavy paws against carpet as the potential cat-killer ran up the stairs.

You have to do this. On three.

One, two—

In the self-imposed darkness Barney dropped down into the air, smooth as water pouring from a glass.

But he landed hard and heavy, his peculiar new head hitting the carpet. Things blurred, then sharpened back into shape. No time to think. Guster was upstairs now, his panting breath getting closer.

Barney ran. He didn’t know how, being so rearranged, but he managed it quite easily. Hid in the corner of the room, nothing but his fear for company, while Guster nudged the giant door open with his nose.

The door swung back giving Barney something to hide behind as he tried to ignore the voice of his own doubts, telling him he was about to die.

Guster jumped on the bed, sniffing traces of boy, traces of cat, traces of whatever was in between. Then, creating what felt to Barney like a brief earthquake, he jumped off the bed.

This is not happening, Barney told himself. I am not a cat. I am a human being. I am a boy. A twelve-year-old boy. Everything will be—

A wet canine nose peered round the door; two black nostrils, like eyes on a monstrous face. The nose waited a moment, working something out. And then the nose nudged the door backwards, and suddenly Guster’s whole face was there, with its caramel-brown and white fur and bright eyes, high above Barney. He seemed ten times bigger than normal. A King Charles monster.

Then the most incredible thing of all. A voice. A pompous, almost regal voice came from Guster. ‘Oh my goodness! One is simply lost for words! A horrible feline. In my house. My house!’

‘No, it’s me,’ Barney tried, and realized he was understood – by Guster, at least. ‘It’s Barney. Guster, honestly, you have to believe me. I don’t know what’s going on. I just … in the night something must have …’

‘What are you doing here? What is your intention? Speak! Speak, I beseech you!’

There was a demented madness in Guster’s eyes. He looked capable of anything.

‘It’s me!’

‘Confine your tongue!’ Guster barked crossly. ‘Do you know who you’re talking to? I am a King Charles spaniel. My ancestors were there to witness the restoration of the King of England. They helped make this country what it is today. And, like all my noble breed, I have a strong set of principles that I live by religiously. Of the utmost importance is this – never let an uninvited feline into your house. If such a thing should happen, one has no choice but to kill said feline. So, you furry vagabond, I suggest you prepare to die.’

‘Oh, Guster, what on earth is the matter? Stop barking!’ This was Barney’s mother, calling from downstairs. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

Mum! Barney tried to shout. Mum! Mum!

Three pathetic miaows, not even worthy of speech marks.

Guster growled, showed teeth. Teeth he planned to use.

‘Guster, listen,’ Barney said, and was thankful at least that Guster could hear him. ‘It’s me – Barney. Ask me anything you want. Something only I would know and—’

The dog moved closer, gnashing his jaws. Barney backed into the wall. Normally, as a human, nothing in the world can look as cute and innocent as a King Charles spaniel. But Barney was now seeing things from a whole new angle.

‘You treacherous, lowly moggy!’

‘Guster! Honestly, I’m Barney. It was my birthday yesterday. My dad is missing, presumed dead. My dad – you know, the one who chose you from that rescue centre.’

Guster seemed suddenly furious at the mention of this. ‘Rescue centre? What a blot on my honour. How dare you? I must tell you again – I am a King Charles spaniel. My ancestors lived in the royal court of King Charles the Second, enjoying such privileges as no dog has ever known. Rescue centre! What an insult.’

Barney didn’t know what else to say. ‘But it’s true. Your last owners, they didn’t want you any more. So we saved you. Dad saved you.’

Guster paused. He seemed to be thinking about something. For a moment Barney thought his words might have got through. That he might have found an ally in Guster. But no.

‘Liar-gggh!’ Guster growled.

And then his jaws opened and came speeding towards Barney’s new head.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to—

Barney closed his eyes and waited for his head to be bitten off, but it didn’t happen.

Giant teeth were only a thin whisker from Barney when suddenly the dog was yanked high away. Mrs Willow had grabbed him by the collar just in time, saving Barney’s life.

Barney opened his eyes to see a giant lady towering above him.

And his mum saw him. Except she didn’t know who she was seeing, of course.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘A cat! Barney, could you please tell me what a cat is doing in your room? Barney? Barney …? Barney?’

She was looking at the empty bed, wondering where her son was. Barney could see the worry in her distant face, setting in like bad weather.

‘Barney, are you in the bathroom?’ she called. ‘Are you still having trouble with that hair?’

No, Barney said. No, I’m here. I’m the cat. It’s me. Mum, please, listen. Mum!

He looked up at her. It was like trying to convince a cathedral.

‘You trespassing liar,’ snapped Guster. ‘Please, Mrs Willow, let me deal with this vagabond.’

‘Come on, Guster.’ Mum pulled the dog away. She went and shut him in Barney’s father’s old office, which was now the spare room. ‘Now, you stay there,’ Barney heard her say. ‘And no scratching at the door.’

A moment later she was back. She crouched down, and he felt her hand underneath his stomach then – whoosh – he was pulled high into the air. He tried to hold onto her dressing gown, and his claws appeared and tucked themselves into the fabric.

‘Don’t do that, you naughty thing,’ said his mother. ‘Now, where’s Barney? Barney?! Where are you? I really haven’t got time for this!’

I’m here! You’re carrying me!

She hauled Barney around the house, her grip getting tighter with every new room she couldn’t find her son in.

Eventually Mrs Willow opened the front door, detached Barney from her dressing gown and dropped him to the ground, out in the frosty February air.

Mum! he cried. Mum! Don’t worry! I’m—

The giant door closed with a heavy thud and he was left there.

Cold.

Confused.

And infinitely alone.