To Be A Cat

A Bit About Pumpkin

MISS WHIPMIRE CROSSED OVER the road to talk to Pumpkin.

By the way, in case you are one of those readers who has to know everything about every single character in a book, I’ll tell you a few facts about this particular swiper. He was stupid. Stupid enough to do anything Miss Whipmire asked of him. He had known her when she’d been a Siamese cat, and hadn’t liked her very much as she had been a fireside, and firesides and swipers are never the best of friends. Plus, she had been critical of his fence-walking skills. But she had been a good fighter, and good fighting always impressed Pumpkin, especially if the fighting was being done by a fireside. And then, after she had become a human, he was even more impressed. It was useful having friends in human places, especially ones who made sure he was stocked up on sardines in lemon-infused olive oil, his absolute favourite. (Even the roughest of swipers has sophisticated taste when it comes to fish.) And it gave him kudos out on the street to be a TLC’s favourite. (TLC: Two-Legged Cat. Street slang for cats-turned-into-humans. The opposite of a no-hoper, which I believe has been mentioned – human-turned-cat.) Not that Pumpkin ever wanted to be a TLC himself. No. He was perfectly happy being an orange moggy, cruising gardens, networking, boxing flies, rubbing up against old ladies in exchange for milk, and flirting with Lyka (who was never interested).

Where was I?

Oh yes. Somewhere around:

Miss Whipmire crossing over the road to talk to Pumpkin.

He saw her coming and knew she’d be even more cross with him now after his second failed attempt to get the Barney cat. So he was there, ready with an excuse.

‘Look, all right … OK, thing is, old gal, we failed you,’ he said. ‘We did. I did. I failed you. But there was nothing we could be doing. The Terrorcat showed up. He was going to start using his powers so we had to run …’

Pumpkin, by the way, was a succinct cat, and fitted all of the above words into one and a half miaows plus an ear scratch.

Miss Whipmire had no time for chit-chat. ‘Get Maurice,’ she said. ‘And tell him to come to my office.’

Pumpkin was confused. ‘But I thought you said you wanted ’im to stay indoors at your ’ouse till the Barney cat was dead.’

Miss Whipmire glared down furiously, for once not caring if anyone could see her through the staff-room window.

‘Well, Barney would be dead, wouldn’t he, if you weren’t such an idiot? And, just so you know, if I wanted questions I’d have hired someone with a pedigree,’ she hissed, her nails tingling as if they’d forgotten they weren’t claws. ‘I need Maurice here because I happen to have Mrs Willow in my office, wondering where her son is. Now do it. Go.’

Pumpkin went.

She looked up and saw a girl in Year Ten staring at her as she shouted at the cat. ‘And what are you doing out of school, girl?’ Miss Whipmire snapped.

‘School’s over, miss. I was just coming back for choir practice.’

‘Oh yes, you’re the terrible singer. Are you wearing make-up?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you should. Or just try a paper bag. No eye-holes. You look hideous.’

And, as the girl ran crying into the school, Miss Whipmire sighed to herself in disgust. ‘Humans.’