To Be A Cat

The Warney Pillow

BARNEY GAZED AROUND the room with that weird kind of excited terror that comes from being in an enemy’s territory when the enemy isn’t around. He was about to leave when he saw something lying on the bed. Something soft and grey and sad-looking. A donkey! Eeyore! Gavin Needle had a cuddly Eeyore on his bed.

For a moment this struck Barney as such a brilliant piece of information that he forgot about being a cat. But he was reminded when he heard a noise. The kind of noise that when you are a cat you can’t really ignore.

It wasn’t loud.

Just a whimper, really, coming from somewhere else.

The dog.

Leonard.

Barney waited.

It would have been perfectly easy for him to sneak out of the room and run back downstairs, but Barney reminded himself he’d come upstairs for answers.

So, with a determination he felt speed his heart and flick his tail, he went out and followed the sound all the way to the spare room.

This is crazy.

What kind of cat seeks out a dog?

He crossed the carpet, and detected the faint but rather putrid smell of sweating dog. A pair of wide, bulging brown eyes stared out from under the bed. A giant skinny monster of black and brown fur. A Doberman. Barney tried not to panic.

‘Hello,’ said Barney. ‘I’m Barney.’

‘What?’ Leonard sounded nervous and actually rather desperate. ‘You’ve forgotten your own name. Or … or …’

‘No. I haven’t. It’s just I’m not who you think I am … I’m not Maurice.’

‘I’m going mad! First the cushions and now this.’

Barney didn’t understand. ‘The cushions?’

‘Yes, they’ve turned against me. The ones on the bed. They’re always frowning at me. Trying to make me feel weird. Look! Are they still there?’

Barney stepped back, and checked on top of the bed. There were indeed cushions. Two of them. Normal square cushions crumpled on the bed.

‘I don’t think they’re frowning,’ Barney said, trying to reassure the frightened dog. ‘I just think they’re creased.’

‘Creased? That’s what they want you to think.’

Barney started to back away. Leonard was obviously too mad to be of any help.

‘Don’t leave me again,’ he drooled. ‘Please.’

Barney hesitated. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t belong here. I have my own home.’ He turned, was nearly at the door.

‘Don’t go to the Whipmires’,’ implored Leonard.

‘What?’

The dog wasn’t listening. ‘I told the radiator earlier. I said, “That’s all he used to talk about, Mummy-Caramel-Whipmire-Mummy-Caramel-Whipmire.”’

‘Did you just say Caramel?’

‘I had a job!’ the dog said, adding to Barney’s confusion.

‘What?’

The dog clenched his eyes shut. ‘I was a somebody! I worked in security! But do I ever think of going back?! Do I? No! Yes! No! No! Yes! But I don’t. I can’t. The cushions won’t let me. And even if they did, I wouldn’t, because I have different owners now. And I accept that.’ Right then he looked more sad than mad. ‘I have to accept that.’

‘Listen, please, you have to help me,’ said Barney, trying to sound as gentle and soothing as possible.

The dog ignored him, and recited a slow, sad piece of Doberman poetry.

‘Oh, who can love a dog like me?

Not the cute one on TV

With golden hair for all to stroke,

And who fails to see life’s big joke.

No, I am not a Labrador,

Or a terrier with tiny paws,

No, I’m not one you hug and squeeze,

Or that lies flat out upon your knees.

I’m a different kind of breed,

One in which you can’t succeed,

Unless you are prepared to scare

The ones you want to love and care.’

The Doberman seemed far away, lost in his own sad, mad thoughts.

But Barney had an idea. ‘Listen, please, you’ve got to help me. The … erm, cushions say you’ve got to help me.’ The Doberman switched to alert mode. ‘What? They said that?’

‘Yes,’ Barney insisted, thinking on his paws. ‘They said you have to tell me what you know about Maurice. They want you to tell me why you think he ran away?’

‘To see his mummy,’ said the dog, chewing at his front paw. ‘He wants to see his mummy. As if we don’t all want to see our mummies!’

‘Caramel?’

‘Caramel! Caramel! Caramel! All day long. Caramel …’

Barney thought. Caramel. Miss Whipmire. ‘Maurice is Miss Whipmire’s son!’

The dog studied him. For a moment Barney could imagine Leonard’s former self: the responsible guard dog. ‘Someone came one day. A ginger cat. He had a message.’

‘What was the message?’

‘I don’t know. It was a whispered message. All I know is that Maurice was never the same again. He said he was going to escape. He was going to find a pillow.’

‘A pillow?’

‘Or a Billow. The Warney Billow or Pillow. And that would somehow make everything all right.’

Warney Billow.

Barney Willow.

Barney realized that cat hadn’t been there by accident yesterday afternoon. ‘So, it was all deliberate. He targeted me on purpose. But why me?’

‘I don’t know. Please, tell the cushions I’m sorry.’

‘They’ll … get over it,’ Barney said. ‘They look like very understanding cushions.’

And Barney stepped backwards, away from those crazed eyes under the bed, and retreated out of the room, realizing that whatever had been whispered in that message would explain everything. Then he remembered something Miss Whipmire had said as she’d waved that envelope with her address on it. ‘These are my tickets. Mine and my only love’s. Out of here for ever. This time tomorrow I’ll be en route to Old Siam – Thailand.’

If Barney was to find Maurice, he now knew where to start – he’d need to pay a visit to Miss Whipmire’s house. But he also knew he didn’t have long before his human self was on a plane to the other side of the world.

Then Barney’s heart sank further as he heard the front door open and close, and Florence squeal with delight. ‘Gaff-Gaff home! Gaff-Gaff home!’