To Be A Cat

A Tiny, Tiny Moment in Time

‘DON’T WORRY TOO much,’ said Rissa stepping off the bus at their stop. ‘Your mum’s a good person. She’s not going to scream at you on your birthday.’

‘She might,’ said Barney. ‘But I just don’t want her to go into meltdown. She’s going to be so upset with me.’

Rissa thought. ‘Well, if you want me to stay with you and explain Miss Whipmire is a nutcase then …’

Barney looked at his friend’s face. He could see in her eyes that she was genuine. But he didn’t want to drag her into this. ‘No. It’s OK. This is my problem.’

When they were nearly at Barney’s house, he and Rissa saw a cat lying on the pavement right in front of his gate. It was just a very normal-looking cat. Not like the silver-haired, one-eyed cat Barney saw most mornings.

No. This one was just your average, run-of-the-mill black cat, with two eyes, although one of those eyes – the left – did have a patch of white around it.

‘Hello, cat!’ Rissa said, and crouched down to stroke it. ‘I so want a cat.’

‘Why don’t you get one?’ asked Barney.

‘Oh, my mum and dad say it might be a bit risky with us living on the river. But I’m, like, Come on, guys, cats aren’t stupid. They can balance on fences so they’re hardly likely to slip off a barge.’

Barney stood there as Rissa carried on stroking the little fellow.

‘Wouldn’t it be great,’ she said, ‘just lying down and being stroked by giants all day long, without a care in the world?’

At which point the cat looked towards Barney as if waiting for him to answer.

‘Yes, it would.’

‘Anyway, I’d better get going, Mister Birthday.’ Rissa stood up. She still had over a mile until she was home, but that was OK – Rissa loved walking. ‘I’m meant to be helping Dad pick vegetables at his allotment. We’re going to put them in a curry. Vegetarian, obviously. But you’re welcome to come round if you haven’t got anything better to do than sit listening to my dad singing ancient songs very badly.’

Barney thought for a moment. It certainly was tempting, especially as Rissa’s parents were about as nice as parents could get before they tipped off the edge and became friends.

But he thought of the letter in his bag, which made him feel an extra weight – far heavier than the paper and envelope themselves. The weight of dread. ‘I’d better stay in and wait for Mum,’ he told his friend. ‘I don’t want her getting more freaked out than she already will be.’

‘No worries,’ said Rissa, smiling warmly. And then she clapped a hand on Barney’s shoulder.

‘Listen, Barns, I’m there for you, OK? I know you might get in an incy-wincy bit of trouble tonight, but just think, this is only a tiny, tiny moment in time. Think of the stars. Think of our star. The sun. It is billions of years old. And it’s going to keep shining whatever happens. Look, in a year’s time this will be nothing. In ten years’ time, when you’ve got a long beard, you won’t even remember it.’

‘I won’t have a long beard,’ said Barney. ‘I won’t even have a short one.’

‘Hey, my dad’s got a beard. There is nada wrong with beards, I’ll have you know. Think of all the great, important people in history: Jesus, Emperor Hadrian … erm … Father Christmas – they all had beards.’

‘I don’t think I’d suit hairy,’ said Barney. Then he saw the cat looking up at him. ‘No offence.’

Rissa walked away. ‘See you tomorrow morning. Same time, same place.’

‘Yeah. See you, Rissa, and, thanks – I liked the card.’

‘Good. You made me one, so it was the least I could do. And, er, good luck with your mum.’

Barney watched her walk down the street with her mad hair and her long coat and her black boots with the daisies on them. Instead of going back inside, Barney stayed still for a moment.

Same time, same place.

There was something scary about that, Barney thought. About how life was destined to stay the same. Especially when life came with such added ingredients as Gavin Needle and Miss Whipmire.

The cat carried on looking at him, and Barney felt a little bit uneasy so he went inside and read the letter.

Dear Mrs Willow,

I am writing to inform you that your son, Barney, is a disgrace. His behaviour has become increasingly bad over the last few months, his teachers tell me, and now it has reached such terribly despicable levels that I am obliged to write you another letter. And, one way or another, this will be his last.

Today, when he was meant to be in French class, Barney set off the school fire alarm. I saw him do this with my own eyes, and I am sure I don’t need to tell you about the obvious and intended disruption this caused.

So it is my duty to tell you that if Barney commits a similar offence again he will be EXPELLED from Blandford High.

Now, as his mother it is your job to make sure you discipline him very firmly to prevent this happening. I would recommend stopping all pocket money, switching off the TV, making sure he reads the right kind of books (very long and boring ones – such as dictionaries) and forcing him to spend lengthy periods in his room thinking about what a terrible boy he has become.

Yours disappointedly,

Miss P. Whipmire

Head Teacher