Шейла Нортон - Charlie The Kitten Who Saved A Life

‘There,’ Jean panted. ‘Now just hold his head down so he can’t bite you. He’s getting upset, poor little thing.’

‘Of course I’m upset! You’ve taken me prisoner! I don’t want to go in the car with you! Where are you taking me?’

All my resolve to trust Jean and Shirley and to remember Oliver’s words of wisdom had flown out of the window. And as the doors were slammed shut, and Jean started the car running along, I’m ashamed to say I cowered on Shirley’s lap, growling quietly and letting out the occasional little mew of fear as if I was the kind of cat who’d never been used to humans at all.

‘It’s all right, little kitty,’ Shirley kept saying. ‘It’s all right.’

But it wasn’t. It was all wrong. I shouldn’t have trusted these humans. Why had they tied me up? What were they going to do to me? I should have listened to Big, after all, and stayed with him and the boys, where I was safe and being looked after. At the thought of Big, I mewed even more loudly. He’d been such a good friend! I’d remember him for my whole nine lives! I’d forget all about going back to Little Broomford, if only I could magic myself back with him and the boys right this minute!

Oh yes, you might very well look shocked, my friends. I can hardly believe it myself now. How appalling, how shameful that I was thinking like this, forgetting already where my real loyalties lay, forgetting how much I’d yearned for a chance to be back with my human family, to be cuddled by Caroline again and fed lovely cat food by Laura. But this is what fear does to you. It turns you from a sensible, reasonable cat – from a hero cat, in fact, one who has survived extreme danger, who has risked lives and limbs to try to protect his vulnerable and much-loved human kitten – into a snivelling wretch of a scaredy-cat.

I admit it, I was behaving like a scaredy-cat and I’m ashamed now to think about it. After everything I’d been through, you see, it seemed like just as happiness and reunion with my humans had been within my sight, I’d ended up making the wrong choice, a fatal mistake. And now I was so frightened and alone, I felt like giving up. I just lay there and cried. I cried for Big and the other boys. I cried for Julian and Laura and Caroline and even baby Jessica. I cried for you , Oliver, and you , my sisters and friends back in Little Broomford. But mostly, I cried for myself.

Thank goodness, though, it wasn’t very long before the car stopped again.

‘Here we are,’ Shirley said, still clutching me in my tightly wrapped bundle as Jean helped her out of the car. ‘Now, don’t start panicking, little kitty. Mr Caswell is a very kind man.’

Mr Caswell? Who the fox’s backside was Mr Caswell? I couldn’t imagine how he could be anyone kind. If these human catnappers had been genuinely on my side, they’d have been taking me straight to Julian! Anyone else could only be plotting to do me harm. Surely it couldn’t be true what Big had been screaming to me? Were they going to roast me and eat me with ketchup? Oh my ears and whiskers! I wriggled and wriggled, yowling and spitting at Shirley as she carried me up some steps into a building that smelt … it smelt like … what was that smell? What was the memory it was bringing back to me? It was making me shudder, would have made my fur stand on end and my muscles quiver, if only there was room for that to happen inside my tight bundle. We went through a door into an empty room with a bare floor and some hard empty chairs around the walls. The smell in here was almost overpowering. And just then, another door opened and out came a dog – -fortunately, attached to a human by one of those long straps they need to keep them under control – and immediately, it all came flooding back to me. I knew where we were! For catnip’s sake, they’d brought me to a vet!

Can you imagine how much I was wriggling and hissing and spitting now? Shirley almost dropped me twice, and Jean had to help her to hang onto me.

‘Let me go,’ I growled. And to the dog, who was sniffing around their feet, trying to jump at their legs to get a closer look at me, I shouted: ‘Bugger off, you big stupid snarling piece of rat’s poo, you!’

I know, I know, my language was pretty awful. It was the influence of the feral boys, you see, together with the terror of my situation. I couldn’t help it. But I don’t speak like that anymore, now I’m back in civilisation, obviously, so please don’t let the little kittens here copy me.

‘Down, boy!’ the dog’s human was trying to persuade him. ‘You’re frightening the poor cat. Sorry, ladies,’ he said to my captors. ‘That’s a feisty little feline you’ve got there!’

‘Oh, he’s not ours,’ Jean said. ‘We think he’s a feral, although we did wonder if he might be a stray – the one who’s been advertised in all the shops and cafés. We’re hoping the vet can scan him, even if just to rule it out.’

‘No!’ I shrieked, trying to get my teeth into Shirley’s wrist. ‘I know what vets do – I’m not stupid! He’ll stick a needle in me! It’ll put me to sleep! I’ll never wake up!’

And just at that moment, the other door opened again and out came a tall male human in a white coat.

‘Hello,’ he said to the females. ‘Have you got an appointment?’

‘No,’ Jean said, still trying to help Shirley to hang onto me. She could hardly make herself heard above my yowling. ‘Sorry, Mr Caswell, it’s kind of an emergency.’

‘Has he been hurt or something?’ said the male, peering down at me. I spat in his face.

‘No, we’ve found him,’ Shirley said. ‘Well, he actually found us! We did wonder whether he might be the missing cat that’s in all the posters around town. I hope so, anyway, now we’ve gone to all this trouble,’ she added with a little laugh. ‘Although he’s been so feisty on the way here, I’m beginning to think he is a feral after all.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve got one of those posters up myself,’ the vet said, still staring at me. ‘His owner, a Mr Smythe, came in to tell me about him. The cat was on the BBC News, apparently – chased a seagull, or something?’

‘That’s right. Do you think it’s him, Mr Caswell?’ Jean asked.

‘I doubt it, to be honest. As you say, this cat seems half wild. Let’s have a look at him, anyway, shall we? Bring him through. I’ll get Ginny to help me hold him still. We’re going to need our gloves on, I think!’

And so, as the human with the dog went out, calling, ‘Good luck. I hope it is the missing cat,’ I was carried through to the next room. In here, the smell reminded me so strongly of my previous experiences with vets that I nearly fainted. I was unwrapped onto one of those slippery, shiny tables, where I was forcibly held down by Mr Caswell on one side, and a young female in a white coat on the other. I’d stopped yowling now. I was so sick with fear, I’d kind of retreated inside myself and just lay panting, waiting for the end of my lives.

‘He’s certainly quite a young cat,’ the vet said, having prised open my mouth and looked at my teeth. ‘A neutered male, probably only about a year old. Very malnourished.’ He was poking me around the ribs. ‘Covered in fleas. Coat dull and matted. One back leg injured – he seems to have had a bite down to the bone that hasn’t healed properly and it’s left him with an abscess.’ I flinched as he touched my sore leg. ‘Sorry, boy. Scabs on his head, one ear bitten, and a very badly infected right eye. Lucky not to have lost his sight. Been in a few fights, by the look of him. Well, ladies, I’d be surprised if this is our missing Charlie. I’d say he’s more likely to be a long-term stray who’s turned feral. But I’ll certainly scan him for you to make sure. If it’s not him, we’ll keep him here, treat his wounds, de-flea him and get him nursed back to health, and send him to Cats’ Protection. Hopefully someone will adopt him.’