Шейла Нортон - Oliver The Cat Who Saved Christmas

Dedicated to the memories of Misty, Oscar, and Charlie.

I was their human, and their willing servant.

The worst night of my entire nine lives started with some leftover fish. You might think that was a bit strange, little kitten. After all, we cats all love fish, don’t we, and I often used to get leftovers, living in a pub where they made something called bar meals for the people who came in. It wasn’t actually the fish I had that night that was the problem. It was what came afterwards, when I’d gone back to my favourite chair by the fireplace and fallen asleep.

Now, stop jumping around trying to catch that fly, if you want me to tell you the story. It’s a long story for a little kitten like you, and a bit frightening in places, but you might learn something from it if you settle down and pay attention. That’s better.

Where was I? Oh yes. Asleep on my chair. Well, I woke up very suddenly when it was dark outside – and there was a horrible smell in the pub, and something tickling my nose and throat. I knew straight away it was smoke, because sometimes when my human, George, lit the fire in the bar to make it nice and cosy on a cold evening, it gave off the same kind of smell. But when he did that, the smoke went up the chimney, not into the room like this. I blinked for a few minutes, trying to see what was going on. Of course, my night vision is normally excellent, but the smoke was making my eyes sore. Within a few minutes I was starting to cough and choke because it had started going down my throat too, when I did the normal stretching and yawning thing we have to do when we wake up. And then I saw them – big orange flames leaping up the curtains, and sparks flying onto the nearby chairs.

I yowled in fright. At least, I tried to, but all that came out was a pathetic squeaky noise and another bout of coughing. I jumped out of my chair, heading for the staircase to the upstairs rooms, where I knew George would be asleep in the big bedroom overlooking the garden. Luckily he always left his door open, in case I woke up in the night and decided he might appreciate my company on the bed. So I darted straight in and jumped on him, pawing at his face to wake him up. I was trying my best to meow loudly in his ear at the same time, and despite all the coughs and splutters, it seemed to do the trick because he sat up in bed, gasping in surprise.

‘Oliver!’ he said, sounding a bit annoyed. He usually only called me by my full name when I’d been naughty. ‘What on earth…?’

And then he must have smelt the smoke, because he leapt out of bed, shouting, ‘Oh my God! Fire! Fire!’

There were only the two of us in the building so I couldn’t understand who he was shouting to, but I was very relieved he’d woken up. He grabbed his mobile phone off the bedside table and his dressing-gown off the hook behind the door, and I ran ahead of him along the landing and back down the stairs. I was frightened to see that the flames had spread and were now working their way up the wooden banisters, spitting sparks and billowing more black smoke. I bounded down those stairs as if there were a couple of Dobermans after me.

‘Outside, Ollie, quick!’ George shouted, beginning to cough like me.

As he unlocked the main door to the bar the cold outside air rushed in and it was as if the whole place suddenly erupted. The crash, as the staircase collapsed, was so terrible, I shot out of that door and kept running, right across the car park and under a bush at the other side, next to the road. I could see George, in his stripy pyjamas, running out with his dressing-gown still in his hand, dropping it while he stabbed at the mobile phone and shouted into it: ‘Fire! The Forester’s Arms! The pub’s on fire!’

I stayed under the bush, shaking with fear, watching the fire work its way up to the roof of the pub, watching as the wood store next to the kitchen went up with a ‘whoosh’. Then the flames spread to the fence, and then they were licking around some kind of big drums lined up behind the village hall next door. And then there was a sudden loud ‘boom’ that made me jump out of my skin, and the fire seemed to roll itself into a ball of orange that lit up the whole sky.

For a minute I was frozen with terror. I thought it was the end of at least one of my lives, for sure. There were people running out of their houses, shouting, looking for George, putting his dressing-gown and blankets round him, as if it wasn’t hot enough with all those flames. And just to add to the horror of it all, at that moment two massive fire engines came tearing down the road towards us, sirens screaming, and turned into the car park right next to the bush where I was cowering. Well, I knew I should have stayed to make sure George was all right, but my cat instinct told me I needed to get out of there as fast as I could. It wasn’t my proudest moment, deserting my human and my home. But I’m afraid I scarpered.

When I finally stopped running, I was in the middle of the woods across the road. I looked back through the trees but I couldn’t see the pub anymore, or even the flames. The trees were very tall and very close together here, and I realised I’d gone further into the woods than I’d ever been before. My heart was still pounding like mad from the shock, as well as from running so fast. I put my head on one side to listen carefully, but all I could hear at first was the sound of the wind blowing through the trees and an owl hooting in the distance. It was really cold, and I felt so sorry for myself, all alone there in the woods. All I wanted was to be back in my chair, curled up on my nice comfy cushion, asleep and dreaming my favourite dream about chasing mice. But I was too scared to go back. And then, as I was still standing there listening to the wind and the owl, and shivering and shaking like a leaf, there was suddenly another loud ‘boom’ from the direction of the pub. All the birds who had been asleep in the trees flew up in the air together, squawking with fright, and once again my cat instinct took over. I shot up the nearest tree, right up to one of the highest branches, and clung on for dear life as the wind rocked me back and forth.

You’ll find when you grow up to be a bigger cat that the best way to deal with a stressful situation is to get out of danger quickly and then go to sleep. I’ve heard humans talking sometimes about ‘not being able to sleep’. They say it happens when they’re worried about something. Fortunately this condition is unknown within the cat community. I was so worn out from the terrible shock I’d had, I could hardly keep my eyes open once I was safely snuggled down on that branch. There were no more booming noises, and although from the top of the tree I could see a rather scary red glow in the sky, far away in the direction of my poor pub, it gradually got fainter and fainter. The wind dropped slightly and the movement of my branch became more gentle, reminding me of the times I’d dozed on the old rocking chair in the back room of the pub. I closed my eyes and dreamed George had come to find me and was carrying me home.

When I woke up it was light, and there were birds singing. I stood up and had a good stretch, completely forgetting where I was, and almost fell out of the tree. Luckily my claws were out instantly, so that I was suspended for a moment, clinging to the underside of the branch until I managed to right myself. I gave myself a little shake, and automatically started to wash myself to show any birds who might have been watching, sniggering at my misfortune, that I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed or bothered how silly I might have looked. And then, in mid-wash, I glanced down, and saw it at the bottom of the tree. A fox.