Энн Файн - The Killer Cat Runs Away

They weren’t convinced. ‘Yes. Back in the Stone Age!’

‘Before cat food was invented.’

‘About a million years ago.’

‘Don’t be such wimps,’ I told them. ‘Why, I can remember my mother telling me proudly that my own great-grandfather was known as a splendid mouser.’

‘I bet he didn’t eat the things he caught.’

‘I bet he did,’ I argued.

Tiger was determined. ‘No way. He’d have been sick.’

‘I’d have been sick just watching him,’ added Snowball.

I wasn’t going to hang around and argue. It was getting dark. So I got Bella and Snowball to hold my collar tight while I slipped out of it.

Then, ‘Farewell, gang!’ I said. ‘I’m off to seek my fortune. Wish me luck!’

They all came further along the wall to watch me go. Tiger waved a forlorn paw. ‘Don’t you forget us, Tuffy!’

‘No, don’t forget us. We won’t ever forget you.’

‘No, never.’

8

Tuffy the Busker

I thought it best to go where no one knew me. After all, I didn’t want nosy people peering down at me. ‘Aren’t you that cat from Acacia Avenue that dug up all my petunias? I’m going to take you home.’

So I went further into town than I do usually. It was quite busy. There were a lot of people standing at bus stops and hurrying across the streets. I wandered up and down till, from round the corner, I heard someone playing a tune I like on a mouth organ.

I stopped to listen. Whoever was playing began to sing the words:

‘Scooby-scooby, swish-swish

Fishy in a dish-dish

Make a little wish-wish

That it tastes delish-lish.’

Just the thought made me feel peckish. I turned the corner, and there in a doorway stood a young man. He’d put a paper plate on the pavement, and passers-by were putting down their shopping bags and fishing in their pockets to toss in coins.

A busker!

He had been given quite a lot of money. I watched for a while, and every few minutes he’d scoop up a few coins and put them in his pocket. Then he’d start singing again.

I could do that! I could sing too, and maybe some of the shoppers would open their bags and drop me a tiny chunk of chicken from their ready-cooked suppers, or peel a slice of smoked salmon off the top of their pack.

Yum, yum. Delish-lish!

So I went round the next corner to find a doorway for myself, and to collect the little gifts that I expected to get I dragged a fairly clean takeaway dinner tray out of the gutter.

And then I sang.

I sang my little heart out. First I tried charming them with that forlorn old song about the kitten whose paws get frozen in the snow.

Then I sang that song that makes soft people weep about the tabby cat who starves to death up a tree. (Per- lease ! How old are you ? And how many cats’ skeletons have you seen dangling from high branches so far in life? None. That’s right. None .)

And then I gave my all to my own favourite, The Wild Cats’ Chorus .

None of them worked. Not one. People just clutched their heads and hurried by. Some of them even glowered. Nobody bothered to stop to say, ‘What charming melodies! And what a lovely voice!’

In fact, they were quite rude. I kept hearing snatches of what they said as they rushed past.

‘. . . horrible yowling noise . . .’

‘. . . shouldn’t be allowed . . .’

‘. . . perfectly ghastly . . .’

‘. . . clearly in misery . Ought to be put down . . .’

Then one man had the cheek to pick up my collection tray and drop it in the litter bin along the street.

I gave up singing then, and just walked on. Time for another plan.

9

The Wild Cats’ Chorus

This time I was smart. I walked up a nice-looking road and found a nice-looking house with a nice-looking lady unloading nice-looking groceries from her nice-looking car.

She looked a tiny bit familiar. But then, I get about. I’ve met a lot of people. So anyhow, I thought, This place will do.

First thing: get introduced. I wrapped myself round her legs, all the time purring madly.

The woman reached down to stroke me. Suddenly she looked a little nervous. ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Haven’t I seen you before? Wasn’t it you who got in a flying fur fight with another cat in our school playground once, and upset all my tiny Year Ones?’

Uh-oh! Now I remembered who she was! Ellie’s head teacher!

But I was hungry, and they were nice-looking groceries. So I turned the purring up to Regulo 8. It worked a treat. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I must be wrong. You’re such a sweet and friendly cat, and that one was downright horrible . Why, our school crossing guard still has a scar where that vile animal scratched her.’

I tried to look sympathetic as I followed her inside the house. I kept up the heavy purring while she put away her shopping. Then she bent down to feel around my neck.

‘No collar.’

Of course, no collar. I am a good deal smarter than that!

She sighed. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose I’d better feed you.’ She shook a finger. ‘But it’s just this once!’

Just this once? Ho, ho, ho. Everyone knows if you feed a cat once, it has you on a string for life. So I was in. She fed me tuna from a can, and picked me up to carry me around. I didn’t struggle at all. It was an act of will, but I kept purring.

Even when she showed me her parrot.

‘Look,’ she said, pointing to his cage. ‘Meet Gregory.’

Gregory the Parrot gave me the blink, and I blinked back.

‘I hope you’ll both be friends,’ she said.

I purred my hardest.

‘Gregory’s very clever,’ she told me. ‘I’m going to shut you in the kitchen. But if you hear lots of odd noises and voices while I’m out, you mustn’t be afraid. That’ll be Gregory imitating things he’s heard.’

I purred and nodded.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now I’m afraid I have to nip back to school to sort out a few things for the special “My Wonderful Pet” show we’re holding on Thursday evening. I’ll find your owner tomorrow. But just for tonight, you can stay here.’

She picked up her briefcase and left.

So I sat in the kitchen.

Just a kitchen.

Boring. Dead boring.

Then Gregory started up. First he did ‘creaking door’ and ‘the wheelie-bin rumble’. After that he did ‘Fireworks Night’. Then he did his owner saying, ‘Oh, Gregory! You know I get headaches from horrid noises. Can’t you do something quiet and nice ?’

OK, OK. So boil me in bunny juice! I taught him The Wild Cats’ Chorus . I yowled it from the kitchen, and Gregory the Parrot picked it up in no time. Soon we were yowling away together so it was twice as loud, and he learned how to do that too. And by the time I’d had enough of singing along with him, Gregory could sound like four cats singing, not just one, all by himself.

Stellar!

The problem was that he was so excited with his new trick he kept it up for two whole hours after Ellie’s head teacher came back.

So naturally I got thrown out.

10

The Perfect Home

I spent the night in the tool shed. Then, in the morning, I set off to find a better home. I had a tiny thought that I might go back to Ellie. I was quite sure she would have realized her mistake by now, and be lying face down on her bed, sobbing her poor broken heart out and wailing my name to the heavens.

But as I strolled along the street, what should I see but a notice stuck on a lamppost.

And then another.

And another.

And more and more. All the same.

I stretched up to take a look. It was a ‘lost cat’ notice, with a photo of the roughest, toughest, sourest, grumpiest-looking moggie you’ve ever seen in your life.