Энн Файн - The Killer Cat Runs Away

I couldn’t help but think: Who’d want to have that thug back?

Then I peered a little closer.

It was me .

I took a long look down the street. Sure enough, far in the distance I could see Ellie’s mum, stopping at every lamppost to stick up yet another of her insulting posters.

The cheek of it! For one thing, I am not a ‘lost cat’. I am a cat who has moved on to better things! And for another, they’d picked the worst photo ever. Not my best side. I mean, I do not look like that! Not all the time, anyhow! Not every day. Sometimes – perhaps – if I am in a really fed-up mood. But hardly ever! Almost never!

No one would recognize me from that photo. No one. Not in a million years!

So I strolled on quite happily – though it was odd how many people I saw glance at the posters then bend down to try to pick me up. (I simply spat them off.)

And then I found what I was looking for.

The perfect home.

It had wide windowsills to lounge on. The garden was a jungle. (Good hunting there!) Some of the windows were unlatched. The wheelie-bin lid was off. And, best of all, there was a fish pond with sweet little goldfish darting about in it.

Oh, bliss! Oh, sheer and perfect bliss! If there’s one thing I love to do, it’s stretch out along the side of a fish pond in the sun and idly dip in a paw to try to—

No. No time to think about that now! I went to meet the owner. He was washing up. We had a conversation. It went like this:

Him: Hello, puss. Where did you spring from?

Me: Purr, purr. (I’m slinking round his legs to let him know I’m feeling peckish.)

Him: Hungry? Fancy some leftover fish?

Me: Purrrrrrrrrrrr!

Him (putting down a dish): There you go. Finish that lot and you’ll feel a whole lot better.

Me: Chomp, chomp, chomp.

I thought I was in heaven. I ate the fish. (A little too much dill, I thought. But, hey! not everyone’s a master chef.) I had a nap on one of his windowsills. When it got chilly I slipped back into the house through one of the unlatched windows, and when I felt like a snack at lunch time, I set off for the little pond.

Shame! He was out there, hanging out the washing.

Well, never mind. Fish fresh as that will keep. I took a turn round the side of the house and had a poke through the recycling bins.

Half a fish finger. Delish-lish. Just like the song. Yes, I’d found The Perfect Home.

Or so I thought. But then, at half-past three, my world caved in. There was a stampede up the garden path. A pack of carrot-topped hooligans, all shrieking and yelling.

‘Look! On the windowsill! A cat!’

‘Daddy’s got us a real pet! Not just those stupid goldfish, but a real live cat!’

‘Bagsy I cuddle it first.’

‘No! I’m the one who saw it, so I get first cuddle.’

‘Then me.’

‘Then me.’

‘Then me!’

‘Well, if I’m last, I want to be the one to take it in to school for the “My Wonderful Pet” show!’

Nice to be wanted, of course. But really, the noise was horrendous! While they were crowding round, I counted them. Five carrot-tops! Five horrid noisy children all reaching out to grab me. I tell you, it took a good bit of hissing and spitting to get off that windowsill.

Didn’t they change their tune then!

‘The horrid thing!’

‘It’s scratched me! Look! I’m actually bleeding !’

‘It must be wild .’

‘Who’d want to take that into school? I’d rather show everyone our lovely goldfish.’

‘We didn’t really want a new pet anyway.’

‘Well, we certainly didn’t want this one.’

A good thing too, because I wasn’t staying. The Perfect Home, indeed! I don’t think so.

11

‘Come Home So I Can Strangle You.’

I took a nap in next door’s garage. (OK, OK! So twist my tail! I left a dent in the fancy new hat some man was hiding in there till his wife’s birthday. But anybody napping in there would have used it as a little bed. That hat was comfy . It wasn’t my fault that the ribbon round the brim got tangled and torn. All I was trying to do was brush off the cat hairs that I shed on it while I was having my snooze.)

I woke up starving . Back at my old house, when I was hungry I simply parked myself on my big furry bottom somewhere really inconvenient and stared at Ellie’s mum till she remembered to feed me.

Sadly, that does not work with strangers who are hurrying by. I had to keep stepping in their path and wrapping myself round their ankles (the way I used to do with Ellie when I was getting bored).

But strangers are so clumsy . I got tripped over and stumbled into several times. And snarled at quite a lot. Some people were quite rude . In the end I gave up and went to check what had been thrown out by the nearest pizza place. (Don’t you adore pepperoni?)

Just as I came round the corner, who should I see stamping past in a tantrum but Mr I’ve-Been-Sent-Out-To-Look-For-Our-Cat.

I didn’t fancy being carried back by him, so I slunk out of sight.

‘Puss, puss!’ I heard him calling to the wind. ‘Tuff! Tuff-eee! Where are you? Come home so I can strangle you! Come home so I can boil you in oil! Tuff-eee! Do you know what’s on telly at this very moment? Yes! The Best-Ever Penalty Shoot-out Show! And am I sitting watching it? No, I am not! Partly because the television is ruined . And partly because I’ve been sent out to find you! So come home, Tuffy! Puss, puss, puss! Come home so I can spoil your life the same way that you spoil mine!’

I ask a simple question. If you heard that, would you be stupid enough to pad out from the shadows and show yourself?

No, you would not.

I wouldn’t, either. All thoughts of going home had vanished once again, so I turned round and slunk off fast the other way.

12

I Did Not Kill It!

(Here is a warning. Those of you who are ‘of a nervous disposition’ – and that means wet – had better skip this chapter. It isn’t nice.)

I tramped the streets. The hours went by. And I got hungrier.

And hungrier.

And hungrier.

Everyone’s wheelie bin lids were fixed on tight. I went through one garden after another on the prowl, hoping that someone had at least put out a dish of milk for a hedgehog to keep me going.

But there was nothing.

I made my way right to the end of a row of gardens.

Nothing.

Sighing, I made my way back again. That’s when I saw it lying on the grass under my feet.

A baby bird.

I did not kill it! Understand? It must have fallen out of its nest after I went by the first time. (Possibly from fright.)

But it was dead. (And fresh.)

And I was hungry.

I gave the thing a little poke. ‘Come on!’ I told myself. ‘Don’t be so mimsy ! It’s meat. It’s fresh. It’s nice and traditional. And you are very hungry.’

Alas! Nowhere near hungry enough, my friend. Nowhere near hungry enough.

Bella and Tiger and Snowball were right.

Eeee- yuk !!!

13

‘A Photo of My Beautiful Tuffy!’

So there I was, still trying to persuade myself that baby bird would taste as good as pepperoni, when a shadow fell over me.

A woman had come out of the house.

I stared at her. She stared at me. I stared at her because she’d done her hair so that it looked like one of those whippy ice-cream cones.

She stared at me as though she thought I were a gift from heaven.

‘A cat!’ She looked at the sad little mess between my paws. ‘And clearly a hunter! Are you a mouser too? Because there’s a rustling somewhere near my kitchen door. I think I might have vermin !’