Энн Файн - The Killer Cat Runs Away

Did you hear that? ‘Great big lump’. Nice!

The head teacher was in too much of a hurry to bother to peer through the strands of tangled wool and take a look at me. So we went into the school hall together. Arif the Insensitive, Ellie’s parrot-loving head teacher. And me.

Arif dumped my cage on the table, beside a few other pets. I took a look along the line. Pathetic! A couple of scaredy-baby mice who cowered in their cage. (I only looked at them. I did not pretend to grab.) A bowl of brainless fish scooped out of the garden pond by that rough carrot-top gang. (The boy who’d tried to catch me was still sucking his scratches, I was glad to see.) A rabbit so old it was nearly dead. Gregory the Parrot. (At least, I guessed it was him. His cage was covered with a cloth.) A guinea pig or two. A snake. A family of hamsters. Some stupid dog that wasn’t even half my size. Two whimpering gerbils.

All the usual rubbish.

Well, I consoled myself, at least I’m bound to be Star of the Show. After all, Arif was giving the talk and he’d brought me . He must have thought that cats were something special.

And then Arif started, lifting up each cage and bowl and box in turn along the line. He praised the fish: ‘Nobody’s overfed these so they’re in quite splendid condition.’ He cooed over the gerbils: ‘Lovely cuddly things, but you must handle them gently.’ Dogs: ‘It is so important to train them properly.’

Bleh, bleh, bleh. On and on and on about how to care for your pets. (Try this, Arif! Don’t swing them in a cage!) His talk was so, so boring . All that stuff you’ve heard a million times before about keeping the cage clean, and making sure all these pathetic pets who can’t look after themselves have nice, fresh water. (Tip from myself. Save all the trouble. Get a cat!)

I could have yowled . But I was determined not to make a single kittenish mew in case he got annoyed and shoved me under the table, out of sight. You see, I hoped that, even though Ellie wasn’t there, when Arif finally got to my cage and pulled off the tangles of wool, someone else from Acacia Avenue would recognize me and shout, ‘Catnapper! That is Ellie’s cat! You have to give him back!’

Then I’d be rescued.

At last it was my turn. Arif tugged all the bits of wool away from the wires of the cage so everyone could see me better. And then he held me up.

‘See?’ he said, shaking his head in sorrow. ‘See what can happen if you aren’t careful?’

I blinked. Sorry?

He kept on. ‘Take this cat here. He’s obviously been brought up in a good family. His fur is thick and glossy. His eyes are bright. His paws are in excellent condition.’

Well, thank you, Arif. Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I am a fine, fine specimen of a cat.

‘ But ,’ said Arif.

Excuse me? But?

I turned my head to stare. Would you believe it? He had the nerve to carry on.

‘But this pet is the perfect example of what we all want to avoid in our pets. This cat has been allowed to let himself go. Recently he has been horribly, horribly overfed, and doesn’t it show?’

He swung the cage around so that everyone could gawp at me! Cheek! I know Ms Whippy’s pedal bin is a fine cornucopia of splendid grub; but surely no cat can put on that much weight in a few days . . .

Surely . . .

You wouldn’t think so to listen to Arif. He was still swinging me about. ‘Look at the size of him! Just look! No doubt this feline fellow has always teetered on the edge of getting tubby. But take a proper look. The cat inside this cage is a dire warning of what can happen if you don’t keep tabs on your pet’s diet. I hate to say it, but this cat is downright fat .’

19

Reprise

OK, OK! So put on your crossest face and shake a finger at me. I scratched him. Very hard and deep. While he was busy going on and on about how fat I’d let myself become, and how I’d get an early heart attack if I did not slim down to what I’d been before, I sneaked my paw through the cage bars and raked my claws right round his wrist.

That was a laugh. He yelled his head off. ‘Yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww, yee-oww!’

He dropped the cage. That hurt . I bumped my head on the bars. So naturally I did exactly what you would have done.

Scratched him again. On the ankle.

This time he yelled even louder.

‘Yee- oww ! Yee-oww! Yee-oww! Yee- oww ! Yee- oww !’

And guess what happened next. He woke up Gregory the Parrot! Don’t blame me . How was it my fault Gregory got confused under his cover and just assumed he was at home again and we had started on a quick reprise of our wonderful Wild Cats’ Chorus ?

So Gregory started up, singing all four parts, all at once.

Loudly. Very loudly. So loudly that some of the more unmusical people in the hall actually put down their juice and biscuits and clapped their hands over their ears. Beside me, the hamsters started burying their heads in their bedding, trying to block out the noise. The dog was whining and drooling all at the same time. Even the snake looked rather as if it was wincing.

I thought I might as well join in and sing along. After all, it is my favourite song.

And that’s when one or two of the audience appeared to crack, grabbing their coats to rush out. (I call that very rude .) Gregory kept up the singing. In fact, he was now showing off, singing eight parts at once. And that’s when even the people who had pets in the show began to block their ears with their fingers and rush towards the stage to snatch up their cages or boxes or fish bowl. There was a small commotion at the door because two people in the hallway were blocking everyone’s path, trying to slow up the people who were hurrying out long enough to hand them a flyer.

And one of them was Ellie! Yes! Ellie! I heard her calling as the crowd forced their way past. ‘Please!’ she kept saying. ‘Please take away with you one of these photos of my precious, lovely lost pet so you can call me if you find him.’

I didn’t even crane my neck to check it was my picture that was being handed out, and not a photo of some brand-new fluff-ball kitten she’d been given called Sugar-Pie or Pansy-Wansy. I simply trusted her and saw my chance, threw back my head and yowled even louder.

‘YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW, YEE-OWW. Yowwwwwl, yoWWWWL.’

Ellie knows that song! She’s heard it often enough on moonlit nights. In any case, she recognized my voice. Everyone else was running the other way, but suddenly Ellie was pushing against them, scattering flyers all over as she ran.

Straight towards me.

‘Tuffy! Oh, Tuffy! I’ve found you at last! Thank heavens!’

I purred at her like mad.

She reached for the latch to my cage, but before she could open it, Arif stopped sucking his hand and brought it down on hers. ‘Stop! Don’t let this cat out. He’s vicious .’

Ellie stared. ‘He is not vicious! I should know. He’s mine .’

Arif shook his head. ‘No, no. You’re wrong. Lots of cats look alike, and this one can’t be yours. He is called Pusskins and he’s on the way to have his shots before he goes to Spain.’

Ellie laid her hand on the cage. ‘No, he is not,’ she said. ‘He is called Tuffy and he’s had his shots already. And he belongs to me and he’s so clever he was singing his favourite song just so I’d recognize him.’

‘He’s not yours!’

‘Yes, he is. And I can prove it.’

Quick as a flash, she’d lifted the latch and swung the cage door open.

I’m not a cuddler, on the whole. But I wasn’t going to put my pride before a rescue. I didn’t muck about. I simply jumped straight into Ellie’s arms and purred and purred and rubbed and rubbed, and did all those soppy and embarrassing things some hungry cats do when they don’t have the guts to give you the cold blank stare that means, ‘Get on with it, then. Feed me.’