Энн Файн - The Return Of The Killer Cat

5: Genius!

HE WENT IN the garage, fetched out a length of tow rope and came back under my tree. Climbing on the stool, he tossed one end of the rope over my branch.

‘Right!’ he said grimly. ‘Slip knot!’

I yowled. Was he planning to hang me? I don’t often wish I could talk, but I admit that at that moment I wished I could rush back to the other side and drop a suggestion to Melanie: ‘Hey, Sugar! Give over praying for something soft and cuddly, and phone the cops. This vicar is trying to kill me.’

He muttered his way through the slip knot. ‘Round and through, then round and through again.’

(I kept up the yowling.)

He tugged the knot tight, then pulled on the rope. I dug in with my claws. The branch came down, but not quite far enough for him to reach me.

He tried again. This time, he managed to pull the branch a little further down. (I nearly fell.) But it still wasn’t quite far enough.

‘Jump!’ he said. ‘Jump the last bit, Tuffy!’

I gave him the blink.

‘Jump, Tuffy!’ he said again.

I glowered at him. (If you had taken a rolling pin to my eyes, and flattened them, they couldn’t have got any slittier. The look I gave him could have crawled through a closed Venetian blind.)

‘Chicken!’ he said.

Okay, okay! So I spat at him. What are you going to do? Throw your woolly at me? He called me a chicken! He was practically begging for it. He as good as said, ‘Spit in my eye, Tuff!’

So I did.

He glowered back at me.

And then – oh, creepy, creepy! The glower turned into a little smile.

‘Ah-ha!’ he said.

I’ll tell you something. People who don’t really like you shouldn’t say ‘Ah-ha!’ It makes those who know they aren’t liked very nervous.

Especially if they’re stuck up trees.

‘Ah-ha!’ he said again, and hurried back to the garage.

The next thing I knew, he was backing the car out. For one horrid fur-shivering moment I thought he was planning on knocking my tree down. But then he stopped, put on the brake and got out again.

He stood at the back end of the car and knotted the other end of the rope round the bumper.

‘Right!’ he said, admiring his handiwork. ‘I think that’s so strong it’ll pull the branch down low enough.’

I stopped my pitiful yowling. I suddenly had hopes of getting down before I died of old age in that tree.

If I am honest, I thought he’d hit upon a brilliant idea to rescue me.

I thought the man was a genius . I was impressed .

6: More fool me

WELL, MORE FOOL me. Don’t get me wrong. The plan went well at first. Tickety-boo. He got back in the car, switched on the engine and drove away from the tree at almost no miles a hour –

– carefully –

– carefully –

until the rope went taut. The branch went down as planned –

– lower –

– lower –

until my way back to the ground was practically a gentle downward stroll.

‘Brilliant!’ I told myself. ‘I can manage that. Leftover sausage and bacon rinds, here I come!’

And I picked my way down the branch –

– tippety –

– tippety –

– and that’s when his foot slipped on the pedal.

The car shot forward. The rope snapped under the strain. The forked tree branch became a giant leafy catapult –

– and I became a flying cat.

Wheeeeeeee! Watch me go! I flew in one beautiful rainbow-shaped arc right over the tree top. (I tell you, I wouldn’t want to do it again, but the view from up there was spectacular. Spectacular! You could see as far as the gasworks.)

But, after that, of course, the only way was

d

o

w

n.

7: Splat!!!

SPLAT!!!

Straight into Melanie ‘s little straw basket.

Okay, okay! No need to sob in your pillow! I may have splatted some of the not-so-cuddly little creepy-crawly things that were scurrying about on the cushion. I didn’t actually end up picking any tiny crushed corpses out of my fur; but still, it would amaze me if all those ants who saw me coming got away in time.

Hearing the thwack! of my landing, Melanie broke off her prayer. She opened her eyes, and, seeing me in her straw basket, looked up to heaven.

‘Oh, thank you! Thank you!’ cried Little Miss Stupid and Soppy ‘Thank you for sending me exactly what I asked for – something all soft and furry to cuddle, just like Tuffy.’

Just like Tuffy?

Did she think I was sent from heaven? How soft is this girl?

But hey! Let’s not be nasty about Melanie. I could have fetched up in a lot worse places than a cosy soft cushion in a little straw basket.

She carried me inside and kept her promise. Cream! Tuna! (Were you expecting me to slide off home to nose through some three-day-old pellets of catfood?)

Then she sat down and stroked my fur while she chose a name for me.

‘Pussywussykins?’

Sure, Melanie. If you want me throwing up on your pillow each time you say it.

‘Little Baby Munchywunchykins?’

Just try it, and I’ll scratch you. Hard.

‘I know. I’ll call you Janet!’

Janet? What planet is she from? For one thing, I’m a boy. And, for another, have I – have you – has anyone, anywhere – ever heard of a pet cat called Janet?

But the cream was fresh. The tuna was delicious.

So Janet was staying. Oh, yes. Janet was warm, well fed and comfortable.

Janet was staying.

8: Sweet little pussy

GO ON, THEN. Snigger. So I looked a bit of a pussy cat, wearing that lacy bonnet. And the doll’s frilly nightie was too big for me. What are you going to do? Ban me from Fashion Week?

I had a good time, being Janet. The meals came three times a day. (Three times a day! That nightie was headed for being a perfect fit, any time next week.) I had steak bits, and haddock, lean chicken, sausage ends. You think of what you really love to eat most, and then imagine soppy little fingers feeding you, mouthful by mouthful, and you’ll see why I stayed.