Энн Файн - The Diary Of A Killer Cat

‘I do wish it wouldn’t dig holes in the anemones.’

Moan, moan, moan, moan. I don’t know why they bother to keep a cat, since all they ever seem to do is complain.

All except Ellie. She was too busy being soppy about the bird. She put it in a box, and packed it round with cotton wool, and dug a little hole, and then we all stood round it while she said a few words, wishing the bird luck in heaven.

‘Go away,’ Ellie’s father hissed at me. (I find that man quite rude.) But I just flicked my tail at him. Gave him the blink. Who does he think he is? If I want to watch a little birdy’s funeral, I’ll watch it. After all, I’ve known the bird longer than any of them have. I knew it when it was alive.

3: WEDNESDAY

So spank me! I brought a dead mouse into their precious house. I didn’t even kill it. When I came across it, it was already a goner. Nobody’s safe around here. This avenue is ankle-deep in rat poison, fast cars charge up and down at all hours, and I’m not the only cat around here. I don’t even know what happened to the thing. All I know is, I found it. It was already dead. (Fresh dead, but dead.) And at the time I thought it was a good idea to bring it home. Don’t ask me why. I must have been crazy. How did I know that Ellie was going to grab me and give me one of her little talks?

‘Oh, Tuffy! That’s the second time this week. I can’t bear it. I know you’re a cat, and it’s natural and everything. But please, for my sake, stop.’

She gazed into my eyes.

‘Will you stop? Please?’

I gave her the blink. (Well, I tried. But she wasn’t having any.)

‘I mean it, Tuffy,’ she told me. ‘I love you, and I understand how you feel. But you’ve got to stop doing this, okay?’

She had me by the paws. What could I say? So I tried to look all sorry. And then she burst into tears all over again, and we had another funeral.

This place is turning into Fun City. It really is.

4: THURSDAY

Okay, okay! I’ll try and explain about the rabbit. For starters, I don’t think anyone’s given me enough credit for getting it through the cat flap. That was not easy . I can tell you, it took about an hour to get that rabbit through that little hole. That rabbit was downright fat . It was more like a pig than a rabbit, if you want my opinion.

Not that any of them cared what I thought. They were going mental.

‘It’s Thumper!’ cried Ellie. ‘It’s next-door’s Thumper!’

‘Oh, Lordy!’ said Ellie’s father. ‘Now we’re in trouble. What are we going to do?’

Ellie’s mother stared at me.

‘How could a cat do that?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it’s not like a tiny bird, or a mouse, or anything. That rabbit is the same size as Tuffy. They both weigh a ton .’

Nice. Very nice. This is my family , I’ll have you know. Well, Ellie’s family. But you take my point.

And Ellie, of course, freaked out. She went berserk.

‘It’s horrible,’ she cried. ‘ Horrible . I can’t believe that Tuffy could have done that. Thumper’s been next door for years and years and years.’

Sure. Thumper was a friend. I knew him well.

She turned on me.

‘Tuffy! This is the end. That poor, poor rabbit. Look at him!’

And Thumper did look a bit of a mess, I admit it. I mean, most of it was only mud. And a few grass stains, I suppose. And there were quite a few bits of twig and stuff stuck in his fur. And he had a streak of oil on one ear. But no one gets dragged the whole way across a garden, and through a hedge, and over another garden, and through a freshly-oiled cat flap, and ends up looking as if they’re just off to a party.

And Thumper didn’t care what he looked like. He was dead .

The rest of them minded, though. They minded a lot .

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Oh, this is dreadful. Next-door will never speak to us again.’

‘We must think of something.’

And they did. I have to say, it was a brilliant plan, by any standards. First, Ellie’s father fetched the bucket again, and filled it with warm soapy water. (He gave me a bit of a look as he did this, trying to make me feel guilty for the fact that he’d had to dip his hands in the old Fairy Liquid twice in one week. I just gave him my old ‘I-am-not-impressed’ stare back.)

Then Ellie’s mother dunked Thumper in the bucket and gave him a nice bubbly wash and a swill-about. The water turned a pretty nasty brown colour. (All that mud.) And then, glaring at me as if it were all my fault, they tipped it down the sink and began over again with fresh soap suds.

Ellie was snivelling, of course.

‘Do stop that, Ellie,’ her mother said. ‘It’s getting on my nerves. If you want to do something useful, go and fetch the hairdrier.’

So Ellie trailed upstairs, still bawling her eyes out.

I sat on the top of the dresser, and watched them.

They up-ended poor Thumper and dunked him again in the bucket. (Good job he wasn’t his old self. He’d have hated all this washing.) And when the water finally ran clear, they pulled him out and drained him.

Then they plonked him on newspaper, and gave Ellie the hairdrier.

‘There you go,’ they said. ‘Fluff him up nicely.’

Well, she got right into it, I can tell you. That Ellie could grow up to be a real hot-shot hairdresser, the way she fluffed him up. I have to say, I never saw Thumper look so nice before, and he lived in next-door’s hutch for years and years, and I saw him every day.

‘Hiya, Thump,’ I’d sort of nod at him as I strolled over the lawn to check out what was left in the feeding bowls further down the avenue.

‘Hi, Tuff,’ he’d sort of twitch back.

Yes, we were good mates. We were pals. And so it was really nice to see him looking so spruced up and smart when Ellie had finished with him.

He looked good .

‘What now?’ said Ellie’s father.

Ellie’s mum gave him a look – the sort of look she sometimes gives me, only nicer.

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Not me. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.’

‘It’s you or me,’ she said. ‘And I can’t go, can I?’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You’re smaller than I am. You can crawl through the hedge easier.’

That’s when I realized what they had in mind. But what could I say? What could I do to stop them? To explain ?

Nothing. I’m just a cat.

I sat and watched.

5: FRIDAY

I call it Friday because they left it so late. The clock was already well past midnight by the time Ellie’s father finally heaved himself out of his comfy chair in front of the telly and went upstairs. When he came down again he was dressed in black. Black from head to foot.

‘You look like a cat burglar,’ said Ellie’s mother.

‘I wish someone would burgle our cat,’ he muttered.

I just ignored him. I thought that was best.