Solomon's Kitten

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘Tallulah!’ he said at last, and a feeling of relief settled over me. ‘I’m not a spirit cat, and I’m not really here. I’m with you in my thoughts, and I know you’re in trouble. You must go home.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said.

  ‘You can, and you must. You are too precious to live wild in the winter. It’s your mission to be with TammyLee. She is calling you now. Listen!’

  I did, and through the silvery night came the distant voice: ‘Tallulah. Tallooolah!’

  ‘It will be all right,’ said Solomon. ‘You can play and be joyful, and no one there will make you afraid. Take back your trust and your joy, and go home to the people you love.’

  I cried to him, in gratitude. Even my angel hadn’t found the right words like he had done.

  Then I heard his purr, and it was louder than mine. It filled the echoing shell of winter. I gazed at Solomon and then he was gone, leaving only the purr in my heart. I turned and trotted homewards along the river, with the words ringing in my mind: ‘Take back your trust and your joy.’ He was right. Who had taken those treasures of the soul away from me? Gretel! I’d forgiven her, but I hadn’t taken back my right to play and be joyful.

  I paused, to look back at the bridge. It was dark against the moonlit river, and the mysterious cat had vanished. He’d left me a picture of where he really was on this winter night, curled up on the lap of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair who sat by a bright warm stove, stroking him and dreaming.

  Solomon. I’d seen Solomon. My dad. My homeward trot quickened to a gallop, the mad dash of an ecstatic cat. I streaked along the riverbank, skidded round the corner and into the footpath, where I saw a torch shining at me and heard TammyLee’s cry of joy as I ran to her with my tail up.

  She carried me home, her cold cheek pressed against my fur. Through the gate, up the path and into the warm kitchen. My supper was still there, untouched.

  ‘You wait till you see our Christmas tree,’ she said, and I followed her into the lounge. I sat down next to Amber and gazed at the sparkling tree. I made up my mind not to touch it, only lie on my back under its branches and watch the reflections in the baubles. I was glad to be home.

  Winter passed and it was spring again, and by then I was a confident and contented cat. I was even a bit fatter, which only added to my magnificence.

  Every afternoon, Amber and I waited in the garden for TammyLee to come home from school. Amber’s sensitivity was awesome, and she knew when the bus was coming, even if it was far away. She’d run to the gate, put her paws on top of it and bark, nearly knocking me over with her tail. I re-arranged my ruffled fur and slipped under the gate, to run down the road and meet TammyLee. It always made her smile to see me welcoming her.

  But one afternoon in May, it was different. Amber’s tail went down and her ears drooped, as we waited. The bus came. We saw it trundle past the end of the road, and it didn’t stop. Where was TammyLee?

  I sat on the hot pavement, waiting, but she didn’t come.

  Something made me look up at the trees overhanging the next-door fence, and one was full of light. It swerved and danced, then settled into a familiar shape. My angel.

  ‘Remember the tree, Tallulah,’ she said, ‘like this one.’

  The perfume hit me. Elderflowers. My angel was showing me something important.

  ‘It’s an anniversary,’ she explained. ‘Humans count events in years, and when the time comes round again, they remember. The feelings return, stronger than before. Today is Rocky’s first birthday, at the time when the elder tree flowers, as it will always be.’

  Amber was whining behind the gate, and Diana was calling me from her window, but I hurried down the road. I knew exactly what I had to do. Follow the river. Go through the scary park with all the dogs, run beside the river towards the town, until I came to the elder tree where TammyLee had abandoned baby Rocky.

  I’d wanted Amber to go with me, but instead, I found myself on a lone mission. The river shimmered in the heat, and a family of ducks were sleeping on the bank. When they saw me, they plopped into the water and swam across to the other side. It gave me an idea. Why not cross the river and be out of the reach of dogs, and people? I climbed the sturdy trunk of an oak tree and followed a curly branch with little ferns growing on it. Soon I was above the water, looking down at the swirls and the green of it flowing below me. The branch was getting thinner and thinner. I hesitated, then realised I couldn’t turn round without falling into the river. Looking down at it made me dizzy.

  Frightened now, I clung to the thin branch, thinking about the logistics of turning round on it. A bunch of sheep stood on the opposite bank, looking at me, as if waiting for me to fall in. I meowed at them and they bleated back, and more sheep came skittering across the field to stare at me, a cat in a tree. I tuned in to their communal mind-set and found they were expecting me to jump. I thought about it. If I crept a bit further along the branch, I might risk a flying leap onto a green tuft of the bank that stuck out into the river. In a way, the hundred eyes of the sheep were encouraging me.

  ‘Tallulah,’ said my angel. ‘Think about your name. Tallulah.’

  From far away, Diana’s clear bell-like voice was calling me from the window. ‘Talloolah. Talloolah.’ My name seemed to be woven into the whisper and burble of the water. The river’s colours were the colours of my fur – silver and black with tinges of gold. Roxanne had given me my name, and it meant ‘Leaping water’.

  As I hyped myself up for the jump, my name echoed up and down the river valley. Even a pigeon was cooing it from a tree, and a black bird, and angels from beyond the glistening edges of the world, all singing my name, inviting me to jump.

  There was a moment of balance when I wobbled a little, and the branch dipped and creaked. A woman walking along the path gasped, ‘Look at THAT CAT! It’s not going to . . .’

  I was a cat on fire. I took off in a spectacular swoosh of oak leaves, my back arched, my paws akimbo, my tail snaking. I held my breath. I was in the air and, in that moment, the sheep wheeled around and fled with a rumble of feet, and the woman screamed, ‘It’s going in the river!’ Back in the garden, Amber was barking, and her barks were giving me energy.

  Phew! I landed precisely on that green tuft with my heart racing, and Amber’s barks changed to a howl as if she was saying goodbye. My angel turned up again, and she was laughing with joy, sending sparkles over the grass.

  ‘Fuzzball could never have done that!’ she said.

  It was true. My name had power.

  It seemed a good time to wash, so I started on my paws, which felt gritty. It’s a privilege to be a cat. We don’t gallop about, knocking things over like dogs. We stop to contemplate and take time to enjoy life.

  While I was picking bits of moss from between my pads, I kept an eye on the sheep, who were now standing in a circle, looking at me with their hundred eyes. I wanted to touch noses with a sheep, so I pretended not to notice them as they tiptoed closer, blowing hot breath out of their nostrils. When they were right up close, I stretched elegantly, and walked towards them with my tail up. A shiver rippled through the flock. They hesitated while the ring-leader came forward and reached out to me with her velvety face. There was a glint in her yellowy eyes as we touched noses, and some of her steam got onto my whiskers. I sent her a quick message: ‘If ever I’m lost, I might need you to keep me warm at night.’

  She might have said, ‘Yes,’ but the moment of contact was brief. Obviously, she was spooked by me, and her courage ran out. She sprang back, and that fired up the rest of the sheep. They took off again, some of them leaping in the air, and fled to the far corner of the field, where they turned and stared back at me with their hundred eyes.

  Mildly annoyed, I finished washing my paws and set off along the springy turf of the riverbank, towards the town. Through the next field, and the next, through tall grasses and flowers so rich with pollen that it made me sneeze. It was hard for me to remember where I was going, and not ge
t distracted by the new places I was discovering; places where tantalising butterflies flitted and bees hummed. There would be voles and mice hidden in that grass. I put it on my ‘places to go’ list, for when I could slip away and do some private hunting.

  My angel was ahead of me, glistening like a dragonfly, leading me on an ever more challenging path, through back gardens that sloped down to the river, over fences and compost heaps, through tangles of honeysuckle and briars. At last, I came to a road between the gardens and the river. There were wheelie bins, boxes of cardboard and empty tins that smelled of cat food. More temptation.

  A perfectly good piece of cheese was lying on the gravel next to one bin. I picked it up gingerly and dived under some bushes to enjoy it in private. The cheese was chewy but deliciously salty and it took me a while to eat it. My mind was on TammyLee, imagining her sitting under that elder tree by herself, remembering Rocky and breaking her heart. I should be there.

  Even as I had that thought, I heard the clonk of shoes on the other side of the river and there was TammyLee, trudging towards home, her school bag slung over one shoulder, her head down, her cheeks red from crying. I was too late. Gretel’s words rang in my mind: ‘You BAD CAT.’ I’d got distracted by the sheep and the piece of cheese. What a disgrace after doing that magnificent jump.

  And how was I going to get back across the river?

  I meowed at TammyLee but she didn’t hear me. She had those little black earphones in her ears, listening to music. I started back the way I had come, wanting to go with her, but then a worse thought came to me. Even if I did go back along the bank and through the sheep field, I couldn’t possibly jump up onto that branch. I sat down to think, and my angel came again, hovering over the water.

  ‘You must go on, to the foot bridge,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you, there are no bad cats, Tallulah. You must cross the bridge and go to the elder tree, then you will know why. Go quickly now. Quickly.’

  She whisked me along under the shimmering umbrella of her wings, and I felt protected. No one stopped me. No dogs barked at me. I reached the foot bridge and trotted over it, relieved to be back on my side of the river.

  I looked for the elder tree, and it had gone. My fur began to prickle and I crouched down in the long grass to see what had changed. The tree, and the old wall, had been removed, and in its place was a new-looking patio with slabs of dark grey and gold, and in the middle was a bench of polished red wood. A new tree had been planted next to it and it wasn’t an elder. This one had thick clusters of pink flowers.

  It felt strangely disappointing. I’d been looking forward to some magic time with TammyLee under that special elder tree. So why had my angel brought me here, hustling me along the riverbank, only to see a bench?

  I watched and waited.

  I could hear the river, and the traffic in the town. Then voices and footsteps. I sat up to see who was coming along the path and it was two women with pushchairs, one behind the other, talking in low voices that seemed to belong to the sleepy afternoon.

  They stood looking at the bench, running their fingers over the polished wood, and touching the square of brass that reflected the sun. I could tell there were babies in the two pushchairs, even though they had their back to me, each had an angel of light like two splashes of gold in the air, not huge but intense and comforting. It made me purr as I lay hidden in the grass, watching. Since that night with Rocky, I loved babies and wanted to be close to them whenever I had the chance.

  ‘Wait, Tallulah,’ said my angel. ‘The right moment will come, if you listen.’

  I listened, and there were grasshoppers zeet-zeeting in the hot grass, and pigeons coo-cooing, and the distant thump-thump of music from the town. My angel pointed at the two women with a finger that sliced through the air like a blade of turquoise light. So I focused on their faces and their conversation. Soon I knew their names – Maddie and Kaye – and Kaye was doing most of the talking.

  ‘Wasn’t it a lovely thing to do?’ she was saying. ‘To put a bench here. And such a posh one. Must have cost a fortune.’

  ‘Lovely,’ agreed Maddie.

  ‘Linda paid for it,’ said Kaye, ‘and she wouldn’t have her name on it. She’s like that.’

  The name Linda tweaked my memory of the kind lady who had found Rocky and cried over him. The lady with the comfortable shoulders and the shivering dog.

  Both women turned and looked at the square of brass again and were silent for a moment. I wondered what was on it. Pity I couldn’t read. I was getting twitchy, wanting to go out there with my tail up, and wanting to go home to TammyLee. Had she been here? Had she cried on this special day, and needed me to be with her, while I was messing about instead of coming here?

  ‘You’re getting negative again. Just listen,’ said my angel.

  ‘But what am I doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘Wait,’ she repeated patiently, ‘and soon you will know.’

  One of the babies was waking up. I could see a plump little hand waving from the pushchair.

  ‘She’s too hot. Aren’t you, my darling?’ Maddie stood up, lifted the baby girl out and sat down again, nursing her.

  Then the other baby started to scream and kick vigorously at the pushchair. Kaye was on her feet instantly.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling? Want to get out, do you? All right, all right. Wait a minute while Mummy undoes the straps.’

  ‘He’s a bruiser!’ said Maddie, laughing, and the baby cried even more furiously while Kaye struggled to lift him out. He was big and energetic, his face red with the crying, his arms and legs thrashing.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Kaye, heaving him onto her lap. ‘He’s in a strop.’

  ‘Go out there,’ said my angel, ‘and purr.’

  I pulled up my tail, straightened my whiskers, and walked out into the sunshine.

  ‘Oh, look . . . a cat. A pretty pussycat,’ said Kaye.

  The effect on the crying child was instant.

  ‘Tat!’ he shouted, and clapped his fat little hands. ‘Tat!’

  I jumped up onto the warm bench between the two women and turned on the purring, rubbing my head against first one and then the other.

  ‘Oh, lovely . . . friendly cat. You stroke him, he’s soft,’ said Maddie, putting her baby girl’s tiny hand on my fur. It felt like a butterfly.

  ‘Tat!’ The baby boy was getting more and more excited. ‘Mine.’

  ‘No, he’s not your cat,’ said Kaye. ‘But you can stroke him . . . or her, is it?’

  ‘Tat . . . mine,’ insisted the baby boy, and he held out his arms to me. I went to him, purring, and let him put both his chubby arms around my neck.

  ‘Don’t strangle the poor cat,’ said Kaye, laughing.

  I let the baby boy love me and listen to my purr. I kissed his red nose and he giggled, patting me a bit too hard. I sat up and looked at him. I saw turquoise eyes, full of astonishment. I saw a mole on his cheek. And I knew why my angel had brought me here.

  It was Rocky.

  Chapter Eight

  ROCKY

  I stared into Rocky’s soul and he stared back. Going deep into those turquoise eyes, I saw that Rocky was ages old and full of light. I kept staring deeper and deeper until I discovered a pocket of darkness, which I recognised instantly as the pain of abandonment. Once I’d found it, I wanted to heal it, so I purred and purred, and stretched my paws over his steady little heart.

  ‘You can’t,’ said my angel. ‘It is part of him, part of his journey. He will always carry that memory, as you carry yours.’

  I kept purring, sending stars into Rocky’s soul with all my energy, thinking I might never see him again, but knowing I had to find a way to reunite him with his true mother. I sent him pictures from my mind, of TammyLee, and how bitterly she regretted dumping him, how much she loved him. He accepted them, but his eyes looked puzzled. He pointed at Kaye.

  ‘Mum . . . mum,’ he said, and looked back at me ‘Tat! Mine.’

  I kissed Rocky
on the nose and he squealed with delight.

  ‘You shouldn’t let cats kiss babies,’ said Maddie, disapprovingly.

  Kaye smiled. ‘I don’t believe that. It’s medical paranoia.’

  ‘But what about germs?’ Maddie was holding her own baby very tightly.

  ‘What about them? We can’t let germs stand in the way of LOVE,’ said Kaye passionately. ‘This cat is giving him so much love. Look at her . . . purring like a sewing machine.’ She put her hand on my back. ‘I can feel the vibration right through her body. And Rocky’s loving it. Aren’t you, darling?’

  ‘Tat!’ shouted Rocky. Then he reached out and patted the square brass in the middle of the bench. ‘Dat?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s a commemorative plaque, sweetheart,’ said Kaye. ‘And it says “ROCKY’S BENCH”.’

  There was a silence while the words sank into our minds.

  ‘Are you going to tell him about it?’ asked Maddie.

  ‘Not yet,’ Kaye replied, kissing Rocky’s silky dark head. ‘When he’s old enough. And IF Social Services decide we can actually adopt him. We want to so much. He’s my LIFE, aren’t you, Rocky?’

  I turned my attention to Kaye, and gave her an intense stare.

  ‘This cat’s got such amazing eyes,’ she said. ‘Golden and so knowing.’

  ‘Wasn’t a cat there when Rocky was found?’ asked Maddie. ‘You showed me a press cutting. It did look like this one. Didn’t the police think it might belong to the mother?’

  ‘They did, but it belonged to an old lady on the other side of town,’ said Kaye, but the joy in her eyes had clouded and I saw that she was afraid of losing Rocky. She looked away, and I felt our contact had been abruptly shut down.

  ‘We’d better get back, Maddie. I’ve got to start Greg’s tea.’

  ‘Dad, Dad!’ shouted Rocky.

  ‘Yes . . . Daddy’s tea. And Rocky’s tea and a birthday cake with one candle.’ She stood up and gently lifted Rocky away from me. ‘Say goodbye to the lovely puss cat.’