The red people, who had sat down on a long bench to recover their breath, were watching me from a distance in obvious bewilderment. No doubt they were impressed with my appetite. So was I, to be honest. I had never eaten quite this much before. When I was done, I decided to make amends for my earlier outburst and introduce myself properly to my captors. I strolled over to the bench and greeted them each in turn. They were delighted to meet me. Then I asked them to show me to my room, and they all led the way back down the corridors to its open door. I walked in and looked around. It was basic, to put it kindly – just a concrete floor, brick walls and a door at the far end which led out into my private yard, also concrete and completely enclosed by a sturdy wire fence. No climbing tree, no fish pond.
I came to the conclusion that I really had somehow, and for no reason I could think of, ended up in prison; a strange welcome to my home country. But on the upside, there were no dogs, and the room on closer inspection contained a very comfortable bed with a warm blanket. Considering also the prospect of more delicious meals and drink to come, I decided to resign myself to my surroundings for the time being. Surely my family would get me out of here once they heard where I had ended up. Mum would very probably shout at the red people when she came, just as she had shouted at staff in the horrible cat hotel in America. Meanwhile, I would make the most of my less than perfect situation by eating and drinking as much as I could.
My captors were plainly relieved by my change of heart and pleased to see I was no longer cross with them. I settled down on my new bed and slept away the remainder of my first day and all of my first night back in Australia.
2
I AM BADLY DISAPPOINTED
A great many days went by without any sign of my family. I had ample time to explore my new abode, but as it was small and unexciting, that was soon done, after which I began to get very bored. There was absolutely nothing to do! Inside my room, it was warm and cosy, but I could see nothing at all; it was only good for sleeping. Outside in my yard, it was cold and draughty, but I could at least see the other cats and have a chat with my immediate neighbours. They were pleasant enough, but just as bored as I was. Having travelled from various parts of the world, they were wondering what Australia was like. I was able to prepare them a little for their new lives by telling them about the crystal-clear pools they could expect in their gardens, the abundant wildlife, the endless sunshine and the excellent standard of holiday accommodation for cats. This information cheered them up, and together we looked forward to the day when our families would come to take us away from this dismal place.
The only highlight of our day came at dinner time, when the red brigade marched up with our bowls. The food was always excellent. My only complaint was the amount: there was never enough of it – never even half as much as I had eaten on my first day. At least there was always plenty of water, which tasted so nice I never even missed the milk I had become so used to.
For the remainder of the time, I day-dreamed about running through the field of long, green grass next to our house in America, or along the shady forest paths, hunting moles and squirrels. Or of lying in the hot sun high up on the deck, watching my family at work and play down below. It all seemed so far away – so long ago! Oh, how I missed it all! Did they miss me, too, or had they forgotten about me? And if so, would I have to stay in this cell forever?
One night I dreamed I was being accused of having murdered a squirrel. A tall person in a red uniform was glaring at me sternly and telling me it was against the law in Australia to kill squirrels. He was holding up a plum and a squirrel tail as evidence of my guilt. All around the room, angry squirrels were nodding their heads when he accused me and demanded that I should spend the rest of my life in prison. I woke up in a cold sweat and decided I would give all squirrels a wide berth from now on. Then I remembered there weren’t any in Australia and felt weak with relief!
The days dragged on and on. New cats arrived, jet-lagged and bewildered, and had to be settled down. Many complained loudly of their accommodation, but none of them, I am proud to say, came even close to my performance on the first day. One of my immediate neighbours was collected by her family. It was very moving so see them being reunited, and all of us left behind were doubly sad afterwards that we were still here. On that day, I crawled into my room and curled up tight on my bed, trying hard not to think.
Then one day as I was grooming myself in my yard, I heard familiar voices! They were coming from the direction of the front door, and they were drawing closer all the time. My heart started beating faster and faster, and I stretched my neck as long as it would stretch in order to see who was coming. But I knew, of course: it was my family, all five of them! They were being led by one of the red brigade, who let them into my yard by the gate in the wire fence. I could simply not decide whom to greet first, so I kept running from one to the other! For a long time, we just cuddled and stroked each other – I had dispensed with my rule number one (no cuddling!) the moment I saw them – then they sat down with me and we talked and talked. They had clearly missed me just as much as I had missed them. Their trip seemed to have taken a lot longer than mine – presumably they didn’t get to sit in the crew’s room on the plane – and they had only just arrived in Australia. That’s why they hadn’t come to get me earlier.
I could tell they disapproved of my prison, but Mum didn’t shout at anyone. I encouraged her to make a fuss, but she didn’t rise to the challenge. Well, I reckoned it didn’t matter any longer, since we were going to leave anyway. I started to get ready. This didn’t take long, as I had practically nothing to pack. It was while I was rushing about sorting things out that I became aware of a mood change in my family. There was no happy anticipation, as there should have been. Instead, I sensed sadness and regret, and they started stroking me in a good-bye kind of way. I was confused and looked from one to the other; they all shook their heads gloomily and Mum said something about rules and regulations that was way too complicated for me to take in. But the horrible truth began to dawn on me: I wasn’t going home with them. Why, I could not imagine, since they clearly loved me still.
I was gutted. To have seen them and not be able to go with them was the cruellest thing I had ever, ever known. The children felt it, too. All three of them were crying when we said good-bye again, all too soon. They brought out some toys and several bags of treats so I would be less sad, and Emily gave me one of her sweaters to put on my bed, to remember her by. None of those things could comfort me; I didn’t mind the treats, but what use were toys when I had nobody to play with? I was distraught when they left, and they knew it.
I slunk back into my room, wrapped myself in Emily’s sweater and stayed in bed for several days. I did not want to see the other cats, who were calling for me outside. I did not even want my food when the man came at dinner-time. It stayed in the bowl until morning, by which time my tummy was rumbling so badly I simply had to eat it. But the hurt inside me did not go away, even after I had eaten.
Mum and the children came twice more to see me. Each time we sat and talked, they stroked me and left me more treats and more toys. Each time saying good-bye became a little harder. I think they knew that, which is why they didn’t come very often.
By and by, I began to notice that some of the other cats’ families also came to see them and then left again without taking them away. Many cats would cry for hours afterwards; it was heartbreaking to hear. Yet other cats were collected and left happily with their families. This gave us hope. Maybe one day our turn would come when we would leave our cells, never, ever to come back.
Well, you guessed it: my day came eventually! Mum and the children arrived, and I could tell immediately by their happy voices that I would be going home with them this time. I was right, as usual. We didn’t sit down together for long. Mum packed up my toys and Emily’s sweater, then she picked me up and I only just had time to call my good-byes to my neighbours before we walked out, past all the cells containing my fe
llow-sufferers, past the ever-cheerful red brigade who waved to us over their morning tea and biscuits, and out by the front door! I took a deep breath of fresh air – it wasn’t actually very fresh, as I found myself practically in the middle of the city, but I just felt I should – then we climbed into our new car. It was a great big white car with chunky tires. We sat very high up, where we could look down on all the other cars, on the dogs and people, as Mum drove us right through the centre of the big city that was to be our new home. Caroline told me it was called Melbourne.
We arrived at our new house in time for lunch. Dad was there to greet us. The children couldn’t wait to show me everything. It was a tiny house: just two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, one for Mum and Dad, the other one for all three children, and a large room downstairs with the kitchen in one corner and the laundry room, where my bowls and a litter tray had been prepared. I didn’t like the look of the litter tray; I had hoped finally to be able to do my business outside again. But nothing could spoil my happiness for the time being: I was home!
3
LIFE IN A BOX
After a couple of days in the tiny new house, I was more than ready to return to the great outdoors. I had not hunted in weeks; I had had to use horrible litter trays instead of lovely, brown soil; I had had no exercise and was feeling sluggish and unfit. Mum was not keen to let me out: our house stood right by a road. That didn’t scare me, though. I knew all about roads, since we had lived on a busy one when I was a kitten. Besides, there was a small fenced garden outside the living room for me to explore. We battled for several days: each time a member of my family left the house, I was right there, waiting to slip out between their legs; each time, they caught me. It was infuriating.
I tried to entertain myself with what little excitement was available, but the best I could get was a large, empty cardboard box that stood in the middle of the living room. Robin had rescued it from the recycling bin and was using it as a cubby house. There were pillows, books and a camping light in there. He also insisted on having all his meals in the box, so I joined him and we snacked on bits of cheese and an assortment of crackers, hidden away from the strange new world outside. I think Robin missed our nice, big house and garden in America just as much as I did. Above all, he missed his little red Jeep, which he had had to leave behind as he was getting too big for it. According to Mum, Robin was now almost eight years old – his birthday was coming up. According to Robin himself, he was only five if you didn’t count the holidays. Either way, the two of us sat in Robin’s box, felt sorry for ourselves and waited for something interesting to happen.
It happened quite out of the blue, as these things often do, when Mum came back from the shops and proudly pulled what looked like a length of rope from her bag. She showed it to me and looked excited. How could you get excited over a bit of rope? On closer inspection, it turned out to be several bits of rope intricately knotted together. Still I couldn’t imagine why she was showing them to me, but I feigned polite interest anyway, just to please her, by sniffing it appreciatively.
That was when Dad sneaked up on me from behind and picked me up. I was momentarily too surprised to struggle. At once, Mum pulled the string contraption over my head and around my front legs, effectively strapping me into it. Then she attached a lead to one of the strings, opened the glass doors to the garden and motioned me outside, a triumphant smile on her face. That’s how, before I knew what was happening, I found myself being paraded around our front garden on a lead, for all the world to see, like a common dog!
I was stunned for a minute or two. Stunned, and totally humiliated. How dare she? The front garden had suddenly lost all its appeal. All I could think of was how to lose those strings. I threw myself on the grass and wriggled and wriggled until I sensed some freedom in one of my forelegs, then my neck, then the other foreleg – and I was free! Without missing a beat, I leapt over the small hedge separating our pocket-sized front garden from the next one and ran off. Mum was powerless to stop me, and she knew it. Her helpless yells were getting fainter as I cleared several more hedges and turned a corner, to find myself in a large car park. They would not find me there very easily: it was full of cars for me to hide under. I chose one that still felt a bit warm from having been recently driven and settled down underneath it.
It wasn’t long before my entire family appeared in the car park and started looking for me on their hands and knees. Up and down the rows of cars they crawled, calling for me, waving treats and generally looking pretty conspicuous. Before long, they were joined in their search by other people, surprised to see two adults and three children crawling around a car park. It was an embarrassing spectacle, and I tried to look as though I didn’t know them.
Of course they spotted me after a while. But really, all I had to do was move to another row and another car. It was too easy; we could go on doing this all day. Dinner time was still hours away. Until then, I would be quite happy in the car park.
My family must have reasoned along similar lines, because they gave up after a while and sat down on a low wall to discuss the situation. I could tell they were not happy. Mum was getting the blame for my escape, which wasn’t entirely fair, because she had only been trying to help me, after all. I made a mental note to be cool towards the other four tonight, after I returned home. They sat there, arguing, for a long time, until Robin announced that he was hungry and wanted to go back in his box to have lunch. One by one, they reluctantly left the car park, until I was on my own with the cars and with the other shoppers, who soon lost interest in me, and I in them.
Finally, I was free to explore my surroundings. I did a quick circuit of the car park, walking on top of the low wall my family had sat on. There wasn’t very much to see – just cars and a few small trees. I checked out the far side of the car park, where there were more little houses with tiny gardens, then I retraced my steps to our house via the neighbouring front gardens. They were all identical, small and very boring. Not even a bird’s nest in any of them; not one mouse. Had I landed here a few years ago, I would have been desperate. Nowadays, I knew this could not possibly be our house for long: my armchair wasn’t there, for one thing. So there was hope that we would move away before long, to a better house with a crystal-clear pool and a tin-roofed garden shed in a sheltered spot. For now, I had seen enough.
I leapt back into our front garden and strolled into the living room through the open glass door. My family were sitting around the dining table – all except Robin, who was in his box. I rubbed my side against Mum’s leg in appreciation of her efforts, but ignored the others, before joining Robin for a bit of lunch.
4
WE HEAD FOR THE HILLS AND IT GETS EXCITING
Mum realized it was pointless trying to restrain me after my escape to the car park. She now left the glass doors to the garden open for me in the daytime and told me I was free to roam. Unfortunately, as I had discovered during my first walk, there was not very much out there to roam in; we were surrounded by houses and roads. Dogs walked past our front garden pretty much every day, and the cars on the road drove quite fast. I took to doing my business outside, which pleased Mum as she could dispense with the litter tray, and I snoozed on the paving stones when the sun was out. Once I visited the neighbours when their patio doors were open, only to find their house identical to ours and just as boring. I snoozed for a while on one of their beds, so as not to offend the lady who had shown me around, but really, there was nothing to be gained from our short acquaintance. I went back home and was almost as bored as before.
I started snacking to pass the time – something I had never done before – and craved more and more food. Mum tried to ration my dinner portions, but I complained so loudly that she usually gave in and added a bit more. Gradually, I noticed that jumping up on the beds required a little more effort than before, and once when Mum hadn’t opened the glass door far enough, I almost got stuck. There was no denying it: I was putting on weight. But I told myself I would
soon lose it again once we moved somewhere more interesting, and besides, I’d had a traumatic time in prison and deserved a little treat now and then.
Just as I had suspected, we didn’t stay long in the tiny house. Within a few weeks, the bags were packed again and we were back on the road in our car. I sat with Caroline, Emily and Robin on the back seat; no more travel container for me! We were all very excited at the prospect of moving into a proper house with more rooms and a bigger garden. I was particularly looking forward to the crystal-clear pool and the hunting prospects.
We drove along endless roads lined by houses, houses and more houses. Melbourne certainly was a big place, but it looked pretty grey and uninspiring to me. I couldn’t wait to see green fields and forests and was not disappointed, as we gradually left the greyness of the houses behind and headed towards colourful open country. I saw a park, a river and big trees, a small town that looked less forbidding than the city streets had done, and then our car climbed a steep hill and stopped right at the top. We all jumped out and looked around.
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