A quick tour of our new garden revealed a green and wild place with a range of opportunities. Big trees and bushes lined the edges of a wide lawn in an overgrown tumble of leaves and flowers, allowing intriguing glimpses into dark places underneath. The vegetation was so lush and bold! I marvelled at the softness of the grass under my paws, so different from the hard, prickly ground of our garden in Australia, and at the dense foliage of the shrubs and trees. Everywhere smelt green and fresh. My nose, confined for so long to the stale air of the plane, was assaulted by a bewildering array of scents from all directions. Only gradually did I manage to distinguish wave after wave of new and exciting aromas: the earthiness of a forest floor; the sweet smell of flowers by the fence; the fresh fragrance of tall conifers, a little reminiscent of the gum trees back home; occasional whiffs of rabbit, bonfire smoke and rotting leaves that reminded me of America. Tiny birds were giving their evening concert in timid little chirps and long, melodious solos; furry bumblebees were buzzing homeward; cars passed on a distant road. I rotated my ears in a happy daze, trying to take it all in.
The dappled light of the setting sun was weaving dancing patterns through trees in many shades of brown and green that grew beyond a tall hedge at the end of the garden. I scaled the top of a timber fence to take a look into the dark forest and to my delight spied a pile of mossy logs among the trees so similar to the one I had left behind in America all those years ago, I had to blink hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Where the forest ended, a field of long, wavy grass dotted with grazing rabbits stretched away into the distance. Not bad; not bad at all!
I was swaying dangerously on top of the fence; the long journey was catching up with me. Best return to the house and find a bed for the night that was rapidly falling. Mum and Dad were already in the bathroom, getting ready to go to bed. I was surprised to find they actually had one, complete with pillows and a soft duvet. It was easily big enough for the three of us, and I longed to be close to them after our long separation. As it turned out, so did Tammy. She emerged from her pink tent just as our little procession passed along the landing, and we all jumped into bed together. Tammy curled up on Mum’s pillow, while I settled down in the soft folds of the duvet in the valley between Mum and Dad. Someone’s hand stroked me gently as I drifted off into the first deep sleep for ages.
2
I GET BACK INTO MY STRIDE
Tammy and I slept so deeply, we didn’t even notice Mum and Dad getting up in the morning. Not until the familiar smell of Dad’s mid-morning coffee wafted upstairs did I feel Tammy stirring against me. Slowly we stretched, yawned and reminded ourselves where we were: tucked into Mum and Dad’s bed in our new house, in the new country! The excitement of it all catapulted me from the bed. Tammy found it harder to embrace our situation. She peered carefully over the side of the bed and called for me to wait for her. Quick, then – there was no time to lose! A whole new world was waiting to be explored!
Nervously, Tammy followed me down the stairs, one step at a time. Stairs were a new concept for her, so I patiently waited on the half landing for her to catch up, and then again at the bottom. When she had finally made it all the way down with many stops, sniffs and starts, I led her into the kitchen. Our bowls were waiting for us on the counter top, well out of the way of the dogs, who were lying on the tiled floor, looking smug: they had never been allowed into the kitchen in our old house. Why had the rules changed? I would go and complain.
But there was no sign of anyone. Mum must already be at work. I couldn’t find the children either and didn’t remember having seeing them yesterday. Then again, yesterday was all a bit of a blur. I would look again later; breakfast first. My meal last night had been rushed, and Tammy hadn’t had any food at all. We were starving. The kitchen was bright and cheerful in the morning sun. The coffee machine was spluttering happily and music drifted through the door from somewhere. We followed our meal with a thorough cleaning session, to rid ourselves of the remnants of the bad travel smells and Mum’s bubble bath, after which I invited Tammy to accompany me outside. She was very reluctant. Just one look through the cat door and a sniff of the outside world were enough for her. Then she used the litter tray and ran back upstairs, presumably to find her pink tent and sleep some more.
I, on the other hand, was ready for a long walk. It was a glorious day, and I spent it almost entirely outdoors checking out every corner of our new garden, with only short breaks in the house for more food. I looked around for Dad and found him working at a make-shift desk. He was talking on the phone and didn’t react when I told him that the dogs were in the house. The children were nowhere to be seen. That was disappointing, but I was too busy to mind much.
By the time the sun went down and Mum’s car came up the driveway, I was happily installed on my new mossy wood pile in the forest next door, which being on a slope allowed excellent views of the field, the long driveway up from the road and our front garden. I ran over to greet her and told her all about my discoveries: the fascinating trail of strong scent that ran diagonally across our back garden, the endless forest beyond the hedge, my new mossy wood pile and – best of all – the presence of tree runners busily gathering nuts. I had already checked out where they lived and which paths they used for foraging. In my excitement, I completely forgot to complain about the dogs in the house.
Mum was very pleased to hear how well I was settling in and suggested we should go for a walk together in the forest while it was still light. We took Dad and the dogs and walked out through a convenient gate in the tall hedge at the back of our garden, straight into the forest. We climbed uphill for a little while before the ground levelled out and we entered a green wonderland of ferns and wildflowers, protected by big trees of many kinds. Some were excellent for climbing; all were great for sharpening my claws. We wandered around happily on soft forest paths covered in pine needles and leaves, taking in the unaccustomed scents with their underlying green softness in contrast to the pungent, prickly brown smells of the Australian woods we had left behind.
I had never been out for a walk with the dogs before. It was fun. They, too, liked to stop and sniff a lot, so our progress was slow, but we carefully took in every tree trunk, shrub and flower, and Mum and Dad didn’t mind. When we turned back home, I led the way without hesitation.
As I drifted off to sleep that night, tucked in between Mum and Dad again, I began to feel that the terrible journey might have been worth it, and that we could be happy in this new world.
3
DAD IS GLAD HE HAS ME
If I had thought we were going to be left in peace now to settle into our new surroundings, I was mistaken. Dad had hardly put our travel containers away in the garage (never to be seen again, I hoped) when the first tradesmen arrived. They turned the house inside out, ripping up floors, hammering on the roof, measuring windows and wielding large paint brushes. It was way safer to stay outdoors between the hours of breakfast and dinner. The dogs thought so, too, and even Tammy was persuaded to join us occasionally, although she never ventured further than the edge of the wide stone terrace by the back door. The weather remained bright and sunny, which allowed us to rest on the warm stones while listening to the distant hammering, bumping and scraping in the house.
The tradesmen hadn’t quite completed their jobs before our furniture arrived in two big trucks. Once again, box upon box was carried into the house and deposited somewhere, usually in the wrong place. In between the boxes, the men placed pieces of furniture in such a way that it was tricky even for me to get from one end of a room to the other; for humans, it was impossible. Mum had wisely packed her suitcase a couple of days earlier and flown off somewhere far away, Tammy was still catching up on her sleep, and the dogs were good only for getting in everyone’s way. There was still no sign of the children, so I had no choice but to sit with Dad as he unpacked box after box and to marvel at all the things that emerged. We were pretty tired by the evening, as we sank into the sofa we had found behind a
wall of boxes. I offered Dad my back to scratch, which never fails to relax us both, and we had a snooze before going to bed.
A friend came the next day to help us unwrap a staggering number of the kinds of things humans need to prepare their complicated meals. Were they really all ours? And did we need them? Personally, I reckoned a couple of bowls each would suffice, same as I have. But here they were, and soon the cupboards began to spill over. Dad said this kitchen was too small for us and our things would never fit, but I sensed he was just tired and fed-up with moving. You couldn’t blame him. We had done this so often, and in the past there had always been Mum and the children to help. Now he just had me. That night, I put my paw on his leg as we sat side by side, watching TV across the sea of boxes and told him everything would be all right. He patted my head and thanked me for my moral support.
Over time, Dad gradually cut a narrow path through the boxes so he and the dogs could at least move around the house without having to climb over them. Tammy and I once again enjoyed jumping from one on to the next, and they provided a workout for Tammy, who was still sleeping way too much. The drifts of wrapping paper really woke her up: she dashed in and out of open boxes, hiding among the rustling, white sheets and startling Dad as he reached in to find things. She wasn’t one bit interested in exploring the great outdoors I kept telling her about.
The number of boxes shrank only slowly, despite our combined efforts. No sooner had Dad cleared a small area than other boxes appeared from out of nowhere to claim the empty space. I could tell Dad was getting weary of it all; I’d never seen him scratch his head so often.
Fortunately, Mum returned home just as things were really getting on top of us. She emptied her suitcase and gave it to Dad to fill with his things, then he fled in a taxi and we were home alone with Mum for a change. The unwrapping continued day after day; I did not think we would ever get to the last box. But by the time Dad returned, things were beginning to look okay. Any unopened boxes left were scattered around the house rather than taking over each room. With Dad back in action, we made short work of the last few. The man with the paint brushes finished his job, collected up his dust sheets and drove off. Dad, Mum and I sat down on the sofa, looked around at our orderly house and took a deep breath. The move was over.
As if on cue, the weather broke. The mild, sunny days gave way to a period of cold and rain, during which I stayed indoors and explored the new and pleasant phenomenon of white panels along the walls of every room. They had a habit of warming up early each morning to a cheerful clicking sound, while a pipe by the back door puffed out white clouds of smoke. It was a grand spectacle deserving of close observation and also had the pleasant side-effect of warming up the house now that the sunny season was clearly over. The carpet right by the mysterious panels grew particularly warm, providing cosy patches for a snooze.
I was generally out on my first morning walk at dawn, long before the whole performance started and looked out for the tell-tale smoke signals from the vantage point of my mossy wood pile, sheltered from the rain and wind by big pine trees, while watching the village come to life and the first cars file down the road. Once the smoke appeared, it was time for me to run back home to alert Mum and Dad to the fact that the clicking panels were about to stir into action. I knew they wouldn’t want to miss that. Dad woke up easily enough when I walked across his chest on my way to Mum’s pillow. It took more effort to wake her: occasionally she was so reluctant to respond, I had to tug at her hair to make her get up. On those days I reflected wistfully that it really was about time the children arrived, to provide more entertainment in the mornings and a better chance to get my breakfast at the appointed time. But they remained elusive.
4
THE BATTLE OF THE STAIRS
Even without the children, though, our new house turned out to be almost perfect: wide window sills in the bedrooms upstairs provided excellent views of the garden and all the goings-on down there; the big kitchen had the added bonus of a floor-level fridge, handy for inspection whenever Mum or Dad opened it. But my favourite room of all was the cosy lounge with the black fire box, which I sensed we would need soon, in addition to the clicking panels. There was a real chill in the air already.
The presence of the dogs in the house remained the one disturbing feature of our new life. I raised this with Mum and Dad several times. They had been outdoor dogs in Australia. Their kennels on the veranda had been their beds at night and their resting places during the day. We cats ruled the house. Why had they suddenly attained the status of indoor dogs? Mum said the dogs were getting old, and Dad said it was too cold in England to leave them outside. They both promised that the dogs would not be allowed upstairs, to enable Tammy and me to put some distance between us and the dogs when we felt like it, but beyond that they would not budge. Objections were pointless, so the dogs made themselves at home in our new house.
They didn’t even have kennels any longer. Instead, they were given nice, big beds in the hallway and the run of the downstairs rooms. Max was in heaven: he had never really liked being outdoors, especially in winter. Mum had had to make curtains for his kennel to keep the drafts out, and he’d always worn a coat at night during the winter months. Now he could be found stretched out on the soft carpet in patches of sunshine previously reserved for us cats, enjoying the luxury of a warm house. This wasn’t a satisfactory arrangement at all where Tammy and I were concerned. Worse still was Mishka’s drool all over the kitchen floor, where we had to pick our way carefully to avoid getting wet paws, and her habit of bulldozing everything in her path, including us.
The rule that said dogs were not allowed upstairs was quite a lot of fun to begin with. Tammy and I sat on the half landing to remind the dogs of our privileged status, while they looked up to us longingly. Even so, Max respected the new rule without question: wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him upstairs once he had been told it was forbidden ground. Mishka was another matter. Forbidden ground was exactly what she was looking for. Doing things she wasn’t allowed to provided a challenge for her and alleviated any boredom.
She first began to creep upstairs while Mum and Dad were out and had a good sniff around all the bedrooms. I told them as soon as they returned home, but they didn’t believe me. Finally, one night she went upstairs while Mum and Dad were asleep and staked her claim to the new house by peeing on the carpet in one of the bedrooms. I’m glad to say the sheer size of the puddle immediately ruled out any suspicion that it could have been Tammy or I, and we all knew Max never went upstairs, so the culprit was soon identified and told off. Not that she cared.
But Mum and Dad became wary after that. They put various obstacles at the bottom of the stairs to keep Mishka out. Tammy and I had to weave our way through chairs and drying racks in order to get through. But not for long, because Mishka removed them almost immediately. This made a lot of noise, especially in the middle of the night when all was silent, and it woke Mum, who is a light sleeper. Mishka was sent back to her bed and Mum restored the barricade, eventually adding complex reinforcements such as elastic bands and bits of string. Now we had to jump over them as well as weave through the furniture. The reinforcements succeeded in making Mishka’s job more challenging, but not impossible and definitely more exciting still. When Mum was away on one of her trips, Mishka managed to get through the barricade, creep upstairs and sleep next to Dad for one whole night. Tammy and I were appalled at her impertinence. It wasn’t until the morning that her snoring eventually woke him. I’ve never seen him jump out of bed so fast.
When Mum heard what had happened, she bought a special gate that could be fastened to the bottom of the stairs. Tammy and I were still able to get through the bars, but for Mishka the sturdy gate spelled an end to her nightly entertainment. Hard though she tried to remove it, using teeth and claws, it was solidly fitted and never gave way.
This should have been the end of it really, and we fully expected to be able to settle down to undisturbed nights, but we ha
dn’t reckoned with Mishka, who was frustrated, perhaps, but never beaten. After a couple of nights of brooding boredom, she chased Max from his bed and made him stand in the middle of the hallway. He did this patiently enough for a couple of nights, but eventually he grew so tired he had to call for help. I went downstairs and had stern words with Mishka – to little effect, I’m sorry to say. Grinning slyly at me through her slanted eyes, she continued growling at Max whenever he tried to return to his bed. I had no choice but to get Mum, who stormed downstairs, gave Mishka a good smack and settled both dogs back in their beds. It lasted for less time than it took me to go outside for a pee. On my return, both dogs were out of their beds again, and this time Mum and Dad were downstairs, looking tired and cross. We all agreed that Mishka was not an indoor dog and should sleep outside again. Mum bought a new kennel for her, the old one having been left behind in Australia, Mishka moved outside and Max gratefully crawled back into his bed. So did the rest of us.
5
WE HAVE THE KIND OF PARTY I DON’T LIKE
Mum and Dad decided to have a party to celebrate our arrival in the new house and the end of our big move. They began by moving all the furniture we had only just carefully placed, to make more space in the middle of the living room and in the kitchen. Apparently they expected lots of guests. Mum spent hours in the kitchen on the day, preparing little bites to eat. I tasted most of them: they were scrumptious. Dad went shopping and returned with bags full of clunking bottles. He neatly set out most of our glasses on trays in the kitchen. Then Mum gave the dogs a good brush, to make them look respectable. She said there was no need to do anything to me and Tammy, because we already looked great.
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