I needn’t have worried: he never came back. A while later, Dad tidied up the garage, sorted out his wood workroom and got rid of the old wardrobe in the process. Now it really was our garage. As for me, I’ve carried the marks of my victory ever since, in the shape of a slit in my ear – a warning to any other potential intruders.
The story of my fight has become one of Tammy’s favourites, which she asks me to tell her time and time again at night, before we go to sleep. She never tires of admiring my bravery and licks my ear while I relate how it received its slit.
8
WE EXPERIENCE WINTER AND A BIG SURPRISE
Winter arrived with a vengeance one night. Thick frost covered the lawn by morning, the leaves on bushes and trees sparkled silvery-white and it was so bitterly cold when I went outside that I feared my nose might freeze. A little later it started snowing, gently at first, then more and more. By lunchtime the snowflakes were as big as my paws and came down thick and fast. They covered the driveway in a thin, wet layer. Mum returned early from work. Dad lit a fire in the black box and we had a cosy evening together in the living room.
When I emerged from my door the next morning, the garden was covered by that same thick, white blanket of snow that I remembered so well from America. It was all just the same as before: the cold under my paws, the fresh scent and the stillness. Everywhere was white, even the air around me. It was still snowing. No cars passed on the road; the village was eerily quiet.
Our driveway was covered in snow so deep I could hardly keep my head above it as I ploughed across. I had to abandon my usual walk at the fence, where a snow drift nearly swallowed me up and looked instead for a sheltered spot where I might do my morning pee. There weren’t many bare patches left anywhere in the garden. I ended up right under a bush, while the heavy snow load on the branches above me threatened to come down on my head. I was glad to get back into the warm, dry house.
Mum couldn’t go to work, because her car was snowed in. She and Dad worked together on their computers in the library. We all moved in there for warmth and company as more and more snow piled up outside. The flowerbed outside the window wore a white cap so high we could barely see the driveway over it. The entire garden gradually disappeared before our eyes in deep, deep snow – far deeper than I had ever seen in America. It was beautiful, but icy cold. Nobody came to visit; not even the postman in his little red van.
We didn’t really mind. After lunch Mum and Dad took the dogs out for a long walk through the deep snow. I opted to stay home and watch from the comfort of the living room as they trudged through the back garden to the forest gate, wrapped up in hats, scarves and thick gloves. The black box was on and Tammy roasted happily beside it in her little bed. We had a peaceful snooze while the red flames licked the window of the black box. When Mum and Dad returned, they brought with them the fresh scent of the frozen forest. Mishka loved the snow so much, she didn’t want to come in and spent the afternoon lying in the garden, snapping at snowflakes and occasionally having a joyful roll. Her fur is much, much thicker than mine and keeps her warm even in very cold weather. Max was less sure about the snow and was glad to warm his paws by the fire.
It went on snowing for a very long time. Tammy was miserable; she had decided it was just not possible to go to the toilet in the snow. Mum tried to teach her to dig a little hole under a bush, like I do, but it was no use. After a couple of failed attempts, Tammy was given a litter tray and was much relieved.
The snow had stopped falling when we got up the next morning, so Mum and Dad set about clearing the driveway. I followed them outside to supervise. Dad sawed an old door in half, and they used a half each to shovel up the fluffy, white snow and tip it over the fence into the paddock next door. It didn’t seem to be too hard a job, but it is a long driveway and they only managed to do half of it before they came back in, red-cheeked and steaming hot, to where I was already waiting for them in the kitchen. It was time for lunch. They continued again afterwards, but I was too tired by then to join them and had a well-earned snooze by the fire instead. By the time darkness fell half-way through the afternoon, they had cleared the whole driveway and even scattered some sand over it. Then they ventured out in the car and returned with shopping bags full of food and drink, enough to keep us fed forever. Now it could go on snowing for as long as it liked.
And it did: the following morning, the driveway was once again covered with a good layer of fresh snow, with more coming down all the time. The tire tracks of the day before were soon swallowed up again.
Now that we had all this winter wonderland right outside our windows, Mum began to decorate the house with fir tree branches collected in the forest and brought the Christmas decorations in from the garage. During a brief break in the weather, they brought home a tree and put it up in the living room. It smelled wonderfully like the one we’d had in America and looked magnificent once it was covered in baubles and lights. There was an air of happy anticipation in the house, of what I wasn’t quite sure, but I looked forward to it anyway.
I guessed we were having house guests, because of the way Mum had been cleaning and making up beds in between rushing off to work whenever the roads were clear. I wondered who might be coming to stay with us. One very early morning, Mum and Dad left in pitch darkness, taking both cars. They were out a long time, well past our usual breakfast time, and the dogs were getting very fidgety when finally we heard the cars purr up the driveway. I ran outside just in time to see all our children spill from the cars, along with Jamie and John. Now I understood the reason for all that snow: it was to set the scene for a magical white Christmas for the whole family!
Dad unlocked the front door and the dogs nearly knocked him over in their eagerness to say hello. They jumped about, wagging their tails, upsetting suitcases and tripping people over while Tammy and I rubbed against everyone’s legs and purred. It was the best Christmas present anyone could have given us.
The celebrations began. We had so much fun together, just like in the old days: the kitchen was always full of delicious food and tantalising smells, the living room a scene of laughter and games, there were sing-songs around the piano in the library, and even the dining room, otherwise rarely used, became the setting of long meals with candles, pretty glasses and that one alarming and quite unnecessary accompaniment to Christmas meals: the cracker. We were joined by lots of other people as well; the house was full to bursting. When everyone sat down to dinner, the big dining room table was crowded. Tammy and I sat underneath, admiring all the pairs of legs around us. There wasn’t enough space left for the dogs to squeeze into the room, but they lay in the hall, close to the open door, and watched with dreamy expressions as meal after meal unfolded. Occasionally, they tried to trip Mum as she carried large plates of food across from the kitchen, but most of the time they were well behaved. It was Christmas, after all.
The wintry weather continued all through Christmas, and everyone thought it was wonderful. The garden saw many snowball fights. The dogs chased each other around bushes and through snow drifts, knocking people over and barking a lot. They rolled in the snow until their coats were covered in icy fluff and snapped at the snowflakes falling from a leaden sky. Even Max seemed to be happy out in the cold. The children built a strange snow creature and put a hat on it. I had about as much fun out there as you can have when you’re almost buried in snow, as I was. Mostly, I watched from the sidelines or from a window. But when everyone had come inside and it was safe and quiet in the garden once more, I strolled around the snowy tunnels created by the others and marvelled at the bluish whiteness all around me.
Sadly, as I’ve discovered in my long life, nothing lasts forever, not even the good times. One day, the snow began to melt and soon afterwards everyone packed up and drifted away. I was sad to say goodbye to them all. Again and again, I watched the car go down the drive, taking some of my children away. Only Robin seemed set to stay with us; he sorted out his room and made himself at home. We were r
elieved to be able to keep him at least, and I happily resumed my responsibility of looking after him. I made sure he got up in the mornings, supervised his breakfast, showed him secret places in our garden and in the forest and advised him on the maintenance of his mountain bike, which had once again taken up residence in the garage. Tammy and I adopted his new bed as our favourite place, night and day. I don’t think Mum and Dad minded. They were busy back at work.
9
A TRAIL ACROSS THE GRASS
It was a fine, cold day in late winter. Even though the snow had all gone, there was a touch of frost on the grass where I walked: it crunched very slightly when I put my weight on it. The smell was all of damp moss, leaf mould and something I couldn’t quite identify: a strong scent of wild creature. As I was doing my business under the shelter of an overhanging bush, I saw it: a dog, crossing our back lawn. I was alarmed to begin with, but soon puzzlement took over. Dogs didn’t smell like that – not that harsh and musty. I remembered smelling this before. It was the strong scent I had tracked in our garden on my first day. So who was this intruder? He was about my colour and had a pointy nose, and when he turned I saw a very bushy tail. I had a feeling I had seen similar dogs in Australia, though only ever from afar. Emily had watched the lambs carefully when they were about, because apparently those dogs liked lamb for dinner.
He stopped, sniffed and continued on his way diagonally across our back lawn. He must have come in from the forest. I decided to stay quietly under my bush and watch as he slipped in between the high conifers that marked the eastern boundary of our garden and scrambled up on to the fence. Dogs didn’t jump that high, surely? I heard a slight bump as he landed softly on the pine needles on the other side, then silence.
I waited for a while under cover, hoping for further developments and was rewarded: before long, the forest dog’s pointy nose parted the conifer branches once more. After a moment’s hesitation, he emerged fully and retraced his path across our garden in the direction of the open forest. He perched for a minute on the fence, took a good look around our neighbours’ gardens as well as ours, then disappeared into the gloom. I breathed out: for a second there, I had feared discovery. His sharp, cold eyes seemed to miss nothing, and I sensed that a confrontation with him was best avoided.
I stayed motionless, camouflaged by the winter foliage, in case he came back again. He did, several times: each time he followed the same path from the forest fence to the conifer hedge and back. He didn’t seem to be carrying anything, but he was definitely on a mission of some kind. Finally, he disappeared in the forest for the last time. His departure left me worried. What had the strange dog been doing? The spot where he had jumped over the fence was very near my mossy wood pile. I would need to check him out. But it could wait until later, once his strong scent had faded and his presence no longer loomed over the garden.
I went inside and joined Dad in the library. He asked me whether I’d seen the fox, and what I thought of him. A fox? So that’s what it was? And what did I think of him? I settled down on the sofa to ponder the question. I knew precious little about foxes beyond what I had just seen, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable. As for my mossy wood pile: I had no idea whether the fox and I might find a way of sharing that part of the forest, or what I would do about it if we couldn’t.
I was extra careful the next time I went outside and stayed close to the cat door until I was absolutely certain that there was no scent of fox in our back garden and no paw prints on the frozen lawn. Only then did I venture further out, all the way up to the fence, and jumped lightly to the top. Still no sign or scent of the fox. I jumped down, gingerly crept over to my mossy wood pile and scanned the surrounding forest. The frost sparkling on the bracken covering the forest floor was undisturbed. A couple of squirrels were chasing one another up a pine tree, the rabbits were all out on the field for their morning graze: all signs of normality and the absence of danger.
I inspected the undergrowth around me in more detail, keeping to the cover of the bracken with my belly to the ground. It didn’t take me long to pick up the fox’s trail. It led to the far side of the slope, where the ground was bumpier and scattered with broken branches and rotting leaves. I hadn’t been this way before because of the difficult terrain, and my progress was slow. I didn’t fancy this part of the forest; too wild and messy. The fox was welcome to it. His scent ended at the base of a large pine tree and there, well disguised by undergrowth and fallen branches, was an excavation that opened into the side of the hill among the tree roots: the fox’s home? It had to be, judging by the strong scent all around it. I took a careful look inside the deep hole: nothing but blackness and the powerful smell of long-standing occupation, but no sign of recent activity. Was Mr Fox in there? I would have to be on my guard from now on, but at least I had the advantage of knowing where his den was.
Slowly and carefully, I retraced my steps, hung around for a bit on my mossy wood pile until I saw the unmistakeable smoke signals rise from our back door, then went home for my dinner. As I chewed my fish meal, I wondered idly what Mr Fox liked to eat. I was to find out soon enough.
10
ROBIN LEAVES, SPRING ARRIVES AND I’M VERY BUSY
What is it with this family? Nobody ever seems to stay in one place for any length of time. It’s very unsettling. We hadn’t enjoyed Robin’s room for long before he started packing up clothes and a whole lot of other things like kitchen tools, lamps and books. They were all piled into the car until it was full to the roof. It took me back to the time when Caroline left us to go to university, and he was almost as excited. There were pictures of aeroplanes all over his desk, and when he wasn’t packing, he was flying planes on his computer. The thought occurred to me briefly that he might be going off to learn how to fly real planes. But no – surely not! How could anyone want to do that for a living? Wild horses wouldn’t drag me onto another plane. I decided it simply couldn’t be and put the niggling worry out of my mind.
Even so, when Robin said good-bye to us and drove off in the car with Mum, I was distraught. How would he cope out there, all on his own, without me to see to his safety and productivity each day? How could Mum and Dad let him go? Didn’t they realize he was way too young and had had self-harming tendencies all his life? I was disappointed by their irresponsible attitude. Once the car had disappeared down the drive, I went upstairs to Robin’s room to inhale his familiar scent, which lingered strongly everywhere. At least he had left us his comfortable room and bed. He had also left many of his things behind, a sign that he would come back to us one day. The prospect was comforting. I turned my attention to his bed with all its comfy pillows, well positioned to catch the sun streaming in through the window, and set about keeping it warm for his return.
I didn’t have to wait so very long: as it turned out, he’s been coming back quite regularly for a few days at a time. Nowadays, instead of his old jeans he wears a smart black uniform with golden stripes on the sleeves, which he whips off and puts away as soon as he arrives, even before Tammy gets a chance to lie on it. And yes, there is an unmistakeable smell of aeroplane about him, so I guess my hunch was correct and he’s flying planes after all. Well – what am I to do about it? Maybe humans enjoy flying. They are quite strange in so many ways; why not in this? I just hope someone looks after him out there. Meanwhile, we give him a really good time whenever he comes home to us by hardly leaving his side, to make sure he feels welcome and appreciated.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Not long after Robin left in the car with Mum, I noticed a change in the weather and in the season. The air became warmer, the days longer, the snow finally melted, the sun managed to crest the trees at the top of the hill for a little longer each day and began to heat up the stones on our terrace. Small, green shoots appeared on the trees; big, golden flowers opened up all over our lawn, proclaiming spring. It was fun being outside again.
I resumed my walks in the forest with Mum or Dad and the dogs. Each time we discove
red something new and interesting. One day we came upon a small girl sitting high up in a tree. She was holding a little black dog in her lap and called down to ask whether I was a cat. What did she think I was? Mum introduced me to her to clarify the situation. Even then, she seemed very surprised to see me out walking. Well, to be honest, we were surprised to see her sitting in a tree, so there.
Another time we discovered a wooden bear leaning against a tree. He looked a little worse for wear; one of his forelegs was missing and his face was lined with deep grooves. I think he was quite old; I wondered where he came from and what he was doing there. Maybe he was the guardian of this forest? He never moved, mind you, just stood in the same spot always, so he wasn’t exactly patrolling the place. I’m sorry to say Max peed on his leg.
Unfortunately, we also met other dogs. The first time it happened, I was taken by surprise, having assumed that the forest belonged to us, just as the paddocks in Australia had been ours. But Mum explained that this forest was open to everyone, and that we would just have to be careful and on the lookout for other walkers. Fortunately, with the start of spring the undergrowth in the forest began to burst forth. Before long, I was able to disappear under a dense canopy of bracken fronds whenever a strange dog came our way. The others would then hang around the spot where I was hiding until the danger was past and we were able to resume our walk in peace.
Tammy greatly admired my courage to walk out into the wild forest with the dogs. She listened wide-eyed to my adventures, but there was no way she would be persuaded to join us. Our garden was large and quite exciting enough for her to explore. She loved playing hide-and-seek behind flowers and shrubs, darting about like a white flash until I felt dizzy watching her, racing up trees with great energy and determination, only to look vaguely puzzled when she got to the top, as though she couldn’t remember why she had climbed up there in the first place, and how she did it. She also took a shine to Mishka’s kennel for her afternoon naps. Its interior was sheltered from the wind and a luxurious sun trap.
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