Timba Comes Home

by Sheila Jeffries

  TIMBA COMES HOME

  Also by Sheila Jeffries

  Solomon’s Tale

  Solomon’s Kitten

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Sheila Jeffries, 2015

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Sheila Jeffries to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-3762-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-3764-8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in the UK by M Rules

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and supports the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.

  To Hayley

  Contents

  Chapter One SOLOMON’S BEST KITTEN

  Chapter Two LEROY MCARTHUR’S CAT

  Chapter Three SURVIVING

  Chapter Four THE OWL WOMAN

  Chapter Five SORRY ABOUT THIS

  Chapter Six ANGIE’S CAT

  Chapter Seven VATI

  Chapter Eight LEROY

  Chapter Nine THE STRUGGLE

  Chapter Ten PURE CELESTIAL ENERGY

  Chapter Eleven THE SCREAM OF AN ANGEL

  Chapter Twelve ACROSS THE SHINING RIVER

  Chapter Thirteen JOURNEY SOUTH

  Chapter Fourteen THE DARK FOREST

  Chapter Fifteen CROSSING THE BRIDGE

  Chapter Sixteen YOU SMELLY OLD CAT

  Chapter Seventeen HEALING THE HURT

  Chapter Eighteen CHANGING THE WORLD

  Author’s Note

  In this story you will find references to ley lines, earth energies and golden roads. I believe these are an ancient network of energy lines which criss-cross the Earth, linking sacred sites such as stone circles, churches and holy wells. I have studied these mysteries for years with the help of the late Hamish Miller who taught me to dowse, and by reading the work of Alfred Watkins, Kathleen Maltwood and John Michell.

  The White Lions of Timbavati are real, and I was inspired by reading Mystery of the White Lions by Linda Tucker and The White Lions of Timbavati by Chris McBride. I appreciate the information given to me by my wonderful friend, Rose Shuttleworth, who drove across Africa to see the White Lions.

  The house was full of Ellen’s love, and now my wonderful kittens were playing upstairs. No matter what Joe did, the house would always be good. I’d lived two lives here now, and it was home.

  These thoughts amplified my purring, during the time of sunset with Ellen. Sadly she couldn’t understand them, but I could understand her human speech and what she was saying came as a deep shock to me. ‘We’ve got to sell our house, Solomon. We’re leaving,’ she sobbed. ‘And I don’t even know if we can keep you.’

  I didn’t want to share the dreaded cat basket with Jessica. Joe had caught her by the scruff, bundled her inside and slammed it shut. She turned round and stared out at everyone, her beautiful eyes desperate. I sat close to the basket, kissing her through the hard iron bars, trying to calm her down, but she wouldn’t be pacified. She was frightened, and broken-hearted. Her three lovely kittens had gone out in that same cat basket the day before, and Joe had come back with it empty. ‘You did take them to the cat sanctuary, didn’t you?’ Ellen asked. ‘Course I flaming did. What d’you take me for?’ Joe said angrily. He was in an ugly mood, slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. ‘Just leave me alone, will you? It’s bad enough losing our home without you starting.’

  I looked at him sceptically. What had he done with our kittens?

  Extract from Solomon’s Tale

  TIMBA COMES HOME

  Chapter One

  SOLOMON’S BEST KITTEN

  ‘I hope you’re not alone.’ The young woman spoke to me from the window of her red car. She must have seen my tiny black face peeping out of the grass at the side of the road. We stared at each other, and an overpowering feeling stirred in my sad heart. I was an abandoned kitten, and this young woman with the mane of bright hair was the person I wanted to be with. And she needed me. Her sweet, compassionate face was haunted with stress, as if she hadn’t got time to stop, even for a fluffy black kitten. ‘I’m sorry, kitty. I HAVE to get to work. You go back to your mum-cat.’

  How could she know my mum-cat wasn’t there?

  ‘Please stop. Please pick me up. I’m in trouble.’ I sent her that thought, and my hungry meow sounded like a scream.

  ‘Angie will come back and check you out later, you little darling,’ she said. ‘And if you’re still here, I’ll take you home . . . Oh damn!’ she cried as something went wrong with the car. ‘Damn this car. Come ON. I’m late for work.’ She forgot about me as she struggled with the problem, revving the engine and filling the lane with black smoke that made my eyes sting.

  Disappointed, I shrank back into the thick grass. My legs wobbled, and I lay down, too weak from hunger to move any more. I hoped Angie would come back for me. She had to. Didn’t she?

  But the next minute a stone flew out of the air and landed close to me. I jumped, then trembled as running feet pounded down the lane. Breathing hard, a boy reached down and snatched the stone. He chucked it at some boys who were riding past on bikes. They were laughing at him and calling him names.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ he yelled back. ‘You bullies.’

  ‘Leroy’s a loser!’ they chanted.

  I crouched there, too petrified to move as the bikes skidded to a halt, sending crumbs of mud flying over my fur. The biggest boy got off his bike and shoved Leroy into the prickly hedge, pushing him again and again into the brambles until he was crying bitterly. Laughing, they rode off and left him there, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve, and tearing his clothes on the brambles. ‘My mum’ll kill me,’ he howled, pulling a long thread from the front of his sweater. He sat there in the mud, sniffing and shaking, and kicking the ground. I offered him a tiny meow of comfort, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  ‘WOW!’ he gasped. The crying stopped, and Leroy’s big eyes stared at me. His rough hand reached out and grabbed me round my skinny little tummy. He held me up close to his face and I saw the anger draining away, and a look of pure delight dawning in his eyes. ‘You’re MY kitten!’ he announced, and pulled a stretchy red-and-white sock from his bag. I screamed and struggled, but he stuffed me inside it, right down into the toe. My fur was squeezed flat, my legs twisted as my claws caught in the fabric, my tail hurting. I prayed for Angie to rescue me, but she didn’t. Trapped in the boy’s football sock, I was bundled into a bag and bumped up and down as the boy ran. Then I heard a bell ringing and the sound of children.

  I listened carefully, sensing that Angie was there amongst them, and suddenly I heard her bright voice. ‘Will you sit down, chil
dren, please?’

  ‘Miss! Leroy McArthur’s got a kitten hidden in his football sock.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘He has, Miss. I heard it meowing.’

  Terrified, I crouched inside Leroy McArthur’s red-and-white football sock, quiet now because I had no energy to meow. Three days without food and the shock of losing everything I loved had left me too stunned to move. A sustaining flame of pride burned in my heart. I was the best of Solomon’s three kittens, my long black fur glossy and soft, my baby eyes still bright blue.

  ‘Open your bag, Leroy. NOW, please, and show me this kitten.’

  The young teacher’s bubbly voice stirred a memory, buried deep in my consciousness, of another lifetime. I had been Angie’s pampered cat, her healer, and her one true friend.

  I felt her lifting the sock into the light.

  ‘It might be a dead rat, Miss.’

  She eased me out and cradled me in hands that had crystal rings and fingernails painted jet black. The air shone with the rainbow auras of children crowding around me.

  ‘Aw!’ they chorused when they saw me peeping out, and their love made a cushion of compassion for me. I managed a plaintive little squeak.

  ‘How could you do this, Leroy? To a kitten!’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing, Miss. It were lying in the grass.’

  The boy’s scratchy voice made me look up at him. I stared, transfixed, into Leroy McArthur’s eyes, and a darker memory loomed. Long ago, in that distant lifetime, he had hated cats.

  ‘It’s my kitten, Miss. I found it,’ he said, ‘and I were gonna take it home and feed it. Me mum won’t mind, honest, Miss.’

  I didn’t want to be Leroy McArthur’s cat. Beyond the glaze of his eyes lurked bitterness that would manifest as bullying, with me as the victim. I was only six weeks old, and proud of myself so far. How had my life gone so wrong?

  It all began when we three kittens lay cuddled up to our mum-cat, Jessica, in a cosy basket under Ellen’s bed. A beautiful lady came to visit our dad, Solomon. She was so full of light that all of us wanted a touch or a word from her. Quivering with excitement, I sat close to my brother and waited while she focused on my pretty tabby-and-white sister. ‘This is a special kitten,’ she said tenderly. What would she say about ME? I was the biggest and the best, my black face bright with anticipation.

  But she ignored me – and my brother.

  I was livid.

  When she had gone I felt the sting of jealousy. I growled at my little sister and smacked her face with my paw. Jessica gave me a disapproving swipe. It wasn’t fair! Angry, I made up my mind to binge on food and grow into the strongest, most independent cat on the Planet.

  Being ignored is the ultimate put-down, and seeing my brother’s disappointed face strengthened my resolve. He was smaller and sleeker than me, and he had a white dot on his nose which gave him a wistful look. He was hypersensitive and vulnerable. I felt protective towards him. In that moment of intense humiliation we bonded for life.

  We rubbed cheeks and licked each other’s faces. We slept curled into each other, our limbs entwined. I could feel my brother’s rapid heartbeat, and he could feel mine. The thoughts we had flowed together as if we were one. What if nobody wanted a black cat? We had each other, and in those weeks of babyhood we grew ever closer. To be separated would be unthinkable. Together for ever. Two black kittens against the world.

  Days later our family was cruelly torn apart. We three kittens ended up abandoned in a hedge at the side of a country lane, closely observed by a bunch of chirping sparrows, a blackbird and two hungry crows. At dusk an owl glided low over the grass. On silent wings it swept up and down, turning its predatory face to look directly at me as I peeped from our hiding place.

  We survived without our mother for a few days and nights. It was me who found a nest of dry grass to keep us warm, me who encouraged my brother and sister to lap water from puddles and taste whatever we could find to eat. I was the leader, and proud of it.

  Fear is powerful. It can turn moments into eternity, and strength into panic, and panic into fury.

  The dog was a hefty Labrador, her coat glistening black. I hissed and spat at her, but she took no notice. I could only watch in helpless rage as she picked up my beautiful tabby-and-white sister and bounded off with her dangling from her mouth. My brother and I huddled together, trembling as the kitten’s piteous cries got fainter and fainter.

  Those cries haunted me, for we’d heard our mum-cat crying when we were snatched away from her. Loud and echoing, as if Jessica wanted to fill the skies with the injustice of having her mother-love cut down so ruthlessly. The man, Joe, who bundled us into the cat cage and dumped us, had once held me in his hands and gently stroked me with a big rough finger. He wasn’t cruel, just desperate and drunk.

  My dad, Solomon, had explained to me how humans live such complicated lives. They don’t forgive each other like cats do, so their mistakes grow into huge destructive energies which roll on across the years, hurting everyone, even tiny kittens who are full of love and joy.

  I kissed my brother on his nose, and licked his sleek head to reassure him. Our sister had gone, but we had each other. I told him we’d find a way to survive, but he didn’t believe me. We were still tiny. Our claws were delicate, our fur so fine that it hardly kept us warm, our tails were optimistic little triangles, our legs wobbly and soft, inadequate for the hardship we now faced.

  Pressed together we listened in horror to the sound of the dog returning, her rough paws scratching the tarmac. She hadn’t brought our sister back. Obviously she had killed her with one crunch of those eager teeth. Before we had a chance to escape, the dog came crashing into our hiding place.

  My paws turned into steel, and my mouth into the mouth of a dragon. Spitting and screaming I launched myself at the dog’s face. With my claws embedded in her soft, bristly muzzle, I kicked furiously with my back legs. The dog just shoved me aside as if I was nothing. She picked up my beloved brother by the scruff, and the last I saw of him was his wild and desperate eyes looking into mine as he was carried off down the lane.

  His cries faded away, and the silence was a new kind of silence. Prickly, like a thorn bush. Entangled in its pain, I felt the loneliness curl around me. To face so much so young seemed overpowering. Grief. Abandonment. Hunger. Danger.

  Small as I was, I didn’t intend to let that dog take me. The trot-trot of her paws as she came back down the lane sent me crawling deeper into the hedge, my mind working frantically to find a solution. A hole! That’s what I needed. A hole so tight that her head wouldn’t fit in there.

  Under the hedge the ground was crisp with old leaves and twigs, clumps of tangled plants and sprays of tough grass, impossible for an inexperienced kitten to negotiate. I stumbled along, banging my nose until it stung. Instinct told me hiding involved keeping quiet, but my distress was so intense that I couldn’t help meowing.

  From under a fern, I listened, and the dog stopped too, listening for me, wondering where I was. I knew she would track me, and I heard the snuff-snuffle of her nose, a whine of excitement as she picked up my scent. I crawled on, in and out of knobbly roots and branches, my heart beating crazily. There was a splintering sound of twigs breaking and the dog pushed into the hedge, shaking it right to the top, sending sparrows fleeing in a burr of wings, and the blackbird shrieking his alarm call.

  I felt her determination. She was going to have me.

  Well, I could fight! I was the son of Solomon and Jessica, two amazing cats. Surely their legacy of wisdom and courage would help me now.

  In a hollow under the hedge was a pile of rubble. Broken glass, blue plastic and jagged lumps of concrete. I clambered over it, cutting my paw on the glass. Sticking out of the rubble was a pipe. Old and dirty, but perfect! I crept inside, down, down into the dark, just in time. The dog’s hot breath gusted after me. She barked, and the sound jolted the pipe and vibrated through my fur. Trembling and weak with exhaustion, I struggled to turn ro
und in the narrow space. It hurt, but I managed it, and crouched there, glaring out at her.

  She stuck her nose into the pipe, and I saw a twitch of whiskers and a gleam of red in her brown eyes. But I was safe. She couldn’t reach me. Frustrated, she began to dig furiously, thumping with heavy paws. Idiot, I thought. Wasting energy tearing up the earth. From that moment I despised the entire dog population of the Planet. Wait until I’m big, I thought. No dog is ever going to frighten me again, and I visualised the magnificent fluffy tomcat I would become. Golden-eyed and glossy, and gorgeous.

  Inspired, I dared to advance up the pipe and aimed a mini-slash at her nose where I knew it would hurt. A blood-curdling yowl emerged from my mouth and my fur sprang to attention, making me look twice as big and spiky.

  The dog’s yelps of pain were music to my baby ears. She backed off and sat there staring and huffing. The stench of her breath made me even angrier. I sent her a telepathic message. ‘Leave me alone, or I’ll come and beat you up when I’m big.’

  She whined, and seemed to be trying to explain something to me, but I refused to listen. Traumatised and alone, I focused on an awesome thought that shone into me like a beam of light. My life was worth fighting for, and I was here in this world for a reason.

  I remained in the pipe for a long time after the dog had gone. The warm afternoon sunshine and the hum of bees in the clover flowers made me drowsy. When I awoke from a snooze, my guts ached with hunger. I longed for the sweet taste of Jessica’s milk, and wanted her to be there, washing me and purring.

  I tried to meow, but no sound would come. I tried to go out and search for food, but my legs were weak. My strength had gone. I was hungry, lost and all alone.

  My baby teeth weren’t strong enough to eat ladybirds and slugs. As twilight came, I watched a moth crawl out of the grass and figured it might be something soft for me to eat. It glanced at me with contemptuous orange eyes and flew away on wings that purred like a cat.