Timba Comes Home

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘I’m going to bed now, Mum. Timba’s tired,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. OK. Night night.’

  Surprisingly she didn’t try to stop him taking me to bed, and I spent a peaceful night, glad to be close to the breathing warmth of another being. We slept together, a troubled boy and a lost kitten, under the wings of his angel.

  Sitting on the windowsill in the glow of dawn, I turned to look back at Leroy’s bedroom, and got a shock. There were pictures all over the walls, and at first they looked like scribbled lines and splodges, but suddenly I saw they had eyes. Fierce yellow eyes, watching me. And teeth! Long, hooky fangs and gaping jaws. Spooked, I sat bolt upright, too scared to move, hoping that a hard stare from Solomon’s best kitten would make them leave me alone.

  ‘What are you looking at, Timba?’ Leroy must have sensed my fear. He got out of bed and picked me up. I was like a wooden cat in his arms, still trying to outstare those creatures on the wall. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he said, ‘those are my pictures of lions. Mum won’t let me have paper, so I draw them on the wall. I get into trouble for it, but I don’t care.’ He carried me over to the biggest one and patted the wall to show me the lion wasn’t real. ‘See this one, Timba?’ he said. ‘See this big word coming out of its mouth? It says “ROAR”, and I did a load of Rs to make it loud.’

  The spooky feeling subsided, but I couldn’t ignore the lions. So many of them. I kept seeing different ones, and I crept around the floor, looking up at them, checking them out. Would I have to live with these strange, unreal images?

  Leroy picked up a box of pens from under the bed. ‘I’ll draw a picture of you, Timba!’ he said. And I sat mesmerised as he made black marks on a bare patch of wall. ‘This is your thick fur . . . and now your whiskers.’ He did my eyes very big and coloured them yellow. ‘You’re very small, Timba,’ he said, ‘but I’ll look after you. I won’t let the lions get you,’ and he took me back to bed for a cuddle.

  He was trying so hard to be my friend.

  In the morning Janine was still unusually quiet. Leroy fed me and got ready for school.

  ‘Look after Timba, Mum,’ he said.

  Janine hardly glanced at him. ‘Whatever,’ she muttered, and I sensed something ominous about her silence.

  I washed thoroughly and had a little play. Then I slept in a patch of sunshine that was pouring through the grubby window onto the sofa.

  Sometime in the middle of the day, Janine picked me up and cuddled me. ‘Sorry about this, Timba . . . but you’ve got to go.’

  Where had I heard THAT before? ‘Sorry about this . . .’

  Then she put me in the cat cage and walked out into the street with me. I meowed in fright.

  Now what?

  Janine marched along in the sunshine, and went down the street where Leroy had pushed me in the trolley. She turned into the lane with the hedges, and passed the spot where we’d been abandoned. Was she going to dump me in the hedge again? I began to feel angry. Hadn’t a kitten like me got any rights?

  She walked on, looking at the ground, not seeming to notice the blue sky and the wind zigzagging through the cornfields. Past an isolated cottage where a dog was barking, and on towards a low building with a flat roof and lots of glass. A group of women with pushchairs were outside the gate, but Janine tightened her lips and wove her way around them.

  ‘Can’t you stop that meowing?’ she hissed, but I wailed even louder. I was kicking up a fuss, telling the universe how these humans were messing up my life. The idea of being a wild cat rather appealed to me now. Mixed up with the anger was a longing, an ache in my heart. I wanted to be free to explore the amazing world, to know its creatures, its plants and its mysterious energies that cats can sense.

  Janine took me into the building and immediately I recognised the smells of paper, polish and children. I remembered the rainbow auras and wanted to see them again. My meows had become hollow cries resounding up and down the corridors. Leroy would hear me and come running, I thought.

  ‘Hello, Mrs McArthur. Have you come to fetch Leroy?’ said the school secretary.

  Janine put the cat cage on the floor so that I could now only see feet and not faces. What an insult. How would she like it? I was getting more and more upset.

  ‘No . . . and I don’t want Leroy to know I’m here,’ Janine whispered. ‘But it’s urgent. I need to see his teacher right now . . . please. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Angie can’t just leave her class, I’m afraid. Can you wait until home time? Then she’ll see you.’

  ‘I don’t want Leroy to know I’ve got the kitten. Can I sit in your office . . .with the door shut? He’s making such a row!’

  ‘Sounds like a big cat you’ve got in there.’

  ‘It’s just a kitten. Look!’ Janine held the cage up and both women peered in at my meowing face. ‘I don’t want Leroy to hear him.’

  ‘I should think the whole school can hear him!’

  We waited, Janine getting increasingly nervous. Then a bell rang and I heard the sound of children. Somewhere among them Leroy would be grabbing his bag and setting off, expecting to find me at home.

  I recognised Angie’s brisk footsteps out in the corridor, and finally she was with us, looking in at me. ‘You little darling,’ she whispered and put her face close to the bars. ‘Hasn’t he grown!’ She turned to Janine. ‘So why have you brought Timba here?’

  ‘You said you’d give him a home,’ Janine said. ‘I’m really sorry but I can’t look after a kitten. Leroy is OBSESSED with him, and it’s causing nothing but trouble. It’s not fair on the kitten. So, please . . . will you take him . . . otherwise . . .’

  ‘Otherwise what?’

  Janine didn’t answer but stared at Angie. I knew what she was thinking. She was going to dump me somewhere. My meows turned into screams.

  ‘Oh darling! I can’t bear this.’ Angie opened my cage and took me out. ‘You’re so beautiful, Timba. It’s OK. It’s OK. Angie’s got you now, darling angel!’ She kissed the top of my head, and at last I was quiet. Exhausted from crying, I clung to the cardigan she was wearing, and tried to burrow my way inside it.

  ‘Of course I’ll have him,’ she said passionately. ‘And it will be a for-ever home . . . even though I hadn’t planned on having a cat . . . my life is in a state of flux right now . . . but I won’t let him down.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Janine. ‘I wanted to do the right thing for Timba . . . he’s had such a rotten time. Between you and me, I think that Leroy would end up killing him. We’ve had some real humdingers over it.’

  ‘You do realise,’ said Angie, ‘that Leroy is going to be totally heartbroken. He’s talked of nothing else but Timba. He WAS trying so hard to look after him. I’m concerned for him . . . aren’t you?’

  Janine shrugged. ‘That’s life . . . and he’s gotta deal with it.’

  ‘It’s a shame.’ Angie’s eyes blazed with concern. ‘Leroy is SUCH a creative child. Have you seen his art work?’

  ‘No. I don’t let him do stuff like that. He makes enough mess. You should see his bedroom. It’s a tip. And he scribbles all over the walls.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he be allowed to say goodbye to Timba?’ Angie asked. ‘He’s still here. I told him to wait in the playground.’

  ‘No. Please . . . I don’t want him to know.’

  But as she spoke Leroy’s face appeared at the window, pressed to the glass. He looked at me in Angie’s arms, then down at the cat cage. Seconds later I heard running feet and he burst through the door.

  ‘Why have you got Timba?’ he demanded. ‘He’s MY kitten.’

  ‘Timba is going to live with me, Leroy,’ said Angie firmly. ‘Your mum thinks it’s best for him.’

  Leroy turned on Janine, his aura on fire.

  ‘You got no right to do that,’ he spat. ‘You got no right to take my kitten when I’m not there. I HATE you. I hate you all. And when I’m big, I’ll come and get Timba back.’ He hurled his school bag across the ro
om and charged out of the door. The sound of his crying rang in my head for hours.

  ‘He’s broken-hearted,’ said Angie, and she kissed my head again. ‘It’s not over, Timba, with Leroy. We’ve got to do something to help him.’

  My expectations of life as Angie’s cat were based on my past-life experience of being a pampered cat in a luxurious palace, in a culture where cats were idolised. I thought Angie would be drifting around in silken robes with nothing to do but cuddle me and play with me. Wrong! I expected to be the only animal in Angie’s life. Wrong! I assumed that in Angie’s house I would never be frightened. Wrong!

  The first thing she did was introduce me to Graham. Angie sailed down the hall with me tucked close to her heart. ‘This is the music room,’ she told me. ‘And this is Graham, the love of my life. Hello, darling.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss the man. ‘Meet our new kitten, Timba. Isn’t he GORGEOUS?’

  I didn’t turn round to look at Graham. One glimpse of his frowning eyes had been enough. I tried to burrow inside Angie’s cardigan, while Graham stroked me with one finger.

  ‘He’s cute. Real chocolate box. Let me hold him.’

  I wasn’t ready, but Angie carefully lowered me into Graham’s cupped hands. The frown disappeared as he felt my soft fur. I looked up into his eyes, and sensed a secret, something Angie didn’t know about. It was dormant, like a hedgehog in winter, curled up, prickly and asleep. I knew that when it awakened Angie would be like Leroy . . . broken-hearted. Obviously she needed a strong loving cat like me.

  I survived the introduction, but what followed was something completely new to me.

  ‘Graham is a WONDERFUL singer,’ Angie said. ‘I hope you like music, Timba.’

  ‘Cats do,’ said Graham, and he handed me back to Angie. I stared through the window at an apple tree, and wanted to be out there on the grass catching insects and learning about the world.

  ‘How’s the new song progressing?’ Angie asked. She looked up at Graham adoringly.

  ‘Have a listen,’ he said, and went to the super shiny black piano. He wagged a finger at me. ‘Don’t you ever scratch my piano, Timba.’

  Angie slid her bust across the mirror-bright piano top, and gazed raptly at Graham. He played some notes, and I found them startling. Then he squared his huge shoulders, breathed in a bucketful of air, and began to sing like a lion roaring. So, so loud. It terrified me. The sound came from deep in his being, and its power teased the sensitive hairs inside my ears. It was louder than a cat could stand. It was like something reborn from the history of the earth, the howling of wolves, the boom of thunder, the wild cry of a vulture.

  I wriggled out of Angie’s grasp and leaped, spreadeagled, to the floor. My little legs couldn’t yet land from such a height and I fell on my face in a jumble of panicking paws. I gathered my scattered limbs and fled into the garden. Graham went on ‘singing’, but Angie laughed her bubbly laugh.

  Quivering, I crouched under an umbrella of rhubarb leaves and tried to calm down.

  ‘That was so funny!’ I heard Angie say, but Graham wasn’t laughing and he had stopped ‘singing’.

  ‘Better get him in before he digs up my seed bed,’ he said, and I could tell from his voice that the frown was back.

  ‘Oh let him go. He’s a free spirit now,’ Angie said. ‘He’ll find his way around, and come back when he’s ready.’

  A free spirit. A FREE spirit! My mood lifted. Was I free for the first time in my young life? Free to explore the green garden and the mysterious world beyond? I needed to get a sense of direction and make a map of what would become my territory, find out who lived there, who passed through, and who might be asleep under the ground or in the branches.

  Excited, I sat under the rhubarb leaves, my nose twitching, my eyes noticing every tiny movement, even the flick of an insect’s antenna. I watched a ladybird working its way up a stalk, and I stared back at a hard-faced grasshopper who was regarding me with yellow eyes. The silvery purple seed heads of grasses arched out into the light where they danced and sparkled. I considered playing with them, but play was not on my agenda right now. This was serious stuff . . . adult-cat stuff.

  A hole led under the garden fence, with a well-worn track, obviously used by creatures of the night I had yet to encounter. I sniffed at wisps of fur and droppings, not all of which I could recognise.

  I waited, wanting to go through and see the world, but something was happening. The ground under my paws was shaking, and there was a rhythm to it, a one, two, three, four. Mesmerised, I stared through the hole and saw four huge hard round feet plod past on the other side, darkening the light that shone through. Then something snorted and a set of yellowy teeth tore at a tuft of grass, ripping it out from under the fence.

  My fur bushed out with fright. My tail went stiff. I felt as big as two cats. Obviously this grass-grabbing giant had no idea that a black kitten sat just a whisker away from its nose.

  I ventured through on tiptoe, my stiffened fur making it awkward for me to find room to move. Should I, who had slept between the paws of a lion, be so scared of this unknown creature? I made my neck longer and peeped out at the green field stretching away to wooded hills. The grass bobbed with yellow flowers, and to my right was a gleaming chestnut rump with a long tail swishing.

  The horse must have sensed me, for it turned, snorting, its head low to the ground. I was the bravest kitten ever. Poised for a quick exit, I sat there and made eye contact. The liquid-brown benevolent eyes looked back, politely interested in me. The energy was female.

  Start as you mean to go on, Timba, I thought, and I sent her a telepathic message. ‘I’m the new cat in this household. I’m Angie’s cat.’ I felt proud of that status. Angie’s cat!

  The horse was not impressed. She blew a blast of hot air at me, ruffling my fur, and sent me a message back. ‘I’m Angie’s favourite horse. Try not to get under my feet.’

  She started to walk away, her nose skimming the grasses, then stopped and looked at me.

  ‘You do realise that Angie is an earth-angel,’ she said. ‘And earth-angels always take on more than they can manage.’

  I watched her meander across the field towards a group of smaller horses. I was a lucky cat. An earth-angel, and a Spirit Lion, and now a polite horse. I must be someone really special.

  It felt good to rest in the barley grass at the edge of the field in the mellow sun of late afternoon. I needed to keep absolutely still, like an Egyptian statue of a cat, for I sensed a miracle was about to happen, which would link me with Vati. Stillness. Waiting.

  It came silently. The air above the grass shimmered with millions of the tiniest imaginable spiders, each on a thin thread of gossamer, each beginning a magical journey. The grass was bedecked with a network of silver, and the sun made a pathway of gold stretching far away across the fields.

  I wasn’t sure what it meant, but Vati would know. Vati was like the other half of my consciousness. Somewhere out there he too might be watching the sun glisten on gossamer. Vati would know where the secret roads were, and how to find them when the sun went down. He would know how to feel the energy beneath his paws, and use it to bring us home . . . to each other.

  Chapter Six

  ANGIE’S CAT

  ‘It’s only for one night. I promise,’ Angie said, stroking me protectively as I lay beside her on the sumptuous pillow. I snuggled into the crook of her neck, my little paws buried in her sweet mane of hair.

  ‘You know I don’t like cats in bed,’ objected Graham who was sitting up reading a leathery black book. Its fat wad of gold-rimmed pages fluttered tantalisingly when he turned them, and he noticed me watching. I bobbed back nervously, hoping he wasn’t going to ‘sing’.

  ‘But Timba’s just a poor lost baby. Mmwha!’ Angie gave me one of her kisses.

  Graham glowered and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Don’t let him get his claws into the satin duvet.’

  ‘I won’t. He shall be a model kitten!’ said Angie, and
I got another kiss.

  Feeling pampered and important, and with a full tummy, I drifted off to sleep.

  As the morning sun rose over the woods, I sat in the window and thought hard about Vati. ‘Talk to me,’ I pleaded. ‘Where are you, Vati?’ I visualised his wistful face with the white dot on the nose.

  A golden thread glinted in the sun. In the night a spider had swung out from the edge of the roof, spinning her silk ever longer, wilder and wilder, until she touched a leaf on the apple tree and clung there, leaving her lifeline stretched through the dawn as if to remind me how to find Vati.

  I sent him a golden thread of love, and waited. His eyes looked into mine from across those fields where the badgers were. East, into the rising sun . . . and he wasn’t far away. But in front of his wistful face were squares of wire. Vati was in a cage. He wasn’t free like me. I felt his longing. I’ll find you, I vowed. We shall be together again.

  So profound was my stillness and concentration that I did not notice Angie close to me, sharing the sunrise. She must have understood I was in a trance that was not to be broken . . . except by food of course!

  We headed for the kitchen, and I realised that Angie was dressed in an old shirt, jeans and long brown boots. While she mixed my kitty milk she talked to me.

  ‘I’m an early bird . . . like you, Timba! I have to get up and help Laura with the horses, and the rabbits and chickens. Then I grab toast and coffee, shower, and go to work. You’ll have to stay here with Graham while I’m at work . . . then you’ll be on your own for the afternoon when he goes to the theatre.’

  I lapped the milk while she sailed to and fro across the kitchen, watering plants and putting silver spoons and shiny plates on a table. Then she flung the door open and stepped into the dew-spangled garden. She stood in the sun and lifted her arms and face to the sky.

  With the door wide open, I thought some of the night creatures might want to come crowding in and share my kitty milk. So I finished it quickly and dragged my fat tummy to the doorstep. It proved to be a brilliant place to sit washing myself and observing. A doorstep was a ‘between place’, offering choices and helping me to establish territory.