Timba Comes Home

by Sheila Jeffries

  I was learning how to smile. When Angie turned to look at me and said, ‘Timba!’ in a loving voice, I noticed how her long Egyptian eyes sparkled just because of me! So I put my tail up and tried to smile by tilting my head from side to side to make my eyes twinkle in the sun.

  ‘You are the BEST little cat in the Universe,’ she said, and picked me up tenderly. ‘The Universe has brought us together, don’t you think so, Timba?’

  At the end of the garden path was a gate leading into the drive where Angie’s car was parked next to a gleaming black limo. On Sunday afternoon, Angie carried me down there to see it, helping me to understand the layout of our home.

  ‘Try not to scratch Graham’s precious Volvo,’ whispered Angie. ‘He likes everything pristine!’

  She showed me the quiet lane beyond the drive, and pointed. ‘That way goes to the main road . . . don’t you go down there, Timba, but you can go the other way. It leads to the woods.’

  I took it all in, aware that Angie didn’t know how much I understood. I wanted to tell her about Vati, but she was human, and humans have mostly forgotten how to use telepathy.

  But suddenly Angie was tense and annoyed. ‘Who on earth is that? Oh no . . . I can’t believe that woman knows where I live.’

  A car turned into the drive with a squeal of tyres and a smell of hot rubber. Janine got out, dressed in black tights and a shiny black jacket. I thought she looked like a beetle.

  ‘Don’t panic, Timba,’ Angie whispered, her hand protectively on my fur. ‘You go on purring. She’s not having you back.’

  Angie kept the lid on her anger and spoke to Janine kindly. ‘Hello! I wasn’t expecting to see you, Janine.’

  ‘Yeah, I know . . . sorry . . . but I really need to talk to you.’ Janine looked at Angie with a blend of defiance and desperation in her eyes. ‘And I had the chance of a lift. This is Dave . . .’ She waved an arm at the man in the car. He nodded without smiling. Then he turned the stereo up and sat with his elbow out of the window.

  ‘Ten minutes, babe.’ Dave tapped the chunky metal watch on his wrist. ‘I’ll wait in the car.’

  Angie led Janine to a seat by the garden pond.

  ‘Timba’s adorable,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah . . . I haven’t come to get him back,’ Janine said. ‘It’s about Leroy. I need to . . . like . . . explain something.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Angie said, and her eyes were full of love.

  Janine seemed to be struggling. I went to and fro, from one lap to the other, trying to decide which of these two women needed me most. I settled on Janine’s heart, and she started to cry.

  ‘Take a deep breath, and just tell me,’ said Angie kindly.

  ‘It’s Leroy,’ Janine sobbed. ‘I’m on the brink of putting him in care. I can’t cope with him no more. I do love him. I do. But now he’s getting bigger, it’s one long battle from morning to night. I’m exhausted . . . and not very well . . . and . . . and I’m actually terrified of my own son.’

  ‘That’s so sad for you . . . and for him,’ Angie said.

  ‘I’m under the doctor,’ Janine wept. ‘I get migraines and depression, and I never sleep cos Leroy gets up in the night and draws all over the walls, or he turns the TV on and watches stuff he shouldn’t be watching. He’s out of control. I don’t know what he’s going to do next . . . and then there’s the bullying, it never stops, and it’s always because his clothes aren’t pristine and he hasn’t got decent trainers. I can’t afford stuff, Angie, I’m in debt . . . I had no one to turn to . . . not till Dave came along. I’m going to . . . like . . . lose my house if I can’t pay rent any more, and Dave wants me to move in with him. But he won’t have Leroy. I’ve got such a difficult choice to make.’

  ‘That’s tough, really tough. I sympathise,’ Angie said, and her eyes looked sad.

  ‘But I’ve partly come here to warn you,’ Janine said, talking more calmly now. ‘Leroy went ballistic over losing Timba. He’s trashed his bedroom. He knows where you live, Angie, and he says he’ll walk over here and get Timba back . . . he would too.’

  A cold anxious feeling filled me as I understood what Janine was saying. Leroy intended to snatch me away from my beloved Angie.

  ‘There has to be a better way of dealing with it.’ Angie looked thoughtful.

  ‘Not for people like me there isn’t.’

  The conversation ended abruptly when Graham came stalking mystically out of the house with angry eyebrows and his hair boiling up like a thundercloud. ‘Would you mind turning that objectionable racket down?’ he said to the surprised Dave. ‘I am a professional opera singer, and I don’t want my practice ruined by you and your stereo.’

  The music stopped and Dave grinned out of the car window. ‘Keep yer cool, mate. It’s good music,’ he said, and called out to Janine, ‘Come on, babe. Before I get evicted.’

  Janine scurried back to the car. ‘Don’t forget . . . what I warned you . . . about Leroy,’ she said to Angie. ‘You keep an eye on Timba. Heaven help him if Leroy gets hold of him.’

  Chilling words. I felt threatened yet again. Why couldn’t they just let me grow up and be a cat in peace?

  When Monday morning came, Angie reminded me that she had to go to work. I was to be left alone with Graham for most of the day.

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll take you to see the horses,’ she said. ‘Today you must stay around the house and garden. Get used to the place . . . it’s your home now.’

  She put me down on the doorstep and ran, her hair flying, round to the back of the house. I heard the horses making a weird noise in welcome, and a thundering of hooves, lots of squealing and stamping around. Angie was talking to them and laughing. She seemed like a flame, bringing light and warmth to every living being.

  I stayed on the sunny doorstep until she returned, red-faced and happy, and before long she had changed into her swirling skirt and posh shoes. She picked me up, kissed me and popped me into a round basket with a sumptuous red cushion in it.

  ‘You sleep, little cat. I’ll be back later . . . and I shall tell Leroy how well you’re doing. Mmwah!’

  I hadn’t planned to sleep, and the mention of Leroy bothered me. Supposing he came to get me like he’d threatened! The compelling thought drove me into the garden again to check out some hiding places. If Leroy did come, I’d be ready.

  The fear got hold of me. Without Angie there the place was new and full of dangers. Graham might decide to ‘sing’. The horses might stampede into the garden. Leroy might turn up. Then there were two buzzards wheeling overhead, crying their wild cry. What if the buzzards got me!

  I slunk across the lawn and under the summerhouse, a dusty, brick-strewn hollow, dimly lit by a rim of sunlight filtering through the foliage. A good hiding place. Or was it? I spied a gigantic hole in the earth. I sniffed it, and, predictably, my fur started to ruff out with alarm. Hiding there would be bad news. Some kind of creature was asleep deep inside that dark hole. I retreated with the utmost stealth, and belted back across the lawn to the doorstep. Phew!

  I didn’t want to be a kitten any more. I wanted to be a cat. Eat, I thought, and returned to my dish where Angie had left me some tuna. I stuffed and stuffed, and staggered back to the doorstep just in time to see a scaly pair of legs descending from the sky and two vast blue-grey wings. Shockingly huge. Surely birds couldn’t be that big?

  My instinct took over and locked me motionless except for my fur bushing out . . . again. There was safety in stillness. Even a twitch of my ear or a blink of my eye would tell that dragon of a bird that I was alive and edible. How I wished I’d stayed on the lovely red cushion. I wanted Angie. I wanted Vati. I even wanted Leroy!

  The enormous bird didn’t look at me but unfurled its snake-like neck and stood on one leg at the edge of the pond, its eyes scrutinising the water while I imagined exactly what that long yellow beak could do to a kitten.

  At the same time, inside the house, Graham started to ‘sing’. ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, A
H.’

  It was all too much for me.

  This time instinct fired me towards the apple tree. In a terrible panic I fell over myself getting to it. My claws were brilliant. They hooked into the rough bark of the tree trunk. Thrilled to find myself climbing, I pushed with my back legs, on, up the tree into a flat place between two branches. I paused there, my high-speed heartbeat way out of control, my tail spiky, my eyes staring at the lofty blue-grey bird. He moved. His wings spread wide and he took off, effortlessly, and flew away towards the woods.

  Bursting with pride at my achievement, I decided to make the most of it and stay in the apple tree. To find myself so good at climbing was awesome. I looked up into the tree’s mossy tangle of branches against the sky. Why not go higher? I thought. The big bird had gone, the garden was quiet, and the sound of Graham’s ‘singing’ was inside the house and muffled.

  Higher up, the branches were thinner and there were multiple choices for me. Which way to go? Inexperienced, I didn’t choose carefully, and, in my rush to get to the sky, I soon found the climbing difficult. The spurs of leaves and clusters of green apples got in my way, and now I was clambering precariously along narrow twigs. My balance wasn’t mature enough to cope.

  Climbing up to the sky didn’t seem such a good idea. The blue had gone, and heavy clouds steamed over the sun. A warning breeze chilled my fur and made the branch sway alarmingly. I looked down at the lawn, and it was too far to fall. Then I discovered that turning round was impossible.

  It didn’t help to have a feisty little wren hopping expertly around in the tree. It kept its stubby tail up and its beak open, squawking out dreadful curses and threats. The question of how to get down became paramount. Even if I did manage a three-point turn, I’d still have to get down the steep trunk.

  Jessica would have shown me how, or Vati and I might have figured it out together. Loneliness came over me like one of those clouds overhead. Extra-large raindrops began to fall, harder and faster, splashing into my fur. Soon I could feel water chilling my skin.

  I was in serious trouble.

  The meows of a lonely kitten are LOUD, and mine filled the garden and the land beyond, but nobody came. I must have stayed there for hours, soaking wet and scared. Occasionally someone walked along the lane and paused at the gate to listen. The thick foliage made me invisible.

  The rain stopped but the leaves dripped on me and the tree shook in the wind. Graham appeared, and he wasn’t ‘singing’. He was calling me! ‘Timba, Timba.’ He brought my dish outside, tapping it with a spoon, and it had food in it . . . something deliciously meaty. I wailed and wailed.

  ‘Where are you?’ Graham put the dish down and picked his way across the wet grass. ‘Surely you’re not up there?’ He peered into the apple tree and we made eye contact. A blessed moment, but he spoilt it by saying, ‘You silly kitten.’

  He walked away and came back with a clanking ladder. ‘Don’t you worry, little one. Good old Graham will rescue you.’ He climbed the ladder and stretched out his hand to me. ‘Come on, baby.’ I managed to move the short distance to his hand and this time it felt warm and comforting. Humans can be awesome.

  ‘You’re soaking wet. Come on, come to Graham.’ He held me firmly, put me on his massive shoulder, and climbed down to the ground. He took a folded white hanky out of his pocket and dried me with it. We stared into each other’s eyes. ‘I promise not to sing,’ he said, and I stretched up to touch noses with him to show my appreciation.

  ‘When I’m a cat,’ I said, sending him the thought, ‘I’ll be your best buddy.’

  ‘Aw, what a sweet kitten. He’s so fluffy.’

  ‘Here, you hold him.’ Angie carefully handed me to Laura and I liked her straight away. She smelled strongly of horses, and her brown eyes were happy and kind. I crawled inside her jacket and listened to her heart while Angie told me who she was. ‘Laura is our neighbour,’ she explained, ‘and she’s got all these lovely horses and ponies. Some of them are rescue ponies, and they live in the field at the bottom of the garden.’

  ‘I hope the children will get a look at Timba,’ Laura said, and I came out from inside her jacket and touched noses.

  ‘Oh they will . . . definitely,’ said Angie, ‘and I’ve invited Leroy to come to our Saturday club, if that’s OK with you, Laura? He really needs a bit of horse therapy.’

  I meowed at the mention of Leroy’s name. I was anxious and Angie picked that up immediately. ‘He treated Timba VERY badly, but only from ignorance, not intention . . . I hope Timba’s forgiven him . . . have you, Timba?’

  I did a yes-meow, which was a skill I’d been developing. I could now do yes-meows, purr-meows, call-meows, and fragmented squeaks which I used in conversation only with humans. Then there was the extended-meow, a really useful kind of wail to use in emergencies, and beyond that was the amplified extended-meow, strictly for special occasions.

  ‘You’ll be nice to Leroy, won’t you, Timba?’ Angie asked and I replied with a silent stare. I needed to think about that. What to do if Leroy tried to kidnap me.

  By the end of the week I was much more confident. I’d met the horses, and the rabbits who were in wire runs and cages, and the chickens. None of them took much notice of me, but Angie and Graham gave me lots of attention. Graham persuaded me to get used to his ‘singing’ by humming tunes to me when I was stretched out on his chest. He did it so gently and I quite liked the vibration . . . maybe it was his way of purring, I reasoned.

  One night I became aware that all was not well between him and Angie.

  She made him a special meal and put flowers and candles on the table, then rushed upstairs and came down in a slinky dress that sparkled like the night sky. I thought she looked beautiful.

  But Graham didn’t arrive. Angie paced between the kitchen and the front window, watching for his car. She got more and more agitated, pulling trays of food in and out of the oven, turning it on, then off.

  ‘WHY is his mobile switched off? What is he doing?’ she raged, and hurled the oven gloves across the kitchen. ‘This meal is RUINED!’

  I sat quietly in my basket on the red cushion, tired from my evening playtime, but I couldn’t go to sleep while Angie was stressing.

  It was dark outside and the candles on her table had gone out when Graham’s car finally swung into the drive.

  Angie was waiting for him at the door, a burning spot of colour on each cheek. Her bust and her chin were lifted high with fury. ‘Where have you BEEN?’ she demanded.

  Graham looked evasive. ‘Sorry, love, I am a bit late.’

  ‘A bit late? It’s ten o’clock, and our meal is ruined. It was ready three hours ago. And why was your mobile turned off?’

  ‘Calm down, and let me get inside.’ Graham held up his hand in a sort of peace gesture.

  ‘Don’t you tell me to calm down!’ Angie had sparks flying from her aura. She flung her hands in the air. ‘Not only is it our anniversary, but you knew I was cooking a special meal. I’ve been to endless trouble over it, Graham. It’s an insult to me, it’s discourteous and . . . and . . . ’ She gave a growl of rage. ‘It’s an insult to the UNIVERSE to waste food and my time.’

  He sighed. ‘Don’t go on about the Universe, Angie. I’m really tired.’

  ‘You’re tired! What do you think I am? I’m absolutely beside myself with FURY, Graham. How dare you treat me like this?’

  He stalked past her and flung his coat over a chair. ‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t come home at all.’

  Angie gave a howl of frustration, her fists clenched in the air. ‘I give up,’ she said in a high-pitched voice. ‘Your dried-up meal is in the oven. Get it yourself. I’m going to bed. GOODNIGHT.’

  ‘If you’d just stop being so angry—’ began Graham, but Angie was already halfway up the stairs.

  I heard the bedroom door slam and Angie cried, ‘Why is the Universe doing this to me?’

  It went quiet, and Graham came over to my basket. ‘Hello, Timba,’ he said in
a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bad boy.’

  Chapter Seven

  VATI

  ‘What is the matter, Timba?’ Angie scooped me out from behind the fridge and tried to stroke my hedgehog fur. ‘Such big black eyes. Why are you so scared?’

  Clinging to her shoulder, I stared out of the window. Sniffing around the garden was a dog, and it wasn’t any old dog. It was Harriet, the dog who had taken my brother and sister.

  When I first saw her I don’t think my paws actually touched the ground. I nosedived into the house and fell over the mat. My chin stung from the impact. The sensation of my fur standing up by itself along my back and tail was like being prickled all over . . . losing control. Not pleasant.

  Angie followed my gaze.

  ‘Oops!’ she said. ‘A dog in the garden. Someone left the gate open . . . probably me. You stay there, Timba. It’s only old Harriet.’

  She put me on the windowsill where I sat in draconian pose. What was Angie going to do? I practised growling in case she brought Harriet into the house. I watched stiffly as she went out there.

  ‘Hello, DARLING,’ she said . . . to the dog! She had called that dog ‘darling’!

  Harriet had the grace to look ashamed; obviously she knew she shouldn’t have been there.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ Angie made a fuss of Harriet and took hold of her collar. At the same time an old woman in a funny hat appeared at the gate.

  ‘Oh there you are. Bad dog! I’m so sorry, Angie,’ she said.

  ‘No problem, Freda,’ Angie said kindly. ‘It’s my fault for leaving the gate open. Not your fault, is it, Harriet? Lovely girl. Oh I wish we had a dog. Graham hates them.’

  ‘But I see you’ve got a kitten . . . there in the window,’ said Freda. ‘A little beauty! Where did he come from?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Angie.

  The two women stood in the garden with Harriet firmly clipped to a lead (Phew!). The danger had passed, and it was time for me to wash and smooth my annoying fur. I couldn’t hear much of the conversation but sparks were popping from both the women’s auras. They were gazing earnestly at each other, and waving their hands around.