A shaken Dexter soon arrived at the home of Nina, the tiny black and white Burmese who lived at the end of the street. He hurried along the side of the house before scrambling over the fence into the back garden. As expected, the entire gang of neighbourhood cats was there for this was a favourite meeting point. Nina’s owner, Fiona, adored cats and, without fail, left plates of snacks and saucers of milk on the patio for Nina’s friends to enjoy. Fiona also made a point of tickling each of them behind their ears and stroking their coats. There was, however, a cat among Dexter’s friends whom he had not encountered before. The male tabby was lean and athletic and had a kind face with gleaming white teeth. Nina made the introductions.
“Hi Dexter, this is Archie. He’s only just moved to the area.”
Dexter eased warily forward and sniffed noses with him.
“Nice to meet you, Archie.”
“And you, Dexter.”
The rest of the gang had formed a circle in the lush grass of the lawn and were either sitting or hunkered down on their haunches. Only the overweight, lazy, pale-blue and white Persian, Portia, was the exception. She was lying on her side, eyes closed, facing the sun on this superlative summer’s day.
“We’ve left you some treats and milk, Dexter.”
“Thanks, Nina. You really do have the best owner in the world.”
“I wouldn’t disagree, she’s wonderful. She should be along later. Tickles all round!”
A cacophony of purring broke out in anticipation.
“Is there something wrong, Dexter? You look a bit on edge,” asked Jasmine, the elegant, brown-marbled Bengal.
“No, not really. I was just nosing around in Milly’s front garden and jumped onto the windowsill when she tried to attack me from the other side of the glass. She gave me quite a fright.”
“Curiosity will get the better of you one day, Dexter,” Fred, the ginger and white American longhair threw in. “We’ve only got nine lives, remember.”
“Well, you’re one to talk, Fred. I’ve never seen a car brake so hard as the one that nearly hit you the other day. I thought it was curtains.”
“Yeah, me too. Blinking Milly, chasing me like that.”
“Who’s Milly?” Archie queried.
“Oh, she’s the tortoiseshell who lives further down the street,” Nina answered. “She’s quite spiteful and always wants her own way.”
“Don’t we all?” Archie replied, his eyes shining. “We are cats, after all!”
“Yeah, but we’re not as bad as her. She keeps herself to herself and never mixes with any of us. I think she’s a bit stuck up if you ask me.”
“Now, now, Nina, don’t be so catty!”
They laughed
“Funny one, Jasmine,” Dexter put in, licking her cheek and eliciting a healthy purr.
“I only wish it was so funny,” the serious-minded Fred interrupted. “My owners had a real go at me the other day when they saw their bin bag torn to shreds and rubbish strewn all around the garden. They accused me of doing it and gave me a proper scolding when I know for a fact it was Milly. I saw her from the bedroom window. She was like a rabid fox, just mad.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Henry concurred, his face showing its usual state of worry. “For weeks my owner thought I had been doing my business in the middle of the front garden. It got to the stage where she hardly let me out. I kept trying to tell her it was Milly but, you know what it’s like, it’s not easy communicating with human beings. Luckily, she caught Milly red-handed the other day and chucked some water over her. She keeps doing it, though, and I know she’s had words with Milly’s owners on more than one occasion. It’s caused real tension between them. I hope she doesn’t resort to one of those horrible cat repellent sprays. I love my garden and I’d be well hacked off if it came to that. Blooming Milly!”
The gang shivered at the thought for they had all had experience of the dreaded spray.
“You should stand up to Milly, Henry. You’re much bigger than any of us,” Portia broke in, still prostrate in the sun, her eyes closed but clearly all ears.
“I know I should, Portia, but, well, you know me, I’m a bit timid, that’s all. I don’t like confrontation.” Henry lowered his gaze, a touch embarrassed. “She really hurt me that time she dug her claws in my flank and the cuts got infected. I was ill for ages.”
Jasmine approached him, touched noses, and licked the side of his neck. This heartened Henry for he was madly in love with Jasmine.
“It’s easier said than done, Portia,” Fred put in. “Milly can be really nasty sometimes. I sympathise with you, Henry. Do you remember, Jasmine, when you confronted her about your lost catnip mouse and accused her of stealing it? She looked like the devil and it was lucky your owner was around ’cos I thought she was going to attack you.”
“How can I ever forget? I was terrified. She definitely stole it, though.”
“And my ping pong ball,” Dexter added. “That suddenly went missing one day from my back yard and I’m sure I saw Milly dribbling it in the passageway beside her house. She thinks she’s Lionel Messi! Keeping our toys indoors is the motto of this story.”
“If only it were that easy. Milly’s always coming into my house through the cat flap to scoff my food,” Fred responded. “My owners think it’s me being greedy and feed me less as a result. I get really hungry sometimes. I caught her playing with my squidgy fish once in the kitchen so I’ve moved all my toys upstairs. Milly hasn’t ventured up there ... yet!”
“I suspect it won’t be long before that happens, Fred. I’ve never known anyone to have as much nerve as Milly,” Dexter replied.
“I wish she’d snoop around the back of a removal van one day and end up in some far flung place. Life would be so much easier around here.”
“That’s a bit strong, Fred. I can’t believe Milly’s that bad.”
“Wait till you meet her, Archie. You’ll soon change your tune.”
The back door suddenly opened and Fiona stepped onto the patio, a rectangular pale-green plastic container of chopped ham in her hand. The cats rushed forward in anticipation of their favourite titbit. Even Portia bounced up at the sound of the door. Only Archie remained behind, this being his first experience of Fiona. He soon joined the others, however, when Fiona removed the lid and he caught a whiff of the ham. They all stood obediently in line like soldiers on parade before their commanding officer. Fiona tickled each one under the chin and stroked their backs before presenting a morsel to their mouths. Dexter was impatient and tried to intercept Jasmine’s before Fiona gently but firmly pushed him away, Jasmine just missing him with a playful swipe of her paw at the same time.
“And who are you then? I’ve not seen you before. My, what a handsome cat you are.” Fiona read his collar. “Archie. What a lovely name.”
She proffered a particularly succulent piece of ham which Archie eagerly accepted and stroked his coat as he swallowed it. He raised his head in hope of another.
“Oh, go on then. As you’re new.”
The others looked on enviously as Archie devoured a second piece. Portia and Fred leaned their heads into Fiona’s legs and, her conscience pricked by their sorry faces, she reluctantly but gladly gave all the others another morsel.
“That’s enough for now. Too much is not good for you.”
After standing up straight and rubbing the small of her back, Fiona replaced the lid.
Sitting contentedly in the sunshine, the cats smacked their chops to a background hum of low purring. Archie licked his right front leg and wiped his face repeatedly, happy that his owners had moved to an area with such friendly neighbours. At the same time, his curiosity raging, he was intrigued at all the negative talk about Milly.
“She can’t be that bad, surely?”
Archie was eager to find out.
Chapter Three
Brief Encounter
Something wasn’t right. As Milly hid in the thick layers of green, brown and bronze ivy that shrouded
the fencing in her garden, crouching low and awaiting the arrival of the house sparrow that had an annoying knack of avoiding her lunges, she sensed an intruder, and not one she was familiar with. What’s more, she could not understand why the sparrow had not yet appeared, for, with the precision of a Swiss clock, it always did so at this early hour each summer’s morning. Every weekday, an agitated Milly would jump onto the lid of the yellow dustbin beneath the kitchen window, peer between the tied-back red and white check curtains and stew in frustration at her inability to get out and confront it. Tom and Jill had learned their lesson about letting her out in the mornings but made an exception for weekends when they were not at work. Only then did Milly have the chance to catch the sparrow.
“I’ll get you one day, my fat feathered friend.”
Today was a weekday, however, and the “silly idiot”, as Jill called Tom, had left the kitchen window slightly ajar to let out the steam from the kettle. He did not believe the gap wide enough for Milly to escape. He was mistaken. Exiting the kitchen and constantly glancing at his watch, a red-cheeked Tom stomped around the garden in an effort to find her. He couldn’t afford to be late for work again; he’d be in serious trouble this time. Tom was so flustered and full of stress that a quick rummage through some ivy inches from Milly failed to locate her though he was virtually staring her in the face.
“Milly, for crying out loud, where are you? You’ll get me sacked at this rate.”
Milly heard him but was indifferent to his concerns.
“Oh, go away, will you? You’re putting the sparrow off.”
She had only one objective this morning; the juicy, fat, succulent sparrow. But where was it?
The sparrow in fact possessed a formidable sense for self-preservation and, on observing an unfamiliar predator sitting magisterially on the roof of the shed earlier on, had decided to explore for worms in another garden far away. The unfamiliar predator was Archie, making his first foray into Milly’s territory.
“I give up. You’ll just have to stay outdoors today.”
Tom was aware that Jill would be annoyed but she had already left for work and he could not wait any longer. Fortunately, the forecast was for dry and warm weather so he left Milly’s bowls of food and water on the patio beneath the kitchen window. He slammed and locked the back door and two seconds later exited the house through the front in a rush.
“What’s he doing? Why’s he left my food there and shut the door? It looks like I’m out for the day. It’s no big deal, I suppose; I fancy staying outdoors anyway. Might go for a bit of a wander in the churchyard and cemetery later to see what’s happening. I’ll give it a few more minutes to see whether the sparrow appears.”
All of a sudden there was a rustling of leaves and a cushioned thud on the ground as Archie clambered part of the way down the front wall of the shed and leapt onto the lawn, padding over the carpet of fallen cherry blossom to the bowl of food. He was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and specifically because of his early life as a kitten which he would never forget. On holiday on a Greek island, his owners had rescued him from an area of scrubby grass just outside a small village which led down to an idyllic beach. At the time he looked pitiful; a skeletal, flea-infested, dishevelled kitten who had been abandoned by his mother, suffering conjunctivitis and living off scraps. It was a miracle he had survived. Milly was startled, her eyes alert, her posture set as solid as a statue and her nostrils flaring non-stop.
“Who’s that? I knew there was a strange smell this morning. How dare he eat my food. Who does he think he is?”
Milly could feel her hackles rising and stared hard at the intruder. She also noted how handsome he was.
After swallowing a mouthful of food, Archie sensed a presence to his left and turned his head. In the darkness of the ivy, he glimpsed two pinpricks of light at the centre of two pitch-black pupils set within emerald rings. He stood stock still and went eye to eye with his camouflaged observer. Like gunslingers, they waited for the other to draw first. After a tense period lasting a minute but which seemed like an hour, Milly blinked and bolted towards him, sending leaves flying, until stopping just short of his position. Archie flinched but stood his ground.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Milly bristled.
“My name’s Archie and I’ve only just moved to the area. I live down the road. You must be Milly then? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Who said you could eat my food?”
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. It smelled so appetising I couldn’t resist. I’m sure if you come round my house my owners will give you something.”
“This is my territory, you’re not welcome here. If you don’t shift yourself, you’ll have my claws to deal with.”
“Hey, there’s no need for that. I promise I’ll go but I’m only trying to be friendly. It’s true what the others say then.”
“What others?”
“You know, all the cats in the street; Jasmine, Portia, Nina, Fred, Dexter and Henry.”
“Oh, that lot. I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“Why not? They’re really friendly and we have loads of fun together. It’s your loss.”
Milly circled Archie, her eyes never leaving him for an instant.
“For example, we played football yesterday with a ping pong ball. I heard you like football. Why don’t you come and play with us?”
Milly remained silent.
“And then we lounged about in the sun afterwards and told stories of our owners. Portia had us in stitches about how pretentious her’s are, she being named after a Shakespearean character when in reality they like nothing better than to read gossip magazines. And best of all, Nina’s owner fed us chunks of ham, chicken and tuna fish before we left. I could barely jump onto the windowsill when I arrived home.”
Archie sensed that Milly was more relaxed.
“It sounds fun, I have to admit, but I like to keep myself to myself. I don’t like company.”
“That’s a shame, Milly, because you’re missing out on a lot. I used to be like you but at least I had an excuse. I had a terrible start in life and was so mistreated that I hated everybody. My mother abandoned me and none of the other cats wanted to know; they left me for dead. I ate insects and grubs and scavenged in bins, gutters and drains, everywhere basically, for a scrap of food. Horrible kids kicked me around and the adults were no better, ignoring me or slapping me away. I became so frightened and wary that I hissed and spat at anyone who approached me. I always kept my distance and never trusted anybody. Even when my owners caught me, I fought and howled like a wild dog, scared out of my skin as to what they would do to me. I remember them taking me inside a building where a man in a gleaming white tunic stuck a needle in me. I didn’t know what was happening and it hurt like mad; in fact, I scrammed him right across his neck, a real good one that drew blood. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a soft blanket in a hutch large enough to stretch out in, feeling relaxed, warm and safe. A kind girl in a navy-blue tunic then put some food in a bowl and placed it in front of me. I’d never seen anything like it before but it smelled so good I gobbled it down in two seconds flat. This was heaven compared to what I’d been used to. Then my owners appeared and I realised that all they had wanted was for me to get healthy. After a few days, I’d put on weight, my coat shone, my cuts healed and my eyes stopped streaming. I owe them everything and they’ve looked after me ever since, even bringing me back with them to this country. It made me realise that returning kindness to those who showed it to me was how I should live my life. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m so lucky. The people and cats round here are so friendly, Milly, I see no reason why you have to be so nasty to them, particularly as they’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
A momentary silence ensued before Milly reacted.
“Well, thanks for the sob story, Archie, but I’m happy as I am and I don’t need a newcomer like you to lecture me about the people and c
ats in this area.”
Archie sighed.
“I’m not lecturing you, Milly, I’m just giving you my opinion.”
“Well, why don’t you just keep it to yourself?”
Archie sighed again and lowered his gaze.
“Okay, if that’s what you want. I’ll be on my way then. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Archie hurried across the lawn and then with an elegant athletic leap flew onto the roof of the shed. In an instant he was gone. Milly looked in his direction but rather than feeling her usual satisfaction at seeing off another intruder, she sat pensively and wondered whether Archie was right.
Chapter Four
The Sack
Jill suspected the second she approached the house on a cool autumn evening that something was wrong. She normally arrived home from work before Tom but, instead of encountering the customary darkness of the downstairs windows, they were ablaze with light. With some trepidation she placed her key in the door lock. Milly heard the sound and bolted towards her in anticipation of her usual tickle behind the ear. Jill ignored her, however, for a glum-looking Tom was sitting head in hands at the kitchen table, his Bordeaux-red Paisley tie loose around his neck, a lukewarm, half-drunk mug of tea in front of him. He looked up, his eyes two dark pools of worry. Milly followed Jill’s tread and circled around her ankles, still seeking her tickle, and almost tripping her up.
“Come on, what’s up with you today?”
“Go away, Milly!” Jill barked, giving her a gentle kick.
“Ouch! What was that for? Blimey, you’ve both got the hump tonight!”
She spat and hissed aggressively at Jill before running off.
“How dare you bare your teeth at me, Milly. You can be a right nasty bit of stuff sometimes. Just get lost, will you? What’s the matter, Tom? Why are you home so early?”
An anxious Jill sat down next to him and placed her hand over his.
“I’ve been sacked, that’s why,” Tom responded sotto voce.
Jill gasped and placed a hand over her mouth.
Oh, Milly! Page 2