by Ged Gillmore
There was no choice. They were going to have to tackle it head-on. Tuck spotted a huge fallen tree, and he jumped onto it to see what was ahead. As if from nowhere, a large wild turkey flew up in front of him, its great beating wings and squawking beak making him jump so much he almost fell back off the log. By the time he’d recovered himself, the turkey had got into the low branches of a majestic pine.
‘Hee haw,’ the turkey squawked. ‘Can’t get me now!’
‘I didn’t want to get you,’ said Tuck. ‘I’ve had a huge breakfast and lots of chocolate.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said the turkey. ‘Go on, bet you’d like a bit of me, really. You wanna piece of me? You want that? C’mon, c’mon, show us what you’ve got.’
By this time Ginger too had jumped on the fallen log and was sitting next to Tuck. She gave the turkey a cool look.
‘Buzz off,’ she said. ‘Unless …’
‘Unless what?’ said the turkey. ‘You don’t scare me. You come up here and say “unless”. Cats in the forest! Now I’ve seen it all. Bet you think I’m scared. Well, I’m not. I’m wild, man, I’m outta control. I can do what I want.’
‘Unless,’ said Ginger, ‘you want to show us what’s making all that noise? We thought it was thunder at first, but now I’m not so sure. We’re going to have a look—want to come?’
The turkey opened his eyes wide and looked from Ginger to Tuck, from Tuck to Ginger, head going from side to side and from front to back all at the same time.
‘You what?’ he gobbled. ‘You what? You don’t want to go there, you can’t … You can’t make me. I won’t do it, you can’t force me. It’s suicide, you crazy cats.’
And with that he flapped his wings and jumped up to the next branch up the pine tree. ‘Suicide!’ he squawked, jumping and flapping (it could hardly be called flying) up to another higher branch, and then higher and higher again until his tiny squawks of ‘suicide’ could hardly be heard.
‘Cheeses,’ said Ginger. ‘What a turkey.’
Then she looked up at the tree which the turkey had climbed and said, ‘Hang on, I’ve got an idea.’
‘Is it let’s go back the way we came?’ said Tuck hopefully.
Ginger didn’t answer him. Instead, she walked over to the tree, sank her claws into its bark, and started climbing. Tuck sat forlornly and watched her not-as-big-as-before-but-still-somewhat-sizeable bottom disappearing up into the branches.
‘But there’s no firemen here,’ he said. ‘Who’s going to get us down again?’
When he got no answer, he asked the question again, in more of a yowl than a miaow, a kind of miaowl if you like. Only then did he realise that Ginger was out of earshot. He suddenly felt very alone in the eerie dark of the forest floor. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I’m going to climb a tree.’
It didn’t take Tuck long to catch up to Ginger. She was an expert climber and had once led an SAS team across the Alps, but she was out of shape and no competition for Tuck’s athleticism. ‘Go past,’ she wheezed when they were about twenty metres up. ‘I need a rest. You go on.’
And so up Tuck went, all his fear of trees suddenly forgotten, climbing higher and higher, the turkey still flapping high above him. ‘You wanna piece of me?’ it was yelling again. ‘Come and get it, you carnivore.’
Soon the view either side of the tree started to clear. Up here the branches that stuck out to the side were shorter and so the trees, thick and amongst each other down near the ground, appeared to grow further apart. The higher and higher Tuck climbed the brighter the air grew around him until suddenly, seventy metres up in the sky, the view cleared. There were no thunderclouds at all, just a huge pale blue sky. Tuck could see all the way to the horizon. Between him and it there was nothing to see but thousands and thousands of trees, a great green sea rolling in time to the breeze.
‘Oooooh,’ said Tuck. ‘Wowwwww.’
When Ginger eventually caught him up he was still staring at the massive expanse of trees.
‘Do we have to go all that way?’ he said. ‘Just the idea of it makes me tired.’
‘Well,’ said Ginger. ‘Do you see way out there on the horizon? You see where it’s uneven and little blocks of grey are standing up?’
Tuck nodded sadly. It seemed a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very long way away.
‘That’s the city,’ said Ginger. ‘That’s how far we’ve come already.’
‘No!’ said Tuck, turning to look at her so suddenly he almost lost his footing on the branch. ‘No way.’
‘Toadily way,’ said Ginger. ‘But what I’m more interested in is the other direction. What’s making all that noise?’
And without another word she climbed even higher up the tree. The turkey meanwhile had reached the pine tree’s very highest branch and was sitting there quietly, not knowing quite what to say. He figured if he jumped and flapped enough he’d probably get to another tree before he hit the ground, but he was too much of a turkey to try it. This thought annoyed him even more than the idea of being eaten by two cats, and he sat morosely dwelling on his place in the universe, wondering if it was possible to have a midlife crisis so shortly before his death.
But the cats weren’t interested in the turkey, for they had found another view, a clearing in the branches that looked in the opposite direction from the city. There, so close it appeared to be right below them, they discovered the source of the thunderous noise. It was not a river, nor was it a waterfall. It was something far more deadly and dangerous and difficult to cross.
A BIT OF PEACE AND QUIET, BUT NOT FOR LONG
Where are we?’ said Minnie.
‘We’re about two blocks north of Piddle Street,’ said Major without looking up. He was washing his hind legs, trying to get out the scorch marks from where he’d jumped over the fire. The fur was all crinkly and black there, and although you or I might not have noticed it, to such a dapper dude as Major it was downright disgusting.
‘No,’ said Minnie. ‘I mean, what is this place?’
Major was considering whether he should just nibble the charred fur or if that would leave a bald patch. It was a point for some serious consideration, and Minnie’s questions were an annoying disturbance. ‘What does it look like?’ he said.
Minnie looked around her. They’d bombed, then pelted, then run, then trotted, then walked, and finally strolled from the inner suburbs into the city centre itself. Minnie didn’t know the city very well (for reasons which may yet become clear, although I promise nothing), but Major knew every back alley and bakery. So Minnie followed without questions when he said ‘Left here’ or ‘Right up there’ or ‘Between that broken bit of fence’ and ‘Down these steps’ until she was completely and utterly lost.
Minnie and Major were in the very backest alley she’d ever been in. On all sides huge deserted tenement blocks reached up to the sky, four different back walls, each with its own style of dirty bricks, broken windows and torn curtains. They’d entered via a narrow gap between two of the buildings, picking their way under dead bicycles, past smelly milk cartons, and between pieces of newspaper that had blown in there in the seventies and never managed to blow out again.
And now they found themselves here, in a dank clearing in the concrete jungle. The sky seemed a very long way overhead. The ground floors of the buildings around them were hidden behind a ramshackle fence made of a thousand different types of wood nailed or stacked together in a very haphazard fashion. Old doors held up planks from building sites, the remains of chairs were glued to flooring timber; ancient crates and tea chests had been smashed flat and squashed against each other. It was like a museum of rubbish, all of it faded and rain-worn.
And on the ground between all of this was nothing, nothing but dust, where Major sat licking his legs and Minnie stood asking questions.
‘Lord, lovely spot you’ve brought me to,’ she said. ‘It’s not the ’ilton, is it? You bring all your young ladies here?’
‘You never heard of th
e Furom?’
‘Why? Is it near ’ere?’
‘No,’ said Major. ‘You’re standing in the middle of it.’
Minnie’s eyes grew wide and she looked around again. Those deserted tenement blocks were the famous stands! That ramshackle fence was the ancient barrier!
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘’Ere, aren’t you full of ’em, eh?’
And she said several other meaningless phrases as she turned around and around whilst Major decided to nibble off a bit of the black fur on his leg to see what it looked like.
I suppose I ought to explain at this point a little about catfights. Back in 1798, when the first superleague was formed in the backstreets of Paris … Actually, maybe I’ll come forward in time a bit. After the split of the WCFL from the WLCC and the burning of the Catisserie Générale de Paris … Yeah, that’s a bit complicated too. Are you familiar with the UA Fur Cup? Supergrowl? Ultimate Fight Cat?
OK, how to explain this?
Imagine the most famous sports stadium in the entire world. Well, for cats that’s the Furom. Just to fight there is an honour, five thousand caterwauling cats walling you in on all sides, spray and popcorn filling the air, the ancient barrier ensuring any pussy pugilists stay put and fight it out. Minnie had never thought she’d get to see the mythical place. Some said it didn’t even exist, and giving directions on how to get there was banned, for the first rule of catfight is ‘You don’t talk about catfight’.
‘Did Muhammad Alley ever fight here?’ asked Minnie.
‘Yup,’ said Major. ‘Although he was just Catsius Clay in those days.’
‘What about Scratch Hindlegs, the famous southpaw?’
But before Major could answer, they both heard a noise behind the barrier. It was a slow creaking, like an ancient door being opened, quiet at first but growing louder. Minnie shrank back from it and squeezed up tight to Major.
‘Whassat then?’ she squeaked. ‘Oh crikey, what’ll they do if they find us ’ere?’
But before Major could answer this question either, a huge pallet fell out of the barrier and crashed down onto the concrete just in front of them, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. When it cleared, there was a big black gap in the fence. Minnie blinked the dust out of her eyes and squinted into the darkness. There, to her horror, she made out the biggest cat she had ever seen. He was the size of a dog. And not some namby-pamby, scrunchy-scrawny, handbag dog either. Oh no. He was the size of a medium brown dog. He was long-haired and tabby, his huge, thick legs ending in claws, which any cat’s eye could see had been sharpened. He wore a thick, gold collar encrusted with sharp, pointy diamonds. He glowered from the darkness behind the barrier with intense green eyes.
‘Eek,’ yowled Minnie. She stepped sideways and pointed at Major. ‘It was ’is idea. I thought we was going shoppin’!’
The giant tabby looked at her ferociously and then turned his gaze upon Major, who had decided bald was better than burnt (who could disagree?) and was now nibbling away more fur.
‘Oh yeah?’ said the huge tabby in a thick American accent. ‘And who’s he when he’s at home?’
At which point Major looked up from his nibbling. Immediately the giant tabby’s ferocious frown turned upside down into a smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Cheshire.
‘Major!’ he said as he stepped out into the light, his huge paws throwing up more clouds of dust. He bumped his nose against Major’s and rubbed his tabby side against Major’s newly bald back legs.
‘Dude,’ said Major.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said the gigantic tabby. ‘What the smell are you doing here? I heard you and Ginger moved to the countryside. Running a pharmacy or something?’
‘Farm,’ said Major, who hated exaggeration.
‘’Scuse me?’ said Minnie, who never before and never again looked as tiny as she did next to the giant cat. ‘Huc-hum? Introductions, d’you mind?’
‘Well, well, well,’ said the tabby, looking her (not very far) up and down. ‘Hello, kitty. Who’s this, Major? You out on the tiles for the weekend or something?’
‘This is Minnie,’ said Major. ‘Not what you think. Minnie, this is Oscar. Oscar De La Pawya.’
‘Ooh, ’ello, big boy,’ said Minnie. ‘You a fighter, then? Show us your claws, go on.’
Oscar smiled awkwardly and pretended his ear needed scratching.
‘Ooh, ’e’s shy!’ said Minnie. ‘In’t that sweet. Mind if I look around?’
And without waiting for an answer, she walked over the pallet that had fallen in the dust and into the tunnel entrance it had revealed. Oscar asked where Ginger was, and Major told him the whole story. Well, not the bits you’ve read about Ginger and Tuck because clearly he didn’t know that bit. But he told him the rest.
‘And you came here looking for her?’ said Oscar. ‘I’m sorry, buddy. She’s not been here. Not that I’ve heard anyway.’
Which meant she hadn’t been there. Nothing went on in the Furom without Oscar knowing about it. You don’t keep control of a wilful whirl of wildcats without having a firm paw on every detail.
‘It was a vague hope,’ said Major. ‘But that’s not really why I came. I’m looking for Jimmy the Stink. He owes me a favour.’
‘Ha. You have been away a long time. Jimmy might as well be domesticated. He came off the wrong side of a disagreement with a car. Said that when you get down to only three lives you get to thinking about your—what was the word?—legacy. You’ll never guess where he is now.’
Major laughed out loud (something he rarely did) when Oscar told him where to find Jimmy. But his laugh was interrupted by an empty popcorn carton which landed heavily on top of his head. He and Oscar looked up to see Minnie sitting on the best second-floor windowsill.
‘It’s rabbish so far,’ she cackled. ‘You two pussies gonna fight each uvver, or do I ’ave to come dan there an show you ’ow it’s dan? Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!’
‘Who did you say she was again?’ said Oscar.
‘I didn’t,’ said Major. ‘Now, about Jimmy the Stink and that favour he owes me …’
An hour later, Major and Minnie entered a narrow alleyway that smelled of nothing but dried urine—and not all of it from cats. Halfway along, Major stopped and Minnie realised there was a large door in the wall. Before she could ask what it was, a small portion of the door opened and a pair of round brown eyes appeared.
‘Yes?’ said the owner of the brown eyes. ‘What do you want?’
‘Wassup,’ said Major. ‘I’m looking for Jimmy the Stink.’
The brown eyes which filled the small hole in the doorway looked past Major and fixed upon Minnie.
‘Who’s that?’
‘That’s no one,’ said Major. ‘I’m Major. Tell Jimmy I’m here.’
Without another word, the little hole in the door was shut with a slam.
‘What is this place?’ said Minnie. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Now we play a game,’ said Major. ‘It’s called shut the furball up. If you can manage not to say a single word for the next twenty minutes, no matter what happens, I will give you my dinner for tonight. Deal?’
‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Deal or not?’
Minnie thought about it. Last time she’d made a deal with Major, she’d missed out on a breakfast. Then again, she had escaped from the witches with her body intact.
‘Deal.’
‘Starting now,’ said Major.
To which, of course, Minnie was far too smart to respond. Instead she and Major sat in silence for a good twelve minutes as faint noises and voices rumbled and mewled behind the door. Then they heard the noise of locks being unlocked and bolts being unbolted and chains being unchained, and they watched as the sad, heavy, patchy green door creaked open to reveal a very, very old cat in orange robes, his fur as patchy as the paint on the door and his eyes grey and rheumy. He had clearly had grey and white stripes once, but now he just looked salt-and-pepper al
l over. When he miaowed he had the croakiest voice Minnie had ever heard, and she was desperate to make a joke about sounding like a frog or any number of age-discriminatory remarks, but of course she couldn’t.
‘Stink,’ said Major.
‘Mm,’ said the old cat. ‘They call me Brother Sagacious here. Major, how are you? Come on in. They told me you had a young lady with you. She’ll have to stay out here, I’m afraid. This order is strictly toms only, you know that.’
Major looked at Minnie, who in turn looked up and down the narrow alleyway. It was getting dark quickly, and there was no knowing who hung around these parts.
‘She comes with me,’ said Major. ‘She’ll behave. Won’t you, Minnie?’’
Minnie glowered at him more gloweringly than she’d ever glowered before. But she nodded her head and said nothing.
Jimmy the Stink, aka Brother Sagacious, seemed on the verge of saying something, but Minnie looked so frightened and Major looked so determined, he just sighed slowly, stood out of the way, and said, ‘Ten minutes. Just ten minutes and then you have to go.’
Meanwhile, back at the edge of the forest, Tuck pressed his paws against the huge structure to feel it rumble even though it terrified him.
‘A motorway—it’s just a big road,’ said Ginger, although she didn’t sound convinced.
And that was just a big ‘just’. Tuck had seen roads before, mostly from the Burringos’ apartment window, but they were much smaller with little cars the size of matchboxes. And of course he’d seen the roads he and Ginger had driven along in the taxi and walked along as far as the forest. But they’d been empty and quiet. This road was a monster in comparison. If it reached a hill, it cut straight through the middle of it; if it reached a dip, it stretched itself down and filled the dip with concrete. And it was full, full, full of traffic. Not just cars—which were scary enough—but big bellowing buses, terrifying tankers and trucks, large lorries, and deafening diesel dumpsters. An endless stream of them, except streams are soft and gentle, and these vehicles rumbled and thundered and boomed and bellowed and blasted their way along the motorway. So an endless white-water river of them perhaps—anyhoo, you get the picture. Tuck certainly got the picture. He had stared at them with huge yellow eyes from the top of the pine tree, and even from up there they looked big and scary. Here, at the base of one of the walls that supported the road, they were even worse. You could not only hear them, you could feel them. And when you pressed your paws against the supporting wall … eek. He nearly wet himself every time.