King of the Vagabonds

by Colin Dann

One night Sammy lay awake while the other cats slept. He felt restless and was thinking of his father again. There was a pitter-patter of quick little feet across the shed floor. Bright moonlight penetrated the wooden building and Sammy looked around him listlessly. A mouse was running about in search of titbits. Sammy watched with no more than a flicker of interest.

  The mouse stopped, sat on its hind legs and wrinkled its nose. Its forepaws hung limp as it tested the air. Some sixth sense had told the little animal it was noticed.

  ‘I know you’re watching me,’ the mouse squeaked. ‘I shall see you in a moment.’ It made no move to run away, perhaps because it was not sure which was the safest direction to run.

  ‘I am watching,’ Sammy confessed, ‘but for no special reason.’

  The mouse dropped to all fours and his little black beady eyes focussed on the cat. When he was sure who had spoken he relaxed visibly.

  ‘Sammy,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said the cat. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve watched you grow up, you and your sister. I was born in the shed too.’ And the mouse squeaked with amusement.

  ‘I don’t know your name,’ Sammy said. He was wide awake now and becoming more interested.

  ‘Tiptoe.’

  ‘Very appropriate, I should think. Anyway, it’s good to see a new face. Nothing ever happens around here.’

  ‘You’ve got to make it happen,’ the mouse told him. ‘I get into no end of scrapes. The other day I climbed up the shed door. Just as I got to the top a gust of wind caught it and blew it back against the wall. I just had time to jump down or I should have been squashed flat.’

  ‘That was a huge jump for a little creature like you,’ said Sammy.

  ‘An enormous jump,’ Tiptoe averred. ‘But cats aren’t the only animals who can jump. Of course, I was a bit shaken up for a while, so I went and found something to eat and then I soon felt better.’

  ‘Doesn’t the mistress feed you?’ Sammy asked naively.

  ‘The mistress? Oh, you mean – no, no, she doesn’t know about us mice. At least, I hope she doesn’t. Human beings don’t approve of us usually. Tee hee hee.’ He seemed to find it all very comical.

  Sammy was delighted with his new friend. He seemed to have more life in his tiny body than Stella, Molly and Josephine rolled into one.

  ‘Ours is a very kind mistress,’ Sammy informed Tiptoe loyally.

  ‘So I understand,’ came the reply, ‘and she’s been kind to me more than once, only she doesn’t know it. Tee hee.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Oh, I often find scraps you cats or the dog have dropped or left behind. And then there’s your mistress’s own scraps too. We mice never go short, you know.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Sammy remarked. ‘But, you know, you’re very welcome to some of my food. I always have more than enough. You don’t have to wait for the scraps.’

  ‘Well, that’s a new notion, certainly,’ the mouse replied. ‘I suppose I should be grateful although, to be honest, I prefer my way of foraging around. That way, you never quite know what you may find. And then, a lot of what you eat doesn’t appeal to me at all.’

  ‘You’re very independent,’ said Sammy. He was comparing Tiptoe’s way of life with his own. The idea of actually having to look around for food had never entered his head.

  ‘Have to be, don’t I?’ Tiptoe laughed good-naturedly.

  ‘You remind me of my father,’ Sammy murmured.

  ‘Your father?’ Tiptoe cried. ‘Why, was he a mouse?’

  Sammy chuckled. ‘Of course not. But I believe he has to catch his own food.’

  ‘Cats of that sort don’t recommend themselves to me at all,’ replied the mouse. ‘Woe betide small creatures who cross their path. But I don’t remember seeing a grown male cat around?’

  ‘He’s not around,’ declared Sammy. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Oh, I follow,’ Tiptoe muttered to himself. ‘One of the wandering sort.’

  ‘What?’ asked Sammy, who did not understand.

  Just then Stella stirred and they were interrupted. Tiptoe decided discretion was the better part of valour and scuttled away. Before he was quite out of earshot, Sammy begged him to come again and renew their friendship.

  ‘I will,’ squeaked Tiptoe. ‘Just when you least expect it. Tee hee!’

  ‘Sammy?’ It was Stella’s voice.

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘Were you talking?’

  ‘Er – sort of. Mother, is my father a wandering sort of cat?’

  ‘Well now, I wonder what put that idea into your head,’ said Stella.

  ‘Because I’ve never seen him round here,’ Sammy said. Naturally he was not going to mention Tiptoe.

  ‘Why are you so concerned about him?’ she returned. ‘Josephine never asks.’ But there was just a suggestion of a wistful note in her voice which Sammy immediately detected.

  ‘I want to know what he’s like,’ he said eagerly. ‘Will I ever see him?’

  ‘You may – and you may not,’ Stella replied evasively. ‘I can’t tell. He hasn’t come this way for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, you’re just like Molly,’ Sammy wailed in exasperation. ‘She never gives anything away about him, and I’m sure she knows.’

  Stella had heard from Molly that Sammy was forever questioning her. She considered for a moment. She realized that the youngster was entitled to know some things about his father.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s sleep now. But I promise that tomorrow I’ll tell you a little about him.’

  That made the excited Sammy even less inclined to sleep but he knew he had to be content for the time being.

  The next morning he, Stella and Josephine lay in the shade underneath the apple tree. It was very warm. Mrs Lambert had given them milk and they were feeling refreshed and comfortable. Molly was lying on her side a little distance off on the grass, enjoying the full effect of the sun’s rays on her old bones. Sammy waited for his mother to keep her promise. At length she began.

  ‘You were asking if you would ever see your father. I can’t tell you, because his movements are very unpredictable. He makes an appearance quite unexpectedly and then, just as suddenly, he’ll depart. And no one will know where he’s going.’

  Molly’s ears had pricked up. She had been eaves-dropping. Now she raised her head and called out: ‘If your father is who I think he is, Sammy, it would be better if you never did see him. A wilder sort of creature I’ve never come across.’

  A strange look came over Stella and, to Sammy’s surprise, she became rather defensive. ‘Oh, not so wild, Molly,’ she said ‘I know him better than you.’

  Molly was unperturbed. She waddled over. ‘Well, he always seemed to have come from some scrap or other whenever I saw him,’ she maintained.

  Sammy was enthralled and even Josephine started to show some interest.

  ‘Naturally he has to defend himself,’ Stella answered the dog.

  ‘What is his name?’ murmured Sammy.

  ‘I’ve always known him as Beau,’ his mother said.

  ‘Beau,’ Sammy repeated. He liked the sound of it ‘Beau, Beau,’ he chanted.

  ‘Now you know, and a lot of good it will do you,’ Molly said to him.

  ‘It will do him no harm to know his father’s name,’ Stella asserted.

  ‘Is he a fierce cat?’ Josephine wanted to know.

  ‘He’s never been fierce with me,’ Stella answered. ‘But he has to look after himself and there may be one or two other male cats around who might have a different idea of him.’

  Sammy was so excited he could not keep still. Josephine, though, thought it was sad. ‘Why doesn’t he have a mistress to feed him?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘He doesn’t need one,’ Sammy answered quickly. His head was full of wonderful new ideas about this unknown animal.

  ‘He feeds himself,’ Stella explained to Josephine ‘But, let me tell you both, that’s no subst
itute for having a kind mistress to look after you and see you never want for anything.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Molly agreed. ‘And if your father was here now you’d see what we mean.’

  This was Sammy’s dearest wish. ‘Oh, if only he would come,’ he said. ‘But tell us more about him. Please.’

  Now that the subject of Beau was fully out in the open, Stella did not seem at all loth to discuss him. ‘Well then, he’s a tabby like you, Sammy. But then again, he’s not really like you at all. His coat is darker and duller – not glossy like yours. He’s a big animal but lean and hard and muscular. And when he walks he looks straight ahead in a very determined sort of way. His voice is harsh and his eyes are a glittering green that seem to pierce right through you.’

  Sammy was enraptured. Josephine was not. She was even a little frightened. ‘He sounds horrible to me,’ she mewed.

  ‘He’s only hard because he’s had a hard life,’ Stella soothed her. ‘It’s hard finding enough food; hard finding shelter when it’s cold or wet; hard defending himself against others—’

  ‘A hateful existence,’ put in Molly.

  ‘How tremendous,’ whispered Sammy. The adults did not hear and this was just as well because the young cat was vowing to himself he would try to emulate this wonderful creature, his father, in every way he could. However, just as he was trying with all his might to pierce his sister with a fierce look from his own eyes, Mrs Lambert appeared from the cottage and he found himself being swung unceremoniously into the air for a cuddle.

  Fond as Sammy was of his gentle mistress, a more inappropriate time could not have been chosen for her caresses. He was still thinking of Beau and now he tried to behave like him. He struggled in Mrs Lambert’s arms, actually unsheathing his claws to her great astonishment and giving her a scratch or two. Sammy was dumped hurriedly on the ground and given a scolding, but he ran away to the other end of the garden. His feelings were torn between hurt pride and shame at what he had done.

  ‘Sammy seems to have a bit of his father in him,’ Molly remarked to Stella when Mrs Lambert had gone back indoors.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Stella returned. ‘Perhaps he has. But I don’t see why he should have behaved like that.’

  ‘I think I do,’ said Josephine.

  4

  Exploring

  Over the next few days Sammy practised his new role. He wandered all over the garden and always tried to walk with his eyes looking straight ahead in a purposeful manner, ignoring all distractions. When he was not sure of something he imagined to himself how his father would react and then carried on accordingly. He used the apple tree every day as his scratching post. His ambition, he had decided, was to find his father, and he intended to do so, by his own efforts if necessary, as soon as he was full grown. Meanwhile he continued to pump Molly for information about what he had seen from the apple tree, beyond his immediate surroundings. The dog was as cautious as ever about what she told him.

  ‘There are fields and trees mostly, and then more fields and trees. But I’ve told you all this before.’

  ‘Did you ever see my father around that area, Molly? You know, when you were walking with your master.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she would say. ‘I’m very old now. It’s difficult for me to remember.’

  Sammy became artful. ‘How did you know who my father is if you pretend not to remember anything about him?’ he asked her once.

  Molly was flummoxed. ‘Er – well, I didn’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘I guessed.’

  ‘Well, you remember lots of other things perfectly well,’ Sammy persisted.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she admitted. ‘And the thing I remember best of all is how glad I always was, after an outing, to come back here to the warmth and security of my master’s home.’

  Sammy understood this but was well aware that Molly was trying to put him off. He made such a nuisance of himself that she had to think of something to tell him just to keep him quiet. She said she thought she might have seen Beau once by the stream where Mr Lambert sometimes went fishing. Sammy had no idea what a stream was, and so this topic kept him busy for quite a while.

  About a week later Tiptoe turned up again, this time in a very different spot. Mrs Lambert usually fed the three cats and Molly together by the kitchen door. If the weather was bad they ate in the kitchen itself. One day they had all finished their meal and the older animals were preparing for a snooze outside. Josephine invariably followed her mother but Sammy was not in the least inclined to sleep. He stood, looking vacantly into Mrs Lambert’s kitchen. Suddenly a slight movement attracted his attention. A tiny brown head emerged, whiskers first, from beneath her refrigerator.

  ‘Hello!’ squeaked Tiptoe cheekily as soon as he saw he was spotted. But Mrs Lambert was still about and Sammy watched with amusement as the mouse quickly ducked away again out of sight. He waited, hoping his mistress would move away. The next thing he knew, Tiptoe had scurried out of the door and straight into a clump of alyssum that grew near the cottage wall. It was all so quick that only Sammy noticed. He stepped closer to the plant.

  ‘Fast-footed, aren’t I? Tee hee!’ came a shrill voice from the midst of the vegetation.

  Sammy could not see where the mouse was. He was quite hidden. He looked round to see if any of the other animals were watching, but none of them was paying any attention.

  ‘Had any adventures?’ cried Tiptoe.

  ‘Er – no. Have you?’

  ‘Plenty. This could become one now if one of those animals wakes up. Tee-hee!’

  ‘Come down to my shed,’ Sammy offered. ‘We can talk safely there.’ And he walked off, unhurriedly to avoid suspicion, taking care, of course, to look straight ahead.

  Sammy had to wait awhile in the dim interior of the shed. But eventually Tiptoe scurried in, having made the journey in fits and starts. Sammy was bursting to tell the mouse of his plan. ‘I’m going in search of my father,’ he announced proudly.

  ‘Are you? When?’

  ‘When I’m full grown.’

  ‘That’s a long way off, isn’t it?’ asked Tiptoe. ‘Are there to be no adventures till then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought,’ Sammy answered lamely.

  ‘Haven’t you done any exploring at all?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Sammy asserted defensively. ‘I’ve been next door and frightened the chickens.’

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘Well, nothing else, really.’

  ‘No farther than that?’ squeaked Tiptoe in amazement. ‘Why, I’m a fraction of your size and I get around much more.’

  ‘Yes, but your size enables you to go where I can’t,’ Sammy pointed out. ‘You can get in and out of places that—’

  ‘Excuses, excuses,’ Tiptoe butted in. ‘You’re excusing yourself.’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ the young cat admitted. I’m acting pretty tame, he thought to himself. What has happened to my ambition to imitate my father? He looked at Tiptoe and realized at once that this was something his father would never do. Cat talking to mouse. It was absurd. But then, he liked Tiptoe. He did not have to do everything the same as his father.

  ‘You’re thinking hard,’ observed the mouse.

  ‘Yes. I’m thinking where to explore next,’ Sammy lied.

  ‘Good. Well, I’m on my travels again myself now,’ said Tiptoe. ‘So let’s meet here tonight and compare notes.’ And in a trice he was gone – as quickly as he had come.

  Sammy felt he must do something. He did not wish to be humiliated by a mouse. He pondered awhile. Then he set off.

  He climbed the fence on the other side of the garden, away from the neighbouring chickens. There seemed to be nothing but houses and gardens on that side, as far as you could see. It didn’t look very interesting, he decided. So he climbed down and went back across the garden to the opposite fence, up and over it, past the chicken run without so much as a sideways glance and on across the neighbour’s garden to the next fence. From here he co
uld see a couple more gardens and then, beyond them, a kind of paddock. At the end of that was a road and, across the road, the waste ground. Sammy was becoming excited. He wondered how far he dared go. He went across the next two gardens without hindrance and into the paddock before he could think too much about it. He was pleased with his new purposefulness.

  The grass was long and thick in the paddock, which seemed at first sight to be empty. Sammy eased his way through the thick grass to a smoother spot. He looked about him. Now he could see the paddock did have an occupant. It was a large animal, taller but not so stocky as Molly. In fact it was nothing like a dog at all. It was white and its long hair looked clean and silky. It had a bony sort of head, a long neck and a short cropped tail. It was busy tearing at the grass with its teeth and looked docile enough.

  However, Sammy was not sure how he would be received by this much larger animal and so he crept forward cautiously. The animal looked up. It was chewing contentedly and did not seem at all surprised at the cat’s approach. Sammy held his tail aloft in a polite way and mewed a greeting.

  ‘Haven’t seen you before,’ the beast bleated at him.

  ‘No. Er – I’m a cat,’ Sammy said hesitantly.

  ‘I know you’re a cat,’ came the reply. ‘I’m not daft.’

  ‘Excuse me, but – um – what are you? Not a dog, I think?’

  ‘Hah!’ scoffed the animal. ‘A dog indeed. I should hope I’m not. Haven’t you ever seen a goat before?’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Ah well, you’re still young. Where do you come from?’

  ‘I’m one of Stella’s kittens,’ Sammy said naïvely. ‘I’m Sammy.’

  ‘Are you indeed?’ responded the goat with a toss of her head. ‘I know Stella. She’s been around a long while. D’you find my meadow of interest?’

  ‘I’m just – exploring,’ Sammy explained. ‘I’ve hardly been out of the garden before. But there’s not much of interest there.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll find much excitement here,’ the goat remarked. ‘Nothing ever happens. That’s how I like it.’

  ‘It’s very quiet, isn’t it?’ said Sammy. ‘Don’t you ever see other animals here?’