by Colin Dann
‘Keep away, Brownie! It’s a fair fight. I want to see how this soft cat makes out.’
Pinkie was next to him. ‘He seems to be making out very well,’ she commented. ‘Who would have thought it?’
‘You’ve played – games with me – long enough,’ Sammy hissed. ‘You’ll get no more of my food.’
‘Brute might have other ideas,’ Patch informed him. ‘But I’ve no quarrel. You’ve bested Brindle all right. You could become quite a fighter in time.’
‘Let him go,’ snarled Brownie. ‘He can scarcely breathe.’
Sammy heeded her and loosened his hold. At once Brindle leapt up, aimed a blow at his adversary’s flank and dashed off. Sammy felt the claws rake through his flesh in a sharp rush of pain. He still had a lot to learn.
‘A trick!’ spat Sammy, as Brownie looked at him in triumph. But the young cat was not finished yet. He raced after Brindle who was running across Belinda’s meadow. Now he found he had superior speed as well. He gained on the other tabby, pounced and bowled him over.
Brindle was badly winded. Before Sammy could press home his advantage once more, his opponent gasped out, ‘All right, Sammy. You win.’ His sides heaved as he fought for his breath. ‘There’s – no – contest.’
Sammy was victorious. He sat and watched Brindle with a look of smug satisfaction. Eventually the other cat recovered.
‘You’re right,’ Brindle muttered. ‘The arrangement wasn’t fair. It was – never meant to be. We thought we could – make use of you and have – our fun as well. But you’re not – such a fool, are you?’
‘Not quite the one you took me for, no,’ Sammy answered, without malice. ‘I tell you what, Brindle. There’s still a plateful of food untouched in my garden. Let’s go shares.’
‘Are you – serious?’ Brindle asked incredulously.
‘Yes. Why not? No hard feelings. You’ve been honest with me. I bear no grudges.’
‘You’re a generous sort,’ Brindle remarked wonderingly. ‘After all this. Well well. Perhaps we can learn something from you, too.’
‘Of course you can. We can help each other. Come on then.’ He led the old enemy away, now his new friend. Through the gardens, over the fences, they went shoulder to shoulder. At the last fence Sammy went ahead. His mistress’s garden was clear. He called to Brindle. They went over and up to the plate.
‘I don’t believe it,’ murmured Sammy.
‘Empty!’ cried Brindle.
Yet there were crumbs of meat on the plate and they were fresh. As they stared in disappointment at this, they failed to notice Pinkie nimbly climbing the apple tree, with some choice lumps of food between her teeth.
Sammy’s suspicions fell on Josephine but, whoever it was who had been there before them, there was no longer any reason to stay around. All at once Sammy remembered his hidden food supply.
‘We shan’t go hungry, after all,’ he told his companion. ‘Follow me.’
From the apple tree Pinkie waited for them to get well clear and then descended. She had to get back to Brute, but all the time she was thinking about Sammy. She was impressed by the way he had taken his stand against Brindle and then dealt with him. She already thought him a fine-looking animal, and had forgotten all about his strangely marked face. By comparison with the animals she had always mixed with, Sammy was such a healthy, fit-looking specimen. However, for now Brute was the cat that called the tune.
Sammy and Brindle arrived at the hedgerow bordering Belinda’s field. There was no difficulty in locating the rabbit. They had both been able to smell it from some distance away.
‘Did you catch this?’ Brindle asked in astonishment.
‘Er – in a way,’ Sammy answered vaguely. ‘I’ve had one good meal off it already. We can share the rest.’
Brindle was looking at Sammy’s flank. The wound he had inflicted was quite visible. ‘I’m afraid you’re still bleeding,’ he remarked awkwardly.
‘My first scars,’ Sammy answered. He seemed to be rather proud of them. ‘Now I truly feel like one of you. And, Brindle, you didn’t go scot-free either.’
‘I didn’t. You’re a strong cat,’ Brindle acknowledged. They ate their meal companionably. Then the vagabond cat said, ‘You’ve proved yourself in two ways already, haven’t you? Patch won’t have to ask again. You can fight and you can hunt.’
‘Hunt?’ repeated Sammy. ‘Oh, I see. Well, to be honest, I didn’t actually hunt this rabbit.’
‘But you caught it?’
‘Well, I found it, you see,’ Sammy admitted. ‘But,’ he added hastily, ‘I was on my way to hunt. Where you go, you know – behind that tall fence.’
‘I see now,’ said Brindle. ‘I suppose this animal was already dead when you found it. Well, hunting rabbits is not easy. It takes quite a time to learn the right moves. So the sooner we begin on that the better.’
‘We? You mean you’ll teach me?’ Sammy asked excitedly.
‘I can give you some help anyway,’ said Brindle. ‘Dusk is the best time for rabbits, so we’ll get together at that time tomorrow.’ He had assumed that Sammy was going back to his home now.
11
New Ways
Sammy could not make up his mind whether to go or stay. He wanted to make a full commitment to his new way of life, but the comfort and familiarity of the shed where he had been born was still a powerful magnet to him. He decided to sleep in the shed once more and make his plans known to Stella. Then he would leave and become one of the vagabonds in Quartermile Field, with all that that entailed. His old mistress would soon cease to try and tempt him back, for the food she believed he had been eating would from now on stay on the plate. The so-called exchange of food with the other cats had ended this night. He spoke to Brindle.
‘I’ll meet you at the tall fence as the light fades.’
‘I shall be there,’ the other tabby replied.
‘I hope we can continue to be friends,’ said Sammy.
‘So do I. And don’t mind Brownie, my sister. She did what she did to help me. It’s understandable, isn’t it? And it didn’t save me.’
‘I understand that,’ agreed Sammy, though he wondered if Josephine would have acted in the same way. ‘But there are many things I don’t understand yet about your ways.’
Brindle and Sammy separated. Back in the shed Sammy asked Josephine about the empty plate. She denied eating two meals, saying that she never touched her brother’s food. So for Sammy the mystery remained.
Stella awoke and said, rather irritably, ‘I wonder you come back here at all, Sammy, if you only come here to sleep.’
‘I’ve come for the last time,’ he told his mother. ‘I wanted to make my farewells to you both. I don’t expect I shall see you again.’
‘Don’t do us any favours,’ Josephine answered. ‘You’re not one of us any more. You smell different, you move differently, you’re half-wild already.’
‘All right, Josephine,’ said Stella. ‘Sammy’s not answerable to you.’ She turned to her son. ‘It was thoughtful of you to do this. I know you have a heart. But, Sammy, you’re making a mistake. The excitement you think you’re going to find will not make up for the misery of cold and hunger and friendlessness which you’re going to experience. I know you want to be like your father. But you weren’t born into his way of life and you’ll find it much more difficult to try and acquire it.’
‘I shall have friends,’ Sammy asserted.
‘No, Sammy. Not the fond, kindly sort of friends you’ve known up to now. These will be friends while all goes well, and when it doesn’t they will be rivals and even enemies. But I know it’s no use warning you. You didn’t listen before, nor did I really expect you to. And you won’t listen now. Just remember, though, that where you’re going we’ll be unable to help you. You’ll have to rely on yourself alone.’
‘I mean to do so,’ Sammy told her. ‘I’m not frightened of that. What is there for me here? An endless round of uneventful days filled with the same
routine. No new faces, no needs to cater for.’
‘Yes,’ said Stella, ‘that’s not enough for a son of Beau. I know and I’ve always known. You’re part of him and, when you meet, you might find you have too much in common.’
Sammy reflected on that, but he was not yet equipped to interpret the remark. He began to wash himself. The conversation was at an end. It was strange for him as he settled himself, tucking his paws under his chest, to think that this was the last time he would lie here, in his birthplace.
High up in one of the wooden struts of the shed, Tiptoe was waiting. These days he stayed well out of reach and spent as little time as possible on the ground. And he was tiring of it. That was why he was waiting until it would be safe to talk to Sammy.
Stella and Josephine were curled up together as usual. Sammy also was napping but he heard Tiptoe’s squeaks. At first he could not see him.
‘I’m above your head,’ said the mouse. ‘I’m spending my life up in the air. I feel if I can’t come down to earth more often, I might change into a bird!’
‘Whatever are you babbling about?’ Sammy hissed.
‘Those wild animals you’ve invited on to my doorstep! How long must we mice live like this? Food’s hard to come by at these heights.’
Sammy understood and was more amused than contrite. But he did not let the mouse see this. ‘Your worries are over, Tiptoe,’ he assured the little animal. ‘There will be no more strangers coming into the garden.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘The arrangement about the food is over,’ Sammy said. ‘I’m leaving this place for good.’
‘Oh,’ said Tiptoe. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. Where are you going?’
‘To a new area,’ the young tabby answered. He was not going to admit to Quartermile Field.
But the mouse was no fool. He guessed at once where Sammy was heading. ‘So you’re going to join the creatures who’ve been thieving your mistress’s food?’ he squeaked in indignation. ‘I’ve seen them, one by one. Black and ginger and white.’
‘White?’
‘A white one came tonight and then climbed up the tree,’ shrilled the mouse. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. You’ve encouraged them.’
Sammy had the answer now. It was Pinkie who had taken advantage of himself and Brindle while they had been squabbling. This was the way of things in the vagabond world. He turned back to Tiptoe.
‘You’re a fine one to talk about thieving,’ he chuckled. ‘You and your friends spend your whole lives doing it.’
‘Of course we do,’ said Tiptoe. ‘Tee hee.’ He saw the funny side of it too. ‘But what we take isn’t missed and, in any case, it’s expected of us.’ He tittered again. Then he said, more soberly, ‘I suppose our paths won’t cross for a while?’
‘I suppose not,’ Sammy replied, ‘though I should be sorry not to see you again. You’re a comical little fellow and I like you a lot. Perhaps we could meet—’
‘No,’ Tiptoe interrupted firmly. ‘We couldn’t. I don’t travel to those regions.’
‘I understand.’
‘But I think you’ll be back one day, despite what you say,’ the mouse said firmly. ‘I’m sure you’re not cut out to mingle with those cat tramps.’
‘Everyone thinks that,’ Sammy said blithely. ‘I don’t care. I shall prove you wrong.’
‘Maybe. But Sammy, will you give me your word? I have to know that it’s safe for me to come to ground.’
‘I’ll make sure it is; don’t worry. No animal will come here if there’s no food to be had.’
‘Good. I’ll trust you, then.’
‘I hope you will.’
‘Well – good luck.’
‘Good luck, Tiptoe.’
In the morning, Sammy stayed on in the shed whilst his mother and sister roamed the garden. He wanted dearly to show his affection for the last time to his good mistress, but he thought her kind words and caresses would make him regretful at leaving her. And there was always the chance that she might shut him in, after his recent absences, to prevent his wandering off again.
Later, Molly’s grizzled nose sniffed at the shed door. She came in, wagging her tattered old tail.
‘Oh Molly,’ Sammy said softly, ‘you’re the one friend I shall miss most of all.’
‘I feel the same about you,’ she murmured.
‘I – I’ll never forget you.’
‘Of course not – nor any of us here,’ said Molly. ‘And Sammy, don’t be afraid to come back here. It’ll always be your real home. Our mistress will always be—’
‘I know,’ Sammy broke in quickly. ‘You think I’m making a mistake. But I have to do this, you see. I can’t help myself. It’s in my blood.’
‘Yes. But, let me caution you. Watch out for B – Beau. He’s a jealous, proud creature. And he won’t know who you are.’
‘We’ll get along, I’m sure, if we ever do meet,’ Sammy said confidently.
Molly looked at him long and hard. She seemed to be on the point of saying more, but gave him a loving lick instead across his crossed-out face, and then waddled sadly away. Sammy almost wavered. Then he steeled himself, ran out of the shed and up, over the fence and away.
Behind his back as he ran on the cockerel called out: ‘Run, run, run. But you can’t fly!’
Sammy made himself comfortable in the hedgerow where he had devoured the rabbit with Brindle. As the late August sun dipped towards the horizon, he stirred. Now Quartermile Field beckoned. Sammy went slowly across Belinda’s meadow. The goat watched him but gave no greeting. The cat reached the road and waited for the passing vehicles to disappear. He ran nimbly across and was at the bomb site at once, threading his way through the vegetation. He traversed the waste ground, remembering the route to the tall wire fence which Pinkie had shown him. The high wire mesh fence reared up in front of him, and Sammy looked for the way through. He found the hole and glanced round for Brindle. He had not yet come but dusk was closing in.
Sammy decided to get on the right side of the wire, amongst the wild cabbage and other vegetable plants. He wanted to see the rabbits coming. He soon noticed Pinkie was there before him, lying low. She ignored him. Brute was there too. Sammy guessed the other cats were dotted about the place, all in hiding. He wondered where Brindle was.
From the far end of the old allotments, where they adjoined open country, Sammy noticed some movement. A group of some dozen or so rabbits, of various sizes, were spilling into the area in fits and starts. They stopped often to check all around for safety, their ceaselessly twitching noses working hard to identify every scent. They came on, closer, closer. . . . A large one, accompanied by a youngster, paused by a cabbage plant. . . .
Brute shot from cover and pinned the adult rabbit to the ground. The cat’s muscular shoulders produced a grip from his front paws like a vice. Almost at the same instant the youngster was easily caught by Pinkie. Sammy saw the remaining rabbits scatter. They dashed away in all directions, their white powder-puffs of tails showing vividly in the early evening light. Now the other cats showed themselves as they raced in pursuit. Sammy realized that if he himself did not move at once his chance would be lost. He singled out the nearest animal and bolted after it. But he was a mere novice in the knowledge of rabbits’ ways. He was no match for the animal’s speed or tactics. Its zigzagging course confused him and when he stopped to look about him, all of the uncaught rabbits had disappeared.
Pinkie and Brute had soon despatched their victims and were beginning to drag them away to cover. Sammy felt rather foolish at his failure, but he swallowed his pride and ambled toward the cats with a contrived air of nonchalance. Brute dropped his prey and sprang out at Sammy, lashing out with his claws. His right forepaw seared a path through Sammy’s face fur, narrowly missing one eye. It was a vicious scratch and the young tabby fell back in consternation. His face smarted acutely.
‘Don’t think to come begging to us,’ snarled his attacker.
‘I’d no
such intention,’ Sammy protested. ‘But you didn’t wait to find out.’
‘I don’t believe in waiting,’ Brute rasped. ‘Waiting’s a fool’s game.’
All this time Pinkie remained silent. She continued about her business of removing her quarry.
‘You’ll have to learn a better set of moves if you don’t mean to starve,’ Brute scoffed.
‘I shall,’ said Sammy. ‘Brindle is going to help me.’
‘Help?’ Brute echoed mockingly. ‘I think you’re mistaken. It’s each cat for himself here and devil take the hindmost. That’s our philosophy and you’d better adopt it, if you mean to live like us.’
The other cats were beginning to gather around. Some had been lucky in the hunt – some had not. Sammy was conscious that Brindle was not amongst them.
Now Pinkie spoke up. ‘Sammy is a fine-looking cat. But he’s not up to our tricks yet.’
‘No, nor will he be,’ grunted Brute. ‘Cats brought up in soft ways don’t make good hunters.’
Sammy felt the uncomfortable truth of this. He went on the defensive. ‘When a cat’s forced to learn new ways, he must. Mustn’t he?’ he added hesitantly.
‘He must, mustn’t he?’ Brute mimicked him sarcastically. ‘Unless he starves himself first.’
‘I think he’ll look after himself all right,’ said Patch. ‘He can fight, anyway – we’ve seen that.’ He was not afraid of Brute.
‘I’ve seen nothing,’ Brute growled. Then he turned sharply to Sammy again. He was reminded of something. ‘I’m told you’ve decided your rich pet food is no longer on offer to the animals here.’ He spat the word ‘pet’. ‘By what authority?’
Sunny answered for him. ‘He turned up his nose at what we offered in exchange. Said it was unfair.’
‘Is this correct?’ Brute snapped.
‘Yes,’ said Sammy. ‘You vagabonds took advantage of me.’