King of the Vagabonds

by Colin Dann

  That night the King Cat sought out his son. Sammy had eaten his first good meal for days and was feeling quite cheerful. He greeted Brute with the remark, ‘I suppose you’ve come to reprimand me?’

  ‘No,’ answered his father. ‘Why should I? No, I’ve come for quite another reason. It seems to me that recently you must have got quite a good idea of what life in the winter can be like?’

  ‘I’ve had some difficulties,’ Sammy acknowledged. He did not enlarge on them.

  ‘I can see that you have. So now it’s time for you to prove that, despite them, you can still look after yourself. And I mean – by showing you’ve retained the strength to hunt.’

  Sammy’s ears pricked up. ‘Ah, now I can resume hunting? I wondered when you’d say the word. But look at me. Just what d’you think I’m capable of hunting now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brute. ‘But the only true test is a rabbit, and that’s what you’ll have to deal with. You remember the rules.’

  ‘The way I feel I should think the rabbit will be in a fitter state to deal with me.’

  ‘That’s your problem, Brute said, shortly. ‘Tomorrow at dusk. I’ll be watching for you.’ He left abruptly. He did not doubt that Sammy would fall at the next hurdle. Stella would have Sammy restored to her soon afterwards.

  The next day Sammy ate another portion of rabbit. His throat troubled him much less now and, altogether, he began to feel stronger. At dusk he encountered Brute by the vagabonds’ entrance to the allotment area. Without a word the King Cat led Sammy through. It was still sufficiently light for Sammy to see that all the cats were present, even Scruff. They all appeared to be waiting for his arrival. Sunny was pacing to and fro in a nervous sort of way.

  ‘Choose your position, Sammy,’ Brute said.

  Sammy looked around uncertainly. ‘The rabbits don’t always come,’ he muttered. ‘What if we don’t see any?’

  ‘You’ll just have to trust to your luck,’ was the answer.

  The other cats were silent. But Brindle watched Sammy settle himself and then joined him. ‘I think Sunny is up to something,’ he whispered.

  Certainly the ginger was the only animal still on his feet. Suddenly Sammy recalled that, even if he should catch a rabbit, he must then fight one of the other cats (whom Brute would select) for its possession. So Sunny must be the candidate – his nervousness betrayed him. Sammy was not optimistic. In his present state, he could not hope to do very well against Sunny, the second most powerful animal amongst the vagabonds.

  ‘He’s going to fight me,’ he answered Brindle.

  Sammy’s friend made no comment. He did not have to. It was obvious what he was thinking.

  However, Brute had not chosen Sunny, nor any other cat, to fight his son. In his mind there was no need, since Sammy’s hunting was not going to be successful. In fact Sunny’s restlessness was part of a plan known only to himself. He stayed on his feet so that he would be the first of the cats to know if rabbits were coming to feed. He had no intention of allowing Sammy the remotest chance.

  There was a long wait in store for the vagabonds. They began to get irritated with Sunny’s continual pacing. They were there on their own account, as well as to witness Sammy’s performance.

  ‘How do you expect rabbits to venture here when they can see you moving about?’ Patch demanded of the ginger.

  ‘Why should you worry?’ Sunny snapped at him. ‘You can’t keep the ones you catch anyway.’

  ‘Lie down, Sunny! What are you doing this for?’ Mottle and Brownie called out together.

  Pinkie guessed it was some plan to thwart Sammy, and added her voice. ‘You’re spoiling all our chances,’ she cried, ‘including your own!’

  Sunny glared at her but, in the end, with all the cats objecting, he was obliged to submit.

  For a long time there was no sound. But at last a faint rustling roused their hopes. Sunny jumped up again. There was a solitary, elderly-looking rabbit moving unsteadily through the plants, nibbling here and there. It looked so slow and feeble that it seemed to Sunny that even Scruff could manage it. To forestall Sammy he raced out at the old creature, not with the idea of catching it, but simply to scare it off. The rabbit was busy chewing a cabbage leaf and did not see its danger at once. But, when Sunny was almost on it and could have pounced, it turned tail and loped away. It had no great speed and was, quite obviously, badly hampered by age.

  The other cats had held back, naturally assuming they had no hope with Sunny so far in advance. But when he showed no signs of wishing to bring the animal down, they spurted belatedly into action, Sammy amongst them.

  From a prone start, Sammy had the advantage of all of them. He quickly left them behind and gained on his elderly quarry and its initial pursuer. Sunny looked round and saw the tabby drawing close. He ran across his path, meaning to check him.

  Sammy instinctively leapt upwards. He cleared Sunny’s body at a bound and, in the next few strides, drew level with the rabbit and pulled it down. A younger animal would have escaped him, but this one had neither the swiftness nor the strength necessary. Sammy killed his victim and began to drag it back towards Brute as proof of his success.

  But Sunny was not finished yet. He was furious, both with Sammy and with himself. With a howl he launched himself at the tabby. Sammy dropped the rabbit in order to defend himself. His run had left him feeling quite shaky. He was no longer a match for the big ginger and could only try to save himself from injury.

  Sunny’s weight pinned Sammy to the ground. For the second time the tabby was at the ginger’s mercy, but he was not entirely without strength and he struggled to free himself.

  ‘The rabbit’s . . . yours . . . if you want it,’ Sammy panted.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Sunny snapped.

  ‘Then why—’ Sammy broke off as he saw the other cats clustering around to watch the contest. His eyes met Pinkie’s. She was soundlessly pleading for Sammy’s release in her heart, but her eyes put a new spirit into Sammy. He was suddenly reminded of what he would lose if he should give up now.

  He exerted an extra burst of strength, shook Sunny clear and grabbed the rabbit again. Without a backward glance he moved off as quickly as he could towards the high wire fence. The rabbit bumped over the ground between Sammy’s forelegs. The cat’s jaws and his shoulders ached unbearably. Sunny lost time as he gaped at the retreating animal in astonishment. He had been pitched on his back, much to his surprise, and, restored to his feet, hesitated before deciding upon his next action.

  Galvanized into action once more, Sunny dashed to the hole in the fence for the final tussle. But he had forgotten Sammy’s skill and also the terms of the test of survival. Sammy, however, had not. He was going to see it through to the end.

  At the foot of the wire fence Sammy took a firmer grip on the carcass. Then, shakily, and extremely slowly, he edged his way up the swaying fence, just as he had done once before.

  The other vagabonds crowded around the base, but none of them attempted to follow. Only Sammy had ever climbed up the wire. Pinkie was in the greatest excitement. Brute stared, willing Sammy to drop his burden, to give up, even to fall. . . .

  Yet Sammy clung on. He thought he never would – never could – reach the top. Exhaustion was engulfing him, but his will was strong. His eyes swam, his body trembled, yet still he mounted. At last the top was reached. He staggered once or twice, then crawled along the top to a point from where he could look down on them all. The fence wavered and rattled. The rabbit’s weight dragged at his jaws. But Sammy was immovable. He knew none of the cats could get to him. The test was over.

  Pinkie cried out, ‘Sammy! Sammy! Sammy has triumphed!’ She turned to Brute. ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ she chanted. ‘I knew he would do it.’ She was ecstatic.

  Brute looked at her without a word. He felt that his reign was coming to an end. The other cats, too, were silent. All of them knew that Sammy had done more, far more, than any of them had ever done. It had never been
necessary, nor expected of them to perform such feats. They were humbled, even stunned. Sunny was the first to slink away. Soon Brute, too, disappeared and, one by one, the others followed. When only Pinkie remained Sammy at last let the rabbit drop. The little white cat ignored it. She mewed to her hero to come down. Slowly Sammy descended.

  17

  The King Cat

  Pinkie stayed with Sammy until he recovered. A drizzle of rain began to fall. Its chill dampness acted like a tonic on the exhausted young tabby. He heard Pinkie’s purrs, saw her bright eyes so close to him and knew, beyond any doubt, that he had proved himself.

  When Sammy was ready, Pinkie led the way to the broken-down shelter. Instinctively she had sensed that Brute had vacated the area. Sure enough, there was no sign of him. He had gone wandering again.

  Later, under the fence, the forgotten rabbit was stealthily carried away by Scruff.

  A few days passed and Sammy was once more himself. Pinkie and Brindle brought food, and even Scruff offered the less tasty parts of the elderly rabbit Sammy had caught. But soon Sammy was a hunter again, and then the skills he had acquired really came to the fore. His great speed and a new kind of cunning ensured that he never went hungry and, because of this, neither did Pinkie. The vagabonds realized that the old King Cat had been superseded. The deference they had paid to Brute was now paid, in his absence, to Sammy. Sunny kept himself out of sight as much as he could. He knew that he dare not meddle with a strong, healthy Sammy. He longed for Brute’s return. He guessed that eventually there must be a confrontation, for Brute was not likely to cede his supremacy without a battle.

  Sammy guessed too. He expected Brute to come back and he knew that, when he did, there could be only one outcome. What he did not know was his special relationship with Brute. And it was that that was keeping the King Cat away.

  Brute’s attempt to drive Sammy out had failed. Now there was only one course left open to him. But because Sammy was his son, he delayed the inevitable confrontation. He had always known in his bones that one day he and Sammy would have to fight. They were natural rivals – rivals for supremacy, rivals for Pinkie, rivals for the right to be King of Quartermile Field. He did not want to fight Sammy, but his pride prevented him from passively giving ground.

  And so one evening Sammy emerged from the hut to find Brute waiting. They looked at each other without a word, each silently calculating the other’s strength. Behind Sammy stood Pinkie. She was quaking with anticipation.

  At last Brute spoke. ‘I think you know why I’ve come.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sammy. ‘I expected you.’

  Their tails waved slowly from side to side. They were both very tense. Each waited for the other to make a move. Brute’s hesitation was natural. Sammy did not understand the reason for it and suddenly sprang at his father. Brute avoided his lunge and backed away, hissing loudly. Sammy tried again. His claws ripped across Brute’s back. Brute returned the blow and now they scratched and bit at close quarters, each trying to pin the other down. Their howls were tremendous. The other vagabonds came running. Sunny’s eyes gleamed. He waited for Brute’s strength to tell. But Sammy had all the advantages. He was younger, more confident and was unhampered by the knowledge that held Brute back from using his full force. He crushed Brute underneath him, holding him in a vice-like grip. His teeth and claws buried themselves deep in the older cat’s flesh. Brute could have thrown him off, but his heart was not in this contest.

  ‘All right, Sammy,’ he said. ‘I yield.’

  For a while Sammy maintained the pressure. He thought Brute might be using a trick. Then he relaxed and the two cats stood looking at each other once more.

  ‘You won’t see me again,’ Brute said.

  Sammy made no answer. The vagabonds looked from father to son as if wondering how their own lives were going to be affected.

  Pinkie said, ‘Farewell, Beau.’

  He looked at her. ‘Farewell,’ he said.

  The name was of no immediate significance to the other cats. But Sammy caught the word and held on to it Beau! He looked at his rival with new eyes. He saw another tabby: the coat different from his – darker – but tabby nevertheless. His father! Oh, how on earth had he not guessed it! The build, the voice, just as Stella had described them. It had been the name. Brute. Beau. Well, naturally, his father’s female admirers would not see him as a brute at all. How much more suitable ‘Beau’ was for them. And, of course, Brute had known all along whom he was fighting. Now Sammy understood why he had yielded.

  ‘I didn’t intend this,’ Sammy’s father said to him.

  ‘Neither did I,’ Sammy whispered. He knew what Brute was thinking. The older cat looked a moment longer, then turned and, with his accustomed dignity, walked away. Sammy had found his father – and lost him again.

  The other cats milled about irresolutely. Sunny followed in Brute’s wake. There was no place for him any longer in Quartermile Field. The rest could not decide whether to leave or to stay.

  Sammy’s feelings were complicated. He had been proud of his victory; of becoming the new King Cat with all its advantages. But now it was a hollow pride. How could he be proud of ousting his own father? Should he be the one to leave? To leave the field clear? He stared after his father in the gathering darkness.

  For the first time in a long while Sammy thought of Stella. Could she advise him? He had not been good at listening to his mother’s advice, but now. . . .

  No sooner was the thought there than he decided to go back once more – to Stella and Josephine, to Molly, to his mistress and his birthplace. He left the cluster of cats and set off. It was almost night. He would look for his mother in the old familiar place where he and Josephine had first opened their eyes.

  Sammy passed the chicken-run where the cockerel still lorded it over his hens like a tyrant. But the gaudy bird jeered at him no longer. He did not recognize the cat who could climb. Over the last fence and there was the black shape of Mrs Lambert’s shed. Sammy peered in and smelt the familiar smell. How often he had slept there. Certainly none of the vagabonds had ever had such a snug shelter, not even Brute. What a pity you could not hang on to the best of both worlds.

  There were some frantic squeaks and a scrabbling sound. Sammy’s thoughts were miles away. He saw a mouse scurry over the floor. Automatically the big cat froze, his hunter’s instinct taking command. The mouse had seen him. Yet it was coming closer. Sammy tensed, ready to pounce.

  ‘Is it Sammy? It can’t be. It can’t be,’ the mouse’s shrill voice sounded through the hollow shed. Then something in the cat’s pose arrested the little creature and he stopped. He trembled. The next instant he fled as Sammy leapt at him. Squeaks of alarm and protest pulled Sammy up short. Tiptoe! And he could have killed him!

  Stella and Josephine were stirring. But Sammy waited no longer. He turned tail before they woke and saw him. How could he come back? He was no longer a pet. He was changed: altered for ever. It had taken a mouse to make him realize it.

  Now he ran as swiftly as only he could, leaping at the succeeding fences with impatience. He could think of only one thing. He, Sammy, was now the King Cat The vagabonds could go where they wished; do what they chose. He wanted only Pinkie and together they would found a new colony of cats in Quartermile Field. One day he would bring them to show Molly. He raced on, across the last garden and into Belinda’s meadow. His head was full of thoughts of his future life. The last human dwelling-place was behind him and he sprinted for the road.

  From the darkness of the waste ground a small white cat emerged to sit by the roadside. She carefully washed her pink ears and nose as she waited for Sammy, the King of the Vagabonds, to join her.

  About the Author

  Colin Dann won the Arts Council National Award for Children’s Literature for his first novel, The Animals of Farthing Wood.

  KING OF THE VAGABONDS

  AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 48079 3

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  Copyright © Colin Dann, 2011

  First Published in Great Britain by Red Fox

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