‘No. I suppose he’s one of the ferals, but he doesn’t seem as nervous as most of them, does he, Jean? Hello, puss!’
I shrank back behind the fence. Big was growling at me.
‘Stay out of sight, Charlie, for catnip’s sake! I keep telling you – you might like humans, but they don’t like us!’
‘Sorry. I’m trying to listen to what they’re saying. It’s interesting. I’ll tell you in a minute.’
‘Well, I know some people think they’re a nuisance,’ the first woman went on, ‘but the feral cats do have their uses.’
‘Do they? I can’t think what, although I do feel sorry for them.’
‘Well, there was a bit in the local paper this week about how they prowl around at night, foraging for food in the streets and around the bins. They’re actually keeping down the amount of food waste, Shirley. I’d sooner the wild cats ate the leftovers people throw away, than the seagulls, and hopefully in the end they’ll give up, if there isn’t enough food lying around for them, and they’ll go back to eating their natural diet.’
‘Yes, that’s true, I suppose. And of course, the cats keep down the numbers of rats and mice, too. It’s a shame they can’t catch the odd seagull! Or at least chase them away. Then we’d really have cause to be grateful to them.’
‘Yes, and perhaps the council would stop threatening to exterminate the poor things. They should realise they’re actually performing a public service!’
Their conversation turned to something less interesting then, so I turned back to the other cats and related what I’d overheard.
‘She actually said we perform a public service?’ Black meowed in surprise.
‘I thought all the humans hated us,’ said Tail-less.
‘Well, it seems like some of them, at least, realise that you’re helping to keep the seagulls away by getting to the food waste before they do,’ I said. ‘Of course, if you could catch seagulls, or chase them off, you’d make yourselves really popular, but that’s not going to happen, is it.’
There was a silence.
‘You’re surely not going to tell me you can catch seagulls?’ I said in disbelief. ‘They’re huge! And scary!’
‘Sadly, that’s something even we wouldn’t attempt,’ Big said. ‘But chasing them away? We haven’t tried that yet. What do you think, boys? Might be a bit of fun!’
‘Are you mad?’ I said. ‘They’ve got those massive great beaks. They’ll turn on you and take a bite out of your faces!’
‘Not if we all charge at them together,’ Stinky said. ‘We’re quite a force, when we work as a team, Charlie.’
‘I know,’ I said, giving my wounded paw a little lick. ‘Tell me about it. But seagulls? Really?’
‘Worth a try, isn’t it?’ Black said. ‘If it means the humans around here would leave us alone and stop throwing things at us.’
‘Right, that’s settled,’ said Big. ‘We’ll get up a bit earlier than usual tomorrow, boys, and see what we can do. You can watch, Charlie. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re a lot tougher than you look, after the way you came back for me the other day. But you’re still injured. You might be able to help when that leg heals up, but meanwhile just watch and learn.’
Despite my constant worries about finding Caroline and my futile attempts to find the holiday cottage, I must admit I fell asleep that night feeling ever so slightly proud of myself. I was learning to scavenge. I was learning to steal fish. I was going to learn to chase seagulls. I was tough, I was brave – I was surviving. For a minute I’d almost forgotten I didn’t want to become like the ferals.
Over the next couple of days, between continuing the search for my holiday home and practising chasing seagulls, our little gang was kept busy. To begin with, they only chased one solitary gull at a time, picking them when they were engrossed in feeding on something dropped on the pavement, or strutting towards humans eating on the beach. It was satisfying to see the look of alarm in their beady eyes as they took off, shouting at us crossly. Gradually they progressed to chasing off three or four at a time, and by then I was so caught up in the excitement, I couldn’t resist joining in. The five of us would rush them at once, and so far we’d escaped any injuries so we were beginning to feel invincible. Inevitably, though, there came the time when, occupied with chasing off two fat gulls coming in to land on the beach, we didn’t notice one of their friends running up behind us. Flapping his huge wings, he forced poor Stinky to the ground and began pecking him viciously.
‘Get off me!’ he screamed, trying in vain to fight back with his claws and teeth.
Within seconds the rest of us were rushing at the gull, who gave one disgusted ‘Caw’ and took off to follow his friends.
‘Are you OK, Stinky?’ I asked. I was secretly pretty pleased with myself for joining in with his rescue without a second thought for my own safety, despite my injured leg. I was becoming braver and more heroic by the day!
‘Just a few scratches,’ he said, getting to his paws.
But after we’d all calmed down, I noticed him wiping blood from his head and licking a sore area of his flank where the fur had been pulled out.
‘I’ll kill that seagull for you if he comes near us again,’ I told him.
‘Nice thought, Charlie, boy,’ he said. ‘But it’d take more than one of you.’
If nothing else, the incident had reminded us all about the wisdom of keeping very close together.
Normally we’d make ourselves scarce as soon as we’d got rid of the gulls, before any humans on the beach could pay too much attention to us, as the other boys still had an instinctive distrust of them. But on a couple of occasions, as we darted back out of sight behind a rocky outcrop where we could lie in wait, there was a burst of noise from various humans who’d been watching us.
‘What’s that?’ Tail-less asked nervously the first time it happened.
‘They’re cheering,’ I said. ‘And clapping – banging their front paws together. They do it when they’re pleased.’
‘Really?’ said Big. ‘I thought they sounded fierce.’
‘No. They’re telling us we did a good job.’ I looked around at the others. ‘See? It’s just as we hoped. The humans are on our side when it comes to chasing the seagulls away from their picnics.’
This seemed to spur my friends on. It was as if we were on a mission: every time we saw a gull anywhere near humans, or looking as if it was going to start helping itself to human food, we scared it away.
‘Let’s hope those pesky gulls get the message in the end,’ Stinky said. ‘We don’t want them on our patch.’
And so it was that for the remainder of my time with the ferals, we dispersed more seagulls from the town than any cats anywhere could ever have done before. We were strong, we were powerful, we were fearless and undefeatable. Before long, we could see we were really making a difference, starting to keep the area free of scavenging seagulls and pleasing the human population, who on the whole were becoming kinder towards us.
I was particularly aware of this because of listening to the conversations of the two females called Jean and Shirley. Unknown to Big – who would definitely have tried to stop me – I’d started hanging around the café where they seemed to meet every day. They’d noticed me outside the fence again, and had called out hello to me in such friendly voices, I knew they were kind humans who wouldn’t hurt me. I was desperate for some human affection, and I knew Big wouldn’t understand. So I waited until he was having a nap, and went back to the café on my own. This time when Jean noticed me and said ‘Here he is again! Hello, little tabby cat. You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?’ – I scampered up to her and wound myself around her legs.
‘Ah, he’s really quite tame,’ Shirley crooned, reaching down to stroke me. ‘And he only looks young, Jean, not much more than a kitten. Perhaps he isn’t a feral after all.’
‘But look at the state of him. He’s definitely been fighting – and his coat’s in a terrible state. Poor li
ttle thing. How come you’re so friendly?’ Jean added, as I started to purr with the contentment of being stroked.
‘Because I’m not feral! I’m a pet, and I’m lost,’ I meowed, rubbing my head against her hand.
‘Perhaps he’s actually a lost pet,’ Shirley said, as if I hadn’t just been telling her that.
‘I don’t know,’ Jean said, looking at me doubtfully. ‘If he is, I reckon he’s been living rough for most of his life.’
‘Someone must be feeding him, then, unless he’s just hunting mice and birds.’
‘Or else he’s living on scraps, like all the other ferals – and helping to keep those dratted gulls away,’ Jean said, and then she laughed, and added, ‘although I can’t imagine this little chap chasing a seagull like the others have been doing, can you, Shirley?’
I felt a bit offended, then. Little did they know, I was getting as good at it as any of them! Anyway I didn’t hang around for much longer – I was too worried that Big would wake up and come looking for me, and I could just imagine how he’d feel about me not only fraternising with strange humans, but letting them stroke me. But I felt a bit better for having made friends with them, and I was determined to come back again whenever I could. It was, after all, how I got information for the other boys about what humans were saying. And, eventually, it was how I came to be taken home to my family. But that’s another story, and I can see there are some small kittens among you getting sleepy. So I think we should probably say goodnight for now, and I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Morning, everyone. I hope you’re all feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today? No? What’s up? Oh, you didn’t get much sleep, Smudge? Or you, Oliver? Nancy? None of you could get to sleep, could you … for worrying about the end of my story, wondering how I finally got brought home again? Well, I’m sorry, I must say. Imagine how I felt, wondering about it myself, night after night, curled up in that nook in the brick wall with Big snoring next to me. I might have gone a little bit feral myself in some ways, but I never quite got used to not having a soft, comfy bed to sleep in. So think yourselves lucky! I shall never take my good fortune for granted again, I can assure you.
One of the things that bothered me most during those long, uncomfortable nights, when I was often sleepless with homesickness and anxiety about the future, was that my family would be getting used to living without me. Caroline might have forgotten about me. What if they gave up on me, and got themselves a new cat to replace me? If they saw me now, would they even recognise me? I had no doubt I’d changed since I’d been living rough. Quite apart from the scars I’d got from that fight, and the slight limp I still had because of my leg wound, I could feel that I was thinner. I was probably unhealthy-looking from my peculiar diet, too, although my muscles felt harder and stronger. My fur was getting matted because, although I refused to neglect my personal hygiene, and I puzzled my new friends by insisting on washing myself thoroughly after every meal, I’d been used to having my coat cared for and brushed by my humans too. I guessed I’d be taunted and teased if I mentioned any concerns about my appearance, but I hated to think that I’d probably also got fleas by now. All the boys spent so much time scratching themselves, I had to accept it was inevitable, and started to regret all the times I’d fought against Julian and Laura when they’d been administering flea treatments to the back of my neck. We really should show more appreciation of how much our humans do for us, you know, but of course, we cats prefer to think we could manage without them. I’ve learnt my lesson the hard way. I always thought they needed us more than we need them, but in fact – I hate to say it, and you might not believe it – but the reverse is probably true.
Another thing I missed was playing. It probably sounds strange, but feral cats don’t play, not once they’ve grown out of their kittenhood, anyway. Their lives are too dangerous, too hard, and they have enough to do, trying to get food and keep safe from predators. Ah, don’t cry for them, Tabitha. They don’t know any different, remember. They’ve never had humans getting down on a nice soft carpet with them and rolling balls to them or tickling them, never had presents of toy mice filled with catnip … All right, I’m making you all upset now, I can see, so I’ll move on. But, you see, I missed it. I missed just having the freedom to leap around in the sunshine, chasing my tail or my shadow or some fluttery butterflies. After all, I was still only half grown. Now you know what I meant at the beginning of my story when I said I’d had to grow up fast.
Walking the streets day after day with one or more of the gang, trying to find the part of town where I’d been staying with my family, I was getting more and more dispirited. I knew I needed to find the holiday cottage before they moved back to Little Broomford, otherwise how on earth would I ever find them again? But I had no idea how much time had passed, and whether in fact they might have gone back already. Even if Caroline hadn’t forgotten about me, I hated to think of her missing me as much as I was missing her. And what if all the worries had proved true, about her being ill again? Or what if they hadn’t been able to make her head better at the hospital? I meowed to myself in distress at the thought of poor Caroline lying in bed, sick or in pain, without me there to cuddle up to her. Even if my family had left Mudditon now, I couldn’t give up searching for the cottage – it was my only link with them here. What else could I do?
‘I’m beginning to forget what my holiday home looked like,’ I admitted sadly one day to Big. ‘I’m not sure I’d know it now, if I saw it.’
‘Well, you know you’re welcome to stay with us permanently,’ he said. ‘You’ve fitted in really well. I’d never have thought it, when we first met. You’re almost one of us now.’
He was being kind, and I rubbed my face against his to show I appreciated it, but I don’t think he really meant it. I was doing my best, but I’d never quite be able to embrace their lifestyle. I was too fastidious, my accent still too genteel, and I couldn’t share their obsessive interest in female cats. And more to the point, however kind he was, and however much I could feel myself gradually changing, becoming more like my new friends and less like the little kitten I’d been before, staying with the feral cats permanently was obviously not what I wanted. I wanted to go home. I wanted my old life back. I just didn’t know how to make it happen.
But to pay them back for their friendship, I continued to act as their Human language translator, and I was able to report to them that there was a lot more talk around the town about our campaign against the seagulls. On one occasion, when I managed to sneak back to see my two human friends outside the café again, I found the one called Shirley reading a newspaper.
‘Look at this in the local paper, Jean,’ she said suddenly. ‘Wild cats chase seagulls off Mudditon beach. “They saved our toddler from attack” says local mum Claire, 32. “The feral cats are doing a good job. Let them stay!”’
‘You see?’ said Shirley. ‘I told you the cats were helpful in their way. Good for them. I’m glad people are taking notice. I never liked seeing those poor starving cats being persecuted.’
I’d been listening from behind the fence up till then, but now I decided it was time to join them again.
‘Talking of poor starving cats,’ said Jean when I trotted towards them, ‘here’s our little tabby friend again, Shirley.’
‘Ah, he seems to have adopted us!’ Shirley said as I rubbed against her legs, purring.
‘Yes. He certainly seems too friendly to be a feral.’
‘But he isn’t wearing a collar, Jean.’
I was only half listening at this point, as I’d found a little bit of cake that someone had dropped under the table, and was intent on gobbling it up.
‘Look at him eating those crumbs, though!’ Jean said. ‘He must be absolutely starving, poor thing. Is there any milk left in the jug?’
At the mention of milk, as you can imagine, I let out a huge meow and, throwing caution to the wind, jumped straight up onto
Jean’s lap.
‘Oh!’ she said, making a surprised noise that turned into a laugh. ‘He must have smelt it!’
She was pouring milk from a little white jug into a saucer. I tried to get my head under her arm so that I could drink it, but she held me back, saying ‘Careful, little cat! You’ll spill it!’ and she put the saucer down on the ground instead.
‘There you go, boy,’ she said, as I jumped off her lap again and began gulping up the milk furiously.
‘Thank you, that was delicious,’ I meowed. ‘Have you got any more?’
But they both just watched me, laughing, as I washed my whiskers.
‘He’s so sweet,’ Shirley said. ‘I’m tempted to take him home with me, you know. He’s just crying out for some love and care.’
I froze on the spot. They were nice humans, and I was grateful for the milk, of course, but I didn’t like the sound of this. If they took me home, they might want to keep me. And then what? I’d never get back to Little Broomford or see Caroline again.
‘Goodbye,’ I said. ‘Thanks again.’ Well, I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. But I ran back to the yard where my friends were dozing in the sunshine, and lay down next to Big, feeling slightly ashamed now of my secret visits. It wasn’t fair that I’d had a lovely dish of milk and hadn’t been able to share it with them, but I knew they’d have been too afraid to trust Jean and Shirley.
I tried to make up for it by telling them later that I’d overheard some humans talking about the report in the newspaper while they were asleep. I emphasised the part about people calling for feral cats to be allowed to stay. This was all good news to my friends, of course. Not that they ever lost their distrust of humans in general, but they began to understand that not all of them were intent on hurting them or getting rid of them.
Charlie the Kitten Who Saved a Life Page 11