Scrapbook

by Michael White

  “Very well, your honour”, said Ginger, casting a look of distaste at Smudge who sat there looking at the other four cats as if they didn’t exist. Cats are of course very good at showing disinterest, and any person looking at this gathering of fine felines would perhaps draw the conclusion that they were all there in the same place almost by accident. This however, was most definitely not the case.

  “I charge Smudge here with crimes against cat nature, being one charge of rodent fallacy and another of negligence in destruction of said mouse or mouses.”

  “Mice.” said Smudge, smiling and licking her paw.

  “Indeed.” said Ginger, obviously annoyed at the correction.

  “Very well.” said Lucky. “I believe Tiddles here is the representative for the defence. What say you, Tiddles?”

  “The defence says that the charges are at best erroneous and at worst misleading, your honour.” said Tiddles, her tail flicking backwards and forwards as if it had a mind of its own.

  “I see.” said Lucky, “the charges are serious in nature I can see, and the sentence for being found guilty of such a crime is banishment from cat society of course. Mice must be destroyedeatendisembowlledandthrownabout - it is a well-known fact.” Lucky squinted, his green eyes catching the descending sun. “How plead you, Smudge?”

  “Not guilty your honour.” said Smudge, leaving off cleaning her nether regions just long enough to answer the charges before returning to a further ongoing furious licking. In an ordinary court this would cause all sorts of problems of course, but this was a cat court and so such things were by and large mostly accepted, if not expected.

  “Very well.” said Lucky, stretching for a few extended seconds and then settling back down into a normal squat. “Perhaps the prosecution would like to set out their case?”

  “Your honour.” said Ginger formally, sitting upright to address the other cats. “The prosecution is keen to point out that Smudge here on the night of August the eighth was in possession of a small mouse that not only did she manage to lose, but that she dropped several times before said mouse managed an escape. Also that on a previous occasion Smudge caught a small field mouse, not a worthy opponent of course, but as I am sure we are all aware it all adds to the mouse tally. Sadly, however on this occasion Smudge actually got the mouse trapped beneath an umbrella stand, and that said mouse had to be disposed of by her owner, and finally, that the defendant managed somehow to get her paw stuck under said umbrella stand and had to be freed, once again by the intervention of her owner.”

  “I see.” said Lucky as the other cats gathered on the shed roof looked slyly at each other. All apart from Ginger and Smudge, who sat unmoving, watching a pigeon on a chimney pot a quarter of a mile away. “This is not good. How do you plead, Smudge?”

  “There is another charge, my lord.” said Ginger, scratching an ear.

  “I see.” said Lucky, not looking happy at all. “Well get on with it. That mouse of mine won’t keep all night.”

  “Sorry my lord.” said Ginger, “The third charge is avine in nature: in short, that Smudge here is scared of birds.”

  There were collective gasps from Smokey and Lucky, though Smudge and Tiddles did not move at all, their eyes following every move of the pigeon on the roof that seemed to be trying to mount a television aerial, cooing at it madly as it did so.

  “These are serious charges!” said Lucky, looking down his nose at Smudge. “How plead you Smudge?”

  “Well m’lord.” said Smudge, tearing her eyes away from the amorous pigeon, “I must say I am not over-fond of birds really. Noisy flapping things really, and mice seem to be just a little too quick for me sometimes, but all in all…”

  “Good lord!” shouted Lucky, thumping a paw on the shed roof in annoyance, “Guilty or not guilty? We don’t want your ruddy life story!”

  “Apologies m’lord.” said Smudge, bowing her head in deference to the judge, “Not guilty.”

  “Of all charges?”

  “Of all charges m’lud, yes.”

  “Would you mind saying, “My Lord” instead of “M’lud?” said Lucky angrily, “This is not a magistrate's court. These are very serious charges.”

  “Apologies My Lord.” said Smudge, and there was a brief pause as a Magpie flew overhead, shrieking and laughing as it flew low over their heads as if to taunt them all, which was of course it’s actual intention.

  “Any witnesses?” asked Lucky, her black fur now appearing almost a deep shade of electric blue against the coming night.

  “Only Smokey here.” said Ginger, “who is of course the official holder of the ledger of mouse and assorted prey tally.”

  Smokey nodded slightly, and Lucky sniffed quietly, waiting for his turn to speak.

  “Very well then.” said Lucky. “And the defence?”

  “No witnesses my lord.” said Tiddles quietly and Ginger smiled an extra wide smile.

  “The prosecution requests that Smokey provide this hastily assembled court access to Smudge’s mouse tally.”

  ‘Very well.” said Lucky, and all eyes turned to Smokey who appeared to be considering whether to chase his tail or not.

  Smokey put one paw out in front of him and then placed his other paw on it, as if counting, or at the very least cross-indexing.

  “Smudge the cat has a current mouse tally of two, neither eaten, and a bird’s tally of zero, my lord.” said Smokey, Ginger laughing as the tally was read. Smudge and Tiddles did not move at all, though Tiddles did pause slightly before vigorously trying to dislodge a particularly irksome flea with his back leg.

  Ginger sat up and paced around the circle slowly, his tail swishing backwards and forwards as he stalked around them, before stopping a short distance in front of Smudge, a big Cheshire Cat grin appearing on his red tinged features.

  “So Smudge, to the night in question. Can you tell the court one thing? Are you denying that you caught a nice juiceyplumpandsqueakingformercybutithastoidiediedie mouse and then not only dropped it several times but that it then subsequently escaped?”

  “I think it fell down the grid.” said Smudge to Ginger, “Though I am not sure.”

  “But you didn’t eat it?” smiled Ginger, walking in a tight circle around Smudge before stopping in front of her once again.

  “No I did not.” said Smudge. “It believe that it may have fallen down the grid and after that I am not sure where it went.”

  “Perhaps it put on a snorkel and went for a spot of scuba diving?” said Ginger, and Lucky and Tiddles smiled, Tiddles bravely trying not to and succeeding slightly.

  “I don’t think so.” said Smudge, smiling quietly to herself.

  “Yet you do not know.” said Ginger, “Not for certain anyway.”

  “Correct.” said Smudge. I patrolled the garden for a few days afterwards but of the mouse there was no sign.”

  “Perhaps it got bored of swimming and decided to indulge in a bit of bird scaring instead.” said Ginger, pausing slightly to let what had happened so far to sink in.

  “So we move on to the previous occurrence. It was, I believe a fracas concerning a small field mouse. Smallbutstilltastyandmustbedisembowelled no doubt, but somehow although you did manage to kill it you got it stuck under an umbrella stand and were unable to free it, and your owner had to do so. What say you of this?”

  “Well in all fairness it was one of those big metal barbecue outdoor umbrella stands.” said Smudge, “And I was doing the allotted throwing the mouse around for a while before I ate it and I got a bit carried away and lo and behold it got stuck under the stand. No way could I move that.”

  “But you did try, didn’t you?” said Ginger slowly.

  “I did.” said Smudge, realising all too late that she had fallen into a trap.

  “And you got your paw stuck didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” gulped Smudge in embarrassment.

  “And your owner had to free you did he not?” said Ginger and Smudge nodded once.

  “Fo
r the court please, Smudge.” said Ginger and Smudge paused to lick a paw.

  “Yes he did,” she said finally, and Ginger beamed with glee.

  I see.” he said, and Tiddles shuffled uneasily on the shed roof, Lucky not moving at all but watching them all with caution.

  “So we move on to what is the final charge.” said Ginger, “That you Smudge are afraid of cursethemiftheygetawaybutitwontstopmetryingtocatchoneohno birds of most types, and have been known to hide behind your owner’s couch if one even so much as makes a noise at you.”

  “Noisy flappy things that move far too quickly for my liking.” said Smudge, “I will admit I do not like them much, but I am not scared of them. I always assume the stalking position and chatter to myself under my breath endlessly just as required upon spotting one.”

  “Yet you did also run behind your master’s chair on one occasion when a blackbird was attempting to steal one of your owner’s cherries off his cherry tree?”

  “It is nice and quiet behind the big long chair.” said Smudge, “I prefer a bit of peace and quiet. That bird was far too noisy.”

  “But you are a cat!” roared Ginger, stalking back to where he was sitting earlier. “Tell me Smudge, how many cherries did your owner eat this year?”

  Smudge paused, and though she tried to look as if she was trying to count them, all the cats sat there already knew the answer.

  “None, I am afraid.”

  “And the year before?” asked Ginger, preening his whiskers.

  “None.” said Smudge, not even pretending to count this time.

  “And the year before?”

  “The same.”

  “I am amazed your owner bothers feeding you at all!” shouted Ginger, a sarcastic look settling on his face. “Mind you, if he didn’t then you would probably starve to death judging by your mouse tally!”

  Ginger paused, and began to pace around them in the shed roof, finally completing the circle and then lying back down where he had been sitting before.

  “No more questions.” said Ginger and raising one leg, began to lick himself almost elegantly.

  Tiddles, who had been watching the alley behind the shed carefully for any sign of even slight movement, realised it was his turn and so stood up and stretched extravagantly, his mouth opening wide as he did so, revealing a full set of evil looking sharp teeth. Evil to anyone other than a cat, of course.

  “Smudge.” said Tiddles finally, having paused for several seconds whilst he licked his bottom, “Would you say that your efforts to catch mice are diminished by your lack of success?”

  “Not at all.” smiled Smudge, happy that at last Ginger had sat down. “I still spend a considerable period of time every single day trying to catch one. I even sit on my owner’s window ledge every single morning watching them and planning out my strategy for the day.”

  “And what about birds?” asked Tiddles, licking a paw.

  “There isn’t a single day of my life goes by when I don’t dream at least once of catching one of this flutteringlittlenuisancescheepcheepcheepingallthetime birds and ripping it to shreds.” she said and Tiddles nodded, pausing for a few seconds.

  “The defence calls its only witness.” said Tiddles, “I call Sid the gnat.”

  “Objection!” shouted Ginger, rising to his paws and approaching Tiddles, hissing at him loudly, “Insects have no place in a cat’s court.”

  “Over-ruled.” said Lucky and Ginger puffed up his round red face and stomped back to where he had been sitting and sat sulkily down, beginning to clean his side noisily.

  From Tiddle’s fur jumped a small insect, and fluttering nervously floated before them all, glancing this way and that, seeming almost to tremble in mid-air.

  “Thank you for taking the time to come today, Sid.” said Tiddles, Ginger snorting nosily as he said this.

  “No problem.” squeaked Sid nervously, his voice almost a stammer. He was obviously not entirely happy to be very close to so many cats at once.

  “I have one question and one question only.” said Tiddles, smiling slowly before pausing to lick his side, “How many calories are in a gnat?”

  “Objection!” roared Ginger, once again throwing himself to his feet and towards Tiddles in particular. Sid floated a little higher in the air, looking as if he was going to have second thoughts and fly away altogether. “How in the name of a nice good saucer of milk would a gnat know that? They are at best slow witted, at worst little more than flying nuisances!”

  “Over-ruled again!” shouted Lucky, “and if you stomp your way back towards the defence one more time Ginger, I will have you thrown out of this court! Sit down!”

  “Apologies my lord.” said Ginger, doing as he was told.

  “Could you answer the question please, Sid?” asked Tiddles, and Sid flew a little lower again.

  “I was told once by an especially educated gnat that gnats are rarely bothered by other predators as we are hardly worth the effort. I would think therefore that as we are so low down in the scheme of things, our worth as food would be the lowest number that you can count in. To a gnat that would a “skrig”.”

  “So one, then.” said Tiddles, and Sid just looked at the cat as if waiting for an explanation. “Our lowest number is one.” explained Tiddles patiently, “So a skrig equals one.”

  “If you say so.” said Sid, and Tiddles smiled.

  “One calorie then.” he said, “Thank you very much Sid you may go.”

  Sid did not hesitate, leaving the shed roof as fast as he could at high speed. There was not a single cat on that shed roof however who did not calculate his flight path, speed of trajectory and possibility of interception as he went.

  “No more questions.” said Tiddles, and sitting down, began to clean his tail.

  The cats sitting there took pause to watch the sun on the horizon now, the shed roof starting to slowly lose the heat of the late summer sun as it went down. Soon it would be night and time to hunt, they all thought, and relished the idea, looking forward to a good night’s sneaking, creeping and subsequent disemboweling.

  “Time to sum up.” said Lucky, “Ginger. Please proceed.”

  Ginger stopped licking his behind and strode into the centre of the circle.

  “The prosecution’s case is simple, my lord.” he said, preening himself as he gave Smudge a desultory look. “Smudge is a negligent cat. The charges stand as this cat has as good as admitted to them all. The mice remain uneaten; she hides behind her owner’s chair from birds. Those that feed her have as yet to taste a cherry from his tree as the bird’s roam freely across Smudge’s territory. I fear he will never know what a cherry tastes like as long as this cat is owned by him. The prosecution insists that the full force of cat law be brought to bear upon this negligent cat.”

  Ginger paused slightly, licking his chest for dramatic effect.

  “The prosecution insists that this cat, the one named Smudge, be driven from cat society, and following therefore all of the tenets of cat law that this cat’s owner is then named as this cat’s Master.”

  All of the other cats on the shed roof shuffled uneasily. There was no stronger sentence than this, for no cat has a master. It was abhorrent, and a terrible sentence to consider. For a cat anyway.

  “The prosecution rests.” said Ginger formally, and dropping it’s head to Lucky in a small bow, sat down and began to clean its ears with its paw.

  Tiddles stood slowly, all eyes upon him as he approached Lucky, a smile on his face.

  “Your honour.” said Tiddles, strolling now towards Ginger as if taunting him, “The defence’s position is simple. Smudge is not a negligent cat.” Ginger shuffled slightly and smiled a wide grin at them all as if challenging this. “She is just not a very good cat. Her mouse tally is poor, indeed. Her bird catching exploits pathetic. Cherries or no cherries she is just not very good with either mice or birds.”

  Tiddles stopped taunting Ginger, and strolled back to Smokey, who looked as if he was considering
a sleep.

  “Tell me, Smokey.” said Tiddles, one eye on Ginger in a manner that made the tomcat feel decidedly edgy for no reason that he could tally at all, “What is Ginger’s mouse tally?”

  “Objection!” roared Ginger, shooting to his paws and throwing himself at Tiddles once again, who stood unmoving, watching Lucky out of the corner of his eye, his whiskers twitching slightly. Smudge did not move, and Smokey looked as if he was consulting his own internal ledger just in case he had to. “This is of no relevance at all!”

  “Tread carefully, Tiddles.” said Lucky, “But I am intrigued. Continue. You may give the answer, Smokey.” Ginger hissed at nobody in particular, but did not move.

  “Seventy-eight mice, you honour.” said Smokey and Tiddles nodded his head, Ginger preening himself at his impressive tally.

  “And birds?”

  “Six birds.” said Smokey, “As it is well known to all cats, birds are not really food. Just fluttering theymustdiediedie nuisances really.”

  “Indeed.” said Tiddles, circling around the still standing Ginger, “And each mouse has ten calories, does it not?”

  “That is the agreed measurement, yes.” said Smokey, smiling at Tiddles.

  “Sit down, Ginger!” shouted Lucky, and once again Ginger did so. “What is my mouse tally, Smokey, just as a matter of interest?”

  Smokey considered this for a second or so, again counting on his paws.

  “Eighty-one. your honour.” he said eventually, and Lucky smiled.

  “Well done.” said smokey, and Lucky smiled broadly.

  “So,” said Tiddles. “A mouse has ten calories. Ginger here therefore has consumed seven hundred and eighty calories, whilst you, your honour, appear to be in the lead with eight hundred and ten.”

  “You are wasting your time if you are trying to flatter me, Tiddles!” said Lucky, “Make your point, please!”

  “Very well, your honour.” said Tiddles, swiping an ear with one paw, “The calorific value of a gnat however appears to be one. Even in their own words. tell me Smokey, how many gnats has Smudge eaten?”