Atticus Claw On the Misty Moor

by Jennifer Gray

  ‘Cheer up, Herman, we’ve got visitors,’ she replied.

  ‘Atticus!’ Mr Tucker’s rosy face broke into a gummy smile. ‘Kids!’ He gave them a hug.

  Atticus managed to hook a bit of fish out of Mr Tucker’s beard-jumper. He gulped it down quickly before Mrs Tucker saw.

  ‘Phew!’ said Mr Tucker, sitting down heavily on the bunk and narrowly missing Bones and Mimi. ‘I’ll be glad to get Great-Uncle Aaarrrrchie home! This cat business is a right pain in the neck.’

  ‘What are we going to do with the cats when we get to Biggnaherry,’ asked Callie, ‘if we can’t let Great-Uncle Archie see them?

  ‘Don’t worry about that, ‘said Mrs Tucker. ‘I’ve explained the situation to Don and Debs. They said there’s plenty of room in the cottage. Great-Uncle Archie won’t know the cats are there. He spends most of the time shut up in his room watching TV. Now, off you go.’ She shooed the children away to bed.

  Atticus followed them back to their cabin. This time he barely noticed the CLACK-A-DE-CLACK of the train. Something was puzzling him. If Great-Uncle Archie disliked cats so much, then why did he have one engraved on the end of his walking stick? It wasn’t even a normal sort of cat, like him or Mimi or Bones. It was a big, scary one, like a lion or a tiger.

  And if Great-Uncle Archie’s name was Archie McMucker, thought Atticus, what did the initials SD stand for?

  At 5.21 a.m. precisely, the sleeper train drew into Biggnaherry station. The Tuckers, the Cheddars and Great-Uncle Archie were the only people to get off. Atticus, Mimi and Bones were the only cats. This time all three of them hid in Mrs Tucker’s basket underneath the remains of the fish-paste sandwiches.

  ‘Hide Atticus’s pet carrier!’ Mrs Cheddar hissed as she passed the luggage down to her husband. ‘We can’t let Great-Uncle Archie see it.’

  ‘What a fuss!’ Inspector Cheddar said crossly. ‘If you ask me, all this cat business is a load of superstitious twaddle.’

  Atticus was pleased that Inspector Cheddar actually agreed with him about something for a change, but otherwise he felt very squashed and grumpy. There wasn’t much room in Mrs Tucker’s basket; apart from the three cats and the fish-paste sandwiches, it also contained Mrs Tucker’s Hells Angels nightie and Mr Tucker’s spare false teeth. ‘It’s so annoying that Great-Uncle Archie doesn’t like cats!’ he complained.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Bones. ‘I’ve been keeping out of his way for the last week and a half. He nearly had a heart attack when he first came to stay with the Tuckers and saw me in the kitchen.’

  ‘Why is he so superstitious about cats anyway?’ Atticus grumbled.

  Mimi sighed. ‘I hate to tell you this, Atticus, but I’m afraid it’s quite common.’

  Bones nodded gloomily. ‘With black cats especially,’ she said.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because in some places black cats are associated with evil spirits,’ Mimi said.

  ‘Evil spirits,’ Atticus echoed. ‘But people don’t believe in that sort of thing now.’

  ‘Some people do,’ said Bones. ‘Superstitions are like traditions. They last forever.’

  ‘What happened when Great-Uncle Archie saw you?’ Atticus asked her.

  ‘He started ranting about something called the Cat Sith,’ Bones replied.

  ‘The Cat Sith?’ Atticus repeated. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bones said. ‘Some sort of mythical cat creature, I suppose. He didn’t say. But whatever it is, Great-Uncle Archie is petrified of it.’

  The wind whistled through the gaps in the basket. Atticus peeped out of one of them. He could see the lights of the train as it pulled away. Apart from them, the station platform was deserted. He glimpsed a dilapidated wooden building with grubby paint peeling off it and boarded-up red doors. The platform sign swung to and fro in the icy wind. Somewhere a shutter or a window banged persistently. He shivered. The place gave him the creeps.

  ‘There are Don and Debs!’ said Mr Tucker. ‘This way.’ He wheeled Great-Uncle Archie down a ramp. The others followed with the luggage. Mrs Tucker picked up her basket. ‘No meowing,’ she whispered.

  Car doors slammed. Atticus could see two pairs of boots splashing through the puddles towards them.

  ‘Welcome to Biggnaherry!’ a deep voice said.

  ‘Don!’ cried Mr Tucker.

  ‘It’s a dreich morning you’ve brought with you!’ an even deeper voice said.

  ‘Debs!’ cried Mrs Tucker.

  Atticus felt a jolt as Mrs Tucker set the basket down. He removed Mr Tucker’s false teeth from his tail, pushed the Hells Angels nightie cautiously aside with one paw and peered over the top of the basket. Two muddy jeeps were parked side by side in the car park facing the station platform. Don and Debs were loading Great-Uncle Archie into the first one. Atticus squinted at them. Curiously, even though they weren’t related, Debs looked a lot like Mrs Tucker except she had long red hair, red biker boots, several nose piercings and a tattoo on her forearm that read:

  DON’T MESS WITH DEBS IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE

  Less curiously, because they were related, Don looked a lot like Mr Tucker, except that instead of a having a wooden leg and a beard-jumper attached to his chin, he was wearing a type of thick skirt with something very hairy attached to the front of that.

  ‘It’s a sporran.’ Mimi’s face appeared next to his. ‘You wear it over the kilt. It’s the traditional way to dress in the Highlands.’

  More traditions, thought Atticus. He liked this one a lot better than the superstitious one about black cats being unlucky. Don’s kilt was thick and colourful, like a big rug. It was just the sort of thing Atticus enjoyed lying on. And even from a distance he could see that Don’s sporran contained some interesting morsels of food. He wondered if Don would mind if he picked them out.

  Don and Debs finished loading Great-Uncle Archie into one of the jeeps.

  ‘Let’s get you home!’ Don closed the door on the old man.

  Great-Uncle Archie wound down the window. ‘Have you checked ma bed for cats?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Great-Uncle Archie!’

  ‘And ma hot-water bottle?’

  ‘Aye! Don’t worry!’

  ‘And ma electric blanket?’

  ‘Yes, that too!’ Don puffed out his cheeks. He glanced at Mrs Tucker. Mrs Tucker nodded meaningfully at the basket.

  ‘They’re in there,’ she mouthed.

  Atticus and Mimi ducked under the nightie. Atticus felt something nip his tail. It was Mr Tucker’s false teeth again! He tried not to meow.

  ‘We’ll go with Debs and the kids,’ said Mrs Tucker to Mrs Cheddar. ‘And the … er … fish-paste sandwiches. Herman, you and Inspector Cheddar help Don with Great-Uncle Archie.’

  ‘Hooray!’ Atticus heard Inspector Cheddar say in the kind of voice that meant completely the opposite.

  He felt their basket being lifted into the boot of Debs’s car.

  ‘My tail’s gone to sleep,’ said Bones.

  ‘And I can’t breathe!’ said Mimi.

  ‘And my ears itch,’ said Atticus. He pawed at the nightie. ‘Let’s get out.’

  The three cats squeezed out of the basket. They hopped on to the back seat of the car and looked out of the window. Mrs Cheddar was putting the rest of the luggage into the boot with Callie and Michael; Mrs Tucker and Debs were comparing tattoos; Mr Tucker was admiring Don’s sporran; Don was admiring Mr Tucker’s beard-jumper, and Inspector Cheddar was making a note of the car number plates in his new notebook.

  ‘I wish they’d hurry up,’ said Mimi, shivering. ‘This place is spooky.’

  Beyond them, across the car park, lay the moor. It stretched away into the darkness as far as Atticus could see – bleak and desolate – rising and falling with the folds of the hills. Fog spread out in patches between the hummocks of heather, like ghostly blankets.

  Privately Atticus agreed with Mimi – it was spooky – but he didn’t want her or Bones to think he was
a scaredy-cat. So instead he said, ‘Maybe it’s nicer in the daytime.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Mimi. She pricked up her ears. ‘What’s that noise?’

  Atticus listened closely. Somewhere in the distance he heard a faint rumble. ‘Thunder?’ he suggested.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Atticus strained his ears. A low drumming sound was coming from somewhere on the moor.

  THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

  The sound was getting louder. Whatever it was, it was approaching rapidly. Atticus felt his hackles rise. His instinct told him something was wrong.

  ‘What was that?’ Outside the jeep Callie and Michael stopped what they were doing to listen.

  ‘I’ll take a look.’ Michael grabbed his night-vision goggles from his pocket and walked off in the direction of the moor.

  The three cats watched him anxiously.

  THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Atticus said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Bones.

  ‘Nor me,’ Mimi agreed.

  Atticus felt worried. Michael shouldn’t be going on to the moor alone, especially not in the dark. He made a decision. ‘You two stay here,’ Atticus said. ‘I’m going after Michael.’ He leapt over the back seat and dropped down from the boot of the car on to the tarmac.

  The car park was full of potholes. Atticus felt cold water splash his legs and tummy. Light drizzle fell on his back. Soon his fur was drenched.

  Atticus gritted his teeth. He disliked getting wet, but it was too late now. And he wanted to catch up with Michael. He slipped along in the shadows keeping out of sight of Great-Uncle Archie. There wasn’t much light anyway and his tabby stripes provided perfect camouflage against the gloomy backdrop of the moor.

  THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

  ‘What’s going on?’ Inspector Cheddar had heard the noise. He looked up from his notebook. ‘Where’s Michael?’

  ‘Over here, Dad!’ Michael had reached the edge of the moor. He pulled on his night-vision goggles and adjusted the controls. ‘I can see something! It’s coming this way.’

  Atticus hurried towards him.

  Suddenly a deer broke cover from the fog. It crashed through the bushes at the edge of the moor and leapt into the car park. Michael jumped back, startled. Atticus dodged out of the way as the deer swerved past him and bounded through the car park past the jeeps and away into the darkness.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, folks,’ said Don. ‘We get lots of deer around here.’

  ‘Something must have given it a fright,’ Mrs Cheddar remarked.

  The back door of Don’s jeep flew open. Great-Uncle Archie struggled out. He leant heavily with one arm on the car door for support. With the other he lifted the old wooden cane and pointed it shakily towards the moor.

  ‘The Cat Sith!’ he shouted. ‘That’s what it was runnin’ from. It’s out there on the moor!’

  The Cat Sith? That was the thing Bones had said Great-Uncle Archie was so afraid of when he saw her. Atticus swept his eyes over the moor. He blinked. Was he seeing things? A creature was creeping along between the tufts of heather. It was barely visible in the darkness; its fur was as black as night. But its shape was unmistakably that of an enormous cat.

  ‘You’re imagining it, Great-Uncle Archie,’ Debs said. ‘There’s no such thing as the Cat Sith. Let me help you back in the car.’

  Atticus strained his eyes. Was Debs right? Had he imagined it too? The creature had disappeared. He looked harder. No, there it was, slinking along through the dips and twists of the moor, moving towards Michael at a steady pace.

  Michael! Suddenly Atticus realised what was happening. The creature was stalking Michael!

  Atticus’s instinct kicked in. He leapt forward, hissing and spitting. With his fur puffed up he looked twice his normal size.

  The creature stopped in its tracks. It cast a malevolent look towards Atticus and curled its lip in a snarl. Then it turned around, slunk back across the moor and disappeared from sight.

  Atticus felt Michael’s hand on his back. ‘Thanks, Atticus,’ he whispered.

  Atticus managed a purr. Michael was wearing night-vision goggles; he had seen the creature too.

  ‘There’s nothing out there!’ The voice belonged to Inspector Cheddar. ‘See?’ The wide beam of a torch caught Atticus unawares. He screwed his eyes shut against the sudden glare.

  ‘A cat!’ Great-Uncle Archie cried. ‘A cat!’

  Atticus’s tail drooped. Oh no! Now Great-Uncle Archie had seen him! He was going to get into trouble.

  ‘I might have known!’ Inspector Cheddar marched up. He pointed an accusing finger at Atticus. ‘You were supposed to stay out of sight.’

  ‘It’s not Atticus’s fault, Dad,’ Michael protested. ‘There was something on the moor. A big black cat; like a panther. I saw it. I promise you I did. It was chasing the deer. Atticus scared it off.’

  ‘A panther!’ Inspector Cheddar snorted. ‘Sure! Next you’ll be telling me there are tigers out there.’

  ‘There are, actually,’ Don had joined them. ‘They’re called Highland Tigers.’

  ‘Highland Tigers?’ Michael repeated. ‘What are they?’

  ‘They’re wildcats,’ said Don. ‘They’re very rare, but they do exist.’ He looked at Michael thoughtfully. ‘Maybe that’s what you saw?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Michael. ‘What do they look like?’

  ‘A lot like Atticus, as a matter of fact,’ said Don. ‘Same size, similar markings, except without the white socks and the handkerchief, of course.’

  Michael shook his head stubbornly. ‘What I saw was black. And it was much bigger than Atticus.’

  Don pursed his lips. He didn’t seem to want to believe Michael for some reason. Atticus wondered why.

  ‘A cat! A cat! A cat!’

  Great-Uncle Archie was in full cry. Atticus couldn’t help wishing he would shut up. It was proving to be a long night. He wanted to go to bed.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Inspector Cheddar asked Don crossly.

  ‘We’ll tell Great-Uncle Archie he saw a wildcat,’ Don said. ‘And that it ran away. Shhh!’ He put his finger to his lips, picked Atticus up and tucked him into his sporran. Atticus tried not to sneeze. The hairs tickled his whiskers. ‘It’s all right, Great-Uncle Archie,’ Don called. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. It was a Highland Tiger. It’s gone now.’

  They walked back to Debs’s jeep. Don popped Atticus in the back next to Callie. He held the door open for Michael.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Michael bent down and picked something up off the tarmac. It was Great-Uncle Archie’s walking stick. ‘He must have dropped it when he saw Atticus,’ Michael said. The silver top gleamed in the weak lamplight. Atticus watched Michael trace the shape with his fingertips. ‘That’s what I saw on the moor,’ Michael told Don.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  There was something in the way Don asked the question that made Atticus’s fur prickle.

  ‘Yes, why?’ replied Michael.

  ‘Because that’s a carving of the Cat Sith,’ Don replied.

  ‘Hup to! Hup to! Hup to!’

  At Crow Brigade Army Training Camp, Thug and Slasher were having a horrible time. They were doing their early-morning workout. The first exercise was running on the spot.

  ‘Knees up!’ shouted the Sergeant Major.

  ‘Why did I ever get talked into this?’ Thug moaned. ‘I’d rather get squashed by an ice-cream van like me poor old mum.’

  ‘My Arthur-itis is killing me!’ Slasher complained. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hop again.’

  The early-morning workout took place on the slippery rock. It was followed by the early-morning swim in the freezing-cold loch and the head-to-toe rub-down with the prickly sock.

  ‘Keep up, you two!’ shouted the Sergeant Major. About a hundred birds were taking part in the camp and they were all a lot fitter than Thug and Slasher
. Most of them looked as if they came every year. Some of them even looked as though they were enjoying it.

  ‘Star jumps!’ shouted the Sergeant Major.

  The two magpies heaved and puffed.

  ‘Where’s the boss?’ Thug looked up and down the line of recruits.

  ‘He’s been moved to hofficer training camp,’ said Slasher importantly.

  ‘What’s that?’ Thug looked blank.

  ‘It’s where you go if you’re smart, like Jimmy.’

  ‘What d’you learn there?’

  ‘How to boss other birds like us around,’ Slasher told him.

  Thug managed a chuckle. ‘Jimmy’ll be good at that!’

  ‘Press-ups!’ yelled the Sergeant Major.

  Thug and Slasher dropped to their knees. They both tried one wobbly press-up and collapsed in a heap.

  ‘You’re pathetic,’ the Sergeant Major said, marching towards them. ‘We’ll try bungee jumping instead. Where are your bungee ropes?’

  The other birds produced long pieces of thick elasticated rope with hooks on the end. Thug and Slasher produced their knicker elastic.

  The Sergeant Major stared at Thug in disgust.

  ‘What’s he looking at?’ asked Thug.

  ‘I don’t think you were supposed to bring the knickers,’ said Slasher, ‘just the elastic.’

  ‘Get up that tree!’ shouted the Sergeant Major. He pointed to the tallest tree Thug and Slasher had ever seen. It was twice as high as their nest under the pier. Its branches were thin and sparse. They were covered with green lichen.

  ‘I’m scared of heights,’ said Thug.

  The Sergeant Major flexed his wings. He was a big hooded crow – bigger than Jimmy. Way bigger, in fact. He put his head on one side and regarded Thug with intense dislike.

  ‘I’m scared of heights, SIR!’ he screeched.