Solomon's Tale

by Sheila Jeffries

  Something terrible was happening. I realised that either we were going to the vet or the RSPCA. I sat down, pressing myself against the cage door. The healing stars had vanished and I felt trapped.

  Ellen had put John into his car seat, and Sue-next-door was looking in at us.

  ‘Goodbye Solomon and Jessica. Bye bye John,’ she was saying, and then she and Ellen were hugging and crying over each other. Why was everyone crying, I wondered? It was a beautiful golden day with the first autumn leaves floating down from the cherry tree. We should be out there in the sun, playing with them.

  Joe got into the driving seat and Ellen sat beside him, still clutching the amber velvet cushion.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Ellen, bravely trying to smile. ‘You cats settle down. We’re going on a long journey.’

  As soon as the car backed out of the drive and set off down the road, Jessica started yowling. She yowled and she yowled and she wouldn’t stop. Me, I would have just sat quietly since there was no escape, but I was so upset by Jessica’s distress that I yowled along with her.

  ‘They can’t keep this up for two hundred miles,’ said Joe. He drove grimly, and very fast. Soon we were on a motorway with heavy lorries thundering along beside me, and I was so terrified that my fur started coming out, especially where it was rubbing against the bars. It reminded me of my long trip in the oily lorry.

  Humans seem to make such a mess of their lives. If I were a wild cat I would stay in one place forever and get to know it. I’d make a magnificent nest in the hedge, and make it cosy, and I’d live happily in the sunshine.

  John had gone to sleep in his car seat. I could see the side of his fat little cheek and his hand flopped across his teddy bear’s tummy. He looked peaceful, and so did his teddy bear, whose eyes twinkled at me as always. I figured they had got it right, accepting what was happening, so I tried to quieten down. Ellen turned around and looked into my eyes.

  ‘It’s OK, Solomon,’ she said. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  After that I did manage to doze, but Jessica’s incessant yowling gave me a headache. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them everything had changed. We were on a quieter road, wandering between hills and rocks covered in heather and gorse. I could smell bracken and sheep. We’d been in the car for hours and hours, and it was raining hard. The rain swept sideways and mist rolled past the windows, thick and white, hiding everything.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ Joe kept grumbling. Sometimes he said, ‘I’ll throttle that cat.’

  Jessica didn’t care. She had shredded the rug into a ball of string and peed on it, making her pink paws sore and red. She went on crying and crying and there was nothing I could do to comfort her.

  Jessica and I were town cats. We’d both grown up on housing estates with walls and squares of garden, always with the noise of radios and children and lawn mowers. So when Joe finally stopped the car and turned off the engine, the silence, the wild smells and the furious rain of the countryside was electrifying. Quite exciting actually.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Ellen. ‘This is it. Home sweet home.’

  ‘I wish,’ growled Joe.

  I sat up and tried to stretch, my head bumping the top of the cage. Close to the car was a weird-looking house with a pale cream door. It was on wheels like a car.

  ‘I don’t want to live in this poxy caravan,’ Joe complained, but Ellen was being cheerful, waking John up and chatting brightly.

  ‘Come on, it’s going to be lovely. We can make it nice. Now let’s get these poor cats out first. We’ll shut them in the end bedroom and butter their paws.’

  ‘Butter their paws?’ said John. ‘Don’t be silly Mummy!’

  ‘It’s what you have to do to help a cat when you move house,’ explained Ellen. ‘They get scared and want to run away, so you put butter on their paws and while they are licking it off they take in their new surroundings and settle down. Maybe it’s an old wives’ tale, but it works.’

  The car door was opened, and rain came pelting in. Ellen whisked the cat basket into the caravan. It smelled of plastic, and it was freezing cold in there. She took us into a tiny bedroom, shut the door and let us out. Jessica crawled under the bed, but I was glad to cuddle up in Ellen’s arms. She sat on the bed with me and we looked out of the window at the swirling mist.

  ‘We’re in Cornwall, Solomon,’ she told me. ‘And it’s going to be lovely, you’ll see. You’re a Cornish cat now.’

  She stroked me all over, smoothing my ruffled fur, and then she spread butter on my paws, put down a dish of water, and a plate of our favourite cat food.

  ‘You stay here, the pair of you, and when we’ve unloaded the car and it’s stopped raining, you can go and explore.’

  Jessica stayed under the bed, but I sat up on top of a cupboard by the window and enjoyed licking the butter off my paws while I watched them unloading stuff from the car. I didn’t like the feel of the caravan. It was damp, and it shook all the time, especially when Joe was walking about and John was running from room to room squealing in excitement. I didn’t feel safe in there. It didn’t feel like home at all. As soon as it stopped raining, I vowed to go outside and find a better place than this.

  Later that evening we were allowed out of the bedroom, but the door to the outside remained firmly shut. I inspected everything, walking about nicely with my tail up. There were no stairs, and nowhere to play, no puss flap and no sofa. But I found a wide sunny windowsill and spread myself out on it. Jessica refused to take an interest in our new home. She slunk around suspiciously, her neck getting longer and longer as she peered into the tiny rooms and cupboards. Then she scrabbled at the outside door and yowled.

  ‘Don’t let her out,’ Ellen called from the bedroom where she was putting John to bed. He was crying.

  ‘I don’t like it here, Mummy. I want to go back to our old home.’

  ‘You can’t, darling. It’s not our house now.’

  ‘But why, Mummy?’

  Ellen kept telling him, but he wouldn’t calm down and so I jumped onto his bed and lay close to him, purring.

  ‘There – Solomon’s here, and he’s all right,’ said Ellen.

  I wasn’t all right. I wanted to go back to our old house too. The wanting started as a little ache inside my heart, but I didn’t let John know that. I curled up on his pillow and pretended to go to sleep until he stopped crying and snuggled down in his new bed.

  ‘One down, two to go,’ said Ellen wearily. ‘Now it’s Jessica’s turn.’

  I watched in amazement as Ellen’s aura filled with stars, and the bright mist of an angel shimmered beside her. In that moment I felt proud to be her cat. Ellen had a special loving way of healing and calming any distressed creature. I remembered the times she had done it as a child, when she’d been surrounded with angels. Now I sat close, basking in the energy as if it was sunshine.

  Ellen coaxed Jessica away from scrabbling at the door, picked her up and sat her on the amber velvet cushion, all the time stroking and talking in a low hypnotic voice.

  ‘It’s OK, Jessica darling. This is your home now and it’s going to be fine. And your dear kittens have gone to live in kind homes. Yes I know you miss them, darling.’

  Jessica was listening, her tired eyes fixed on Ellen’s face, her fur gradually regaining its gloss under Ellen’s gentle touch. She even started to purr, though she wasn’t good at it.

  ‘This is a tranquilliser, Jessica,’ Ellen said, showing her a small white shiny tablet. ‘It won’t harm you, but it will help you sleep, and then you’ll feel better, and in the morning you and Solomon can explore our new place.’

  Ellen dipped the tablet in butter, and Jessica opened her pink mouth like a little bird. Swiftly Ellen popped the tablet onto the back of her tongue and held Jessica’s mouth shut while she stroked her throat. I saw the bump of the tablet going down, and Jessica went quiet and floppy, spreading herself over the cushion.

  ‘Phew,’ said Joe. ‘That was a miracle. I came clos
e to chucking that cat out of the car today.’

  ‘Don’t send her those angry vibes, Joe,’ Ellen said, her fingers still stroking the sleeping cat. ‘And don’t call her “that cat”.’

  She looked at me.

  ‘You don’t need a tranquilliser, Solomon, do you?’

  I rolled onto my back, kicked my paws in the air, and looked around at her cheekily.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Obviously not.’

  The angel stayed with us all night in the creaking caravan with the rain thundering on the roof and slamming against the windows. I dozed, trying to come to terms with the big change in our lives, wondering how we could get used to this cramped caravan and the unknown world outside. I worried about Joe. What would happen if he lost his temper? In this fragile place where the cups rattled if anyone walked across the floor, there was no room for Joe’s bombastic temper.

  The night was dense and dark outside. No orange street lights like we’d been used to. But later in the night the rain stopped and when I pushed my head between the funny little curtains, I saw bright stars in the sky and I sat gazing at the universe and talking to my angel.

  ‘You mustn’t try to leave, Solomon, even if you don’t like it. Ellen is going to need you so much. There are hard times coming, but you must stay.’

  She kept repeating this, and in the morning I had made up my mind to stay and make the best of it.

  But then I had a terrible shock.

  I was the only one awake, sitting on the windowsill in the morning sun. I wanted to see the garden and get a sense of where we were. The caravan was up against a high hedge covered in wild plants and bramble, impossible to see what was on the other side. At the front was green space, and more caravans. Then I saw something terrifying. I sat up extra straight and my tail began to bristle like a stiff brush. The hairs stood up all along my back and up my neck, my heart raced, and I might have stopped breathing too.

  Coming along the wide path towards the caravan was the most enormous fearsome-looking dog I had ever seen. It was dragging a little man who was leaning backwards, holding the lead with both hands.

  The massive dog had glinty eyes and I could hear it snuffling and growling and the clickety click of its nails along the path. It trotted over to Joe’s car and lifted its beefy leg to pee on the tyre. Then it looked up, saw me at the window and hurled itself at the caravan, bellowing and barking. The whole caravan shook with its power. I was petrified.

  Back home we’d had a front garden with a fence and a white iron gate that kept dogs out. Here it was open space. How could I ever go outside with that dog around? I was only a young cat. I needed space to play and explore. Promising the angel that I would stay now felt like an impossible task.

  My hackles gradually subsided as I crouched in the window, and this time I assessed the space in a different way. I looked for escape routes and high perches, gazing at the houses in the distance and a long road curving around the hill. I began to plan how I would escape.

  THAT DOG

  There was no sign of the dog when Joe opened the caravan door and let us out into the sunshine. Jessica didn’t hang around but streaked off across the wet grass, her tail kinked like a racehorse. She dived into the thick hedge and disappeared.

  ‘That’s the last we’ll see of her,’ said Joe, rather smugly.

  ‘She’ll come back,’ Ellen predicted. ‘She just needs to check out where she is.’

  I was more cautious and Ellen picked me up and carried me, which I really appreciated. John toddled beside us, his little legs in blue plastic wellies. Leaving Joe sitting on the caravan steps swigging beer from a can, we paraded around the edge of the caravan site. From Ellen’s shoulder I could see over the hedge into a copse of sycamore trees. It had secret winding paths and a mound of bare earth with gigantic holes, which looked spooky to me. What kind of creature might live in such big dark holes?

  The birds were different here. There were noisy magpies and jackdaws, and the sky was full of grey and white seagulls who opened their orange beaks and dived around, screaming like police cars.

  We met a woman who was hanging washing outside her caravan. She had chunky brown elbows and a reassuring laugh, and eyes that sparkled like those of an angel. She made a fuss of John, and of me.

  ‘Eee – isn’t he bonny? I love cats.’ She came right up to Ellen and put her wrinkled face close to mine. We touched noses. Sue-next-door, I thought, only she had a different name – Pam. Pam-next-door. A good person to escape to, I decided. All the way round I was checking out escape routes and possible hiding places; holes in the hedge, boxes under caravans and perches in trees.

  ‘Where does the campsite owner live?’ Ellen asked.

  Pam pointed to a gap in the hedge where the wide path curved into the next field. ‘Through there and up the slope to the far end. He’s got a big house with a garden. But watch that dog. It’s OK with me, but it’s a bit iffy with strangers.’

  ‘Is it loose?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘No. It’s shut in the garden,’ said Pam. ‘But sometimes it escapes and Nick can’t control it – it’s bigger than he is. Oh I laugh when I see him trying to take it for a walk. Like a cart horse it is, great big feet it’s got.’

  I didn’t understand everything Pam was saying, but I got the word dog, and began to feel uneasy. I tensed as Ellen carried me towards the house. In the wall was a black iron gate with curly patterns. I fixed my eyes on the garden beyond. I could smell it, and sense it. That dog.

  ‘What’s the matter, Solomon?’ asked Ellen, holding me tighter.

  ‘Big dog, Mummy – look,’ squealed John as the dog appeared behind the gate. It didn’t bark. It just loomed.

  I did a dreadful thing. In my struggle to get away, I scratched Ellen’s bare shoulder. Then I was flying across the grass, back the way we had come, faster than I’d ever run before, leaving the dog barking behind me. Out in a vast space with nowhere to hide, I pelted through the gap in the hedge. Which was our caravan? I didn’t know. The only option was to plunge into the undergrowth.

  Cornish hedges are made of stone and it was easy to crawl up inside through the brambles and nettles and then into the twiggy cover of a hawthorn tree, which was growing out of the wall. It was an awkward, prickly climb, but I went deep into its branches and sat there listening to my fast beating heart. In the distance the dog was still barking, and John was screaming. From my hiding place I watched Ellen carrying him back down the path, talking to him in her quiet way.

  Spending the day sitting in a prickly tree didn’t appeal to me. Everything went quiet, and I considered my options. First I tasted one of the red berries that hung there, and it was disgusting. A cat could get hungry and uncomfortable stuck up here all day. I longed for the lovely home we had left, and I was full of sadness.

  Ellen was calling me, and banging our cat food dish with a spoon, like she always did when she wanted to get our attention. Eventually I wormed my way down and crawled on my belly along the base of the wall, following a tunnel that some other creature had conveniently made through the long grasses. When I finally reached the caravan, the door was open and I bounded in with my tail up again.

  Jessica was back and she was setting up a place for herself inside the cupboard under the seats. She’d already got a dead mouse in there, and one of Ellen’s socks, and a Dairylea cheese portion. She was pleased to see me for once.

  ‘Poof,’ she said when I told her about the dog. ‘I can sort him out. Don’t be such a wimp, Solomon.’

  ‘You haven’t seen how big he is,’ I said.

  ‘Poof,’ Jessica yawned contemptuously. ‘Dogs are nothing to me.’

  We spread ourselves out on the sunny windowsill to sleep. It wasn’t peaceful in the caravan with John bouncing on and off the seats and throwing his toys around. Joe was on the steps drilling holes in the door, fitting a puss flap for us, and Ellen was getting more and more stressed as she tried to unpack boxes. I looked guiltily at the red scratches on her shoulde
r. She’d forgiven me, but I still felt bad. And Jessica had called me a wimp.

  Soon Joe was shouting at John, and getting angry with the caravan door. He’d made a hole in it, and taken the new puss flap out of its box, only to find it didn’t fit.

  I watched him tensely as he struggled with it. Then he flung it under the caravan.

  ‘Useless rubbish,’ he complained, and threw his whole toolbox outside. It clattered onto the grass, screws and nails bouncing everywhere.

  Jessica disappeared into her cupboard, and John ran to Ellen, clinging round her legs. Ellen’s face went tight. I knew she didn’t dare to speak at times like this. Anything she said, even kind things, would send Joe into a frenzy. Trapped on the windowsill, I half closed my eyes and pretended to be a Buddha, setting an example of how to be peaceful.

  With John now clinging round her neck, Ellen opened the fridge and took out one of the tall black and gold cans of beer that Joe liked. She handed it to him silently. He took it, and leaned on the car with his back to everyone.

  ‘Come on, we need some time outside.’ Ellen carried John down the steps and dragged his plastic tractor out from under the caravan. I followed them with my tail up and sat on the path, which was warm and dry, while John pedalled up and down.

  And then the dog appeared. It was ambling down the path, all by itself. It hadn’t seen us yet. I froze, knowing that if I even twitched, it would see me and charge, putting John and Ellen in danger too.

  Jessica seemed to have some sort of radar. She came out immediately, running low in the grass like a stalking tiger. I could feel the heat of her as she swept past me. She sat down in the middle of the path, and started washing. Her audacity was breathtaking. The dog ambled nearer and nearer, but Jessica went on washing.

  I wanted to run, but how could I leave Jessica, John and Ellen to face that dog?

  Suddenly it looked up, saw us and charged down the path, its paws rattling on the tarmac.