Our fur was wet and we looked spikey and bedraggled when we finally arrived at the beech cave. It was comforting to find that more dry leaves had been blown in and piled up inside. We settled in with much rustling, and licked each other’s wet fur. I remembered how kindly Ellen used to dry me with a soft towel if I’d been out in the rain. I remembered the radiator, the sofa and the amber velvet cushion.
Where was Ellen now, and what would she think if she saw us soaking wet, shivering and hungry? Facing a winter in the wild wood, living on mice, surviving cold nights with only each other and a pile of beech leaves to keep us warm.
As the last leaves fell from the trees, the days got shorter and darker, the nights longer, and the homesickness deeper. Without Jessica I couldn’t have endured it. She was an expert hunter, better than me, and even when the mice had disappeared for the winter, she still managed to find one, and sometimes, one each. But I still thought longingly of the easy, tasty cat food Ellen used to give us.
Through the long nights I stayed awake, thinking of the piano and how I’d loved to sit on it while Ellen played. I thought about little John showing me his picture of me, and Pam calling me a ‘heaven sent cat’. I even thought of Joe and how warm he was to sit on, and how he’d cried when I gave him healing. Where were they all now?
After we had lived wild for several weeks, I was awoken one night by a terrible yowling and screaming sound nearby. Jessica was not in the cave with me, although this wasn’t unusual as sometimes she went out early to hunt for mice while it was still dark.
I crept out of the cave and sat listening. Above me the stars were tangled in the bare branches of the wood, and the twiggy silhouettes of rooks’ nests. It was silent. Then the yowling and screaming began again, and the crashing sound of two animals rolling and struggling with each other.
I saw Jessica come running back, low to the ground, her black and white face clearly visible through the dark trees. She crawled into our cave and collapsed. She’d had a fight with a feral cat and it had bitten her on the neck. She was shaking violently and breathing very fast.
Concerned, I sniffed at the wound on her neck, but she wouldn’t let me touch it. All day she lay there, exhausted, and I went out to catch mice on my own. I brought her one but she wouldn’t eat. She just wanted to sleep.
I inspected her fur and found she was in poor condition. She was thin, and her coat was dull. Along her back she had patches of bare skin. Mine was the same. We were both suffering from living wild in the cold damp winter. Some days the weather was so bad we’d had nothing to eat.
Jessica did recover for a few days, but she wouldn’t go far from the cave and she didn’t eat much. I stayed beside her, feeling powerless.
Then I noticed she was lying down more and more. Her eyes were dull, and the wound on her neck had turned into an abscess. I knew we needed help. She needed a vet and an antibiotic injection like I’d been given. She needed a car to take her to the vet, and a caring person to do that for her. It was no good going to Joe. He hadn’t got a car now, and Pam only had her bike. I thought about Karenza, but how could I get Jessica to her?
What would Ellen say if she knew?
I felt angry and desperate.
My angel had tried to tell me to let Jessica go. Was this what she had meant? Did I have to sit in this cold, dark wood and watch my best friend die? Jessica was more than my best friend. She was my love. And now she was all I had.
I lay down beside her and licked her face very gently.
‘Do you think you might make it back to the campsite?’ I asked.
Jessica looked at me through half-closed eyelids.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just lie beside me and keep me warm.’
An icy wind was zigzagging through the wood. I patted Jessica with my paw, and she was limp, her tail stretched out on the ground. I set about washing her pink paws for her, licking the dried mud off them. She wanted to go outside and lie down in her favourite spot under an oak tree. Her legs were wobbly, but she made it, and I sat beside her, trying to place my body to shelter her from the bitter wind. I fluffed my fur out to keep myself warm.
The winter afternoon was darkening minute by minute. Jessica was weak now, her breathing rapid and shallow, but she managed to say one last word to me.
‘You must let me go, Solomon. Go back and wait for Ellen.’
‘How do you know that?’ I asked.
‘Your angel told me.’
I was devastated. I wanted to say thank you to Jessica. Thank you for all the fun times, and our beautiful kittens, and thank you for showing me the sea. I’ll never forget you, Jessica.
But it was too late. Jessica was gone. She looked suddenly, utterly peaceful, her face curled around in a sort of smile.
I sat still and watched the light leaving her body like a haze of gold. Then I saw lights coming through the woods, golden lights and green lights low down on the forest floor, crowding in around the peaceful little cat. I moved back respectfully, and watched the tiny beings of light form a ring. The rays of light crisscrossed and made a dome-shaped lattice, which I recognised at once – the golden web.
I had passed through it when I was born, and now Jessica’s buttercup light was rising, going through that sparkling web, leaving her body behind like an old coat. I watched the light melting away through the trees and the sky.
Broken hearted, I turned my attention to covering her body with leaves. I raked them up with my long paws and piled them over her as best I could.
My grief at losing Jessica was too painful to think about. I needed to be doing something positive before dark. I would run and run until I found the old badger hole again.
I was too upset to work out where to go. Through the night wood I ran, my body low to the ground, my tail down. I was aware of badgers, rabbits, and an owl, but I ignored them. Oblivious to the rain and the wind buffeting my fur, I ran and ran until I found myself on the high bridge that spanned the busy road.
Mesmerised by the headlights, I crouched with my head through the railings. If only one of those lorries would slow down, I’d have a chance. Jessica’s words came back to me. ‘Don’t do it,’ and she’d taken me to see the shining ocean. ‘Because,’ she’d said, ‘you have to know what wonderful things are out there.’
I thought it through. Even if I did manage to make a spectacular leap onto the roof of a speeding lorry, I would have to cling on tightly for hundreds of miles, and it was raining. Or I might get blown off and killed on the road. What a waste of a cat like me. Memories of good things I had done started replaying in my mind. Being kind to little John. Walking into that hospital with my tail up. Playing penguins with Jessica.
Times were tough, but I didn’t want to die. I wanted to finish my job, and my job was to love Ellen. I hurried back down the tarmac lane but soon realised I was exhausted, my paws were sore, and I was soaking wet. At the edge of a field was an old wooden shed. I crawled underneath it and slept for hours curled up in a hollow of dry earth.
In the morning I emerged to find a thin layer of snow lying over the fields. It made it difficult for me to hunt, and I was starving hungry, so I had nothing to eat. My energy was low as I headed towards the woods, and I couldn’t remember which way to go. On and on I trotted, following winding animal tracks between the trees, and late in the day I was horrified to find I’d been going round in circles.
After a second night under the shed and still nothing to eat, I was desperate, and missing Jessica so much. Together we had survived and supported each other. Alone I began to feel I had no chance.
Just before dawn I heard the sound of another creature squeezing itself under the shed. I sat up quickly. I hadn’t got the strength to fight or even defend myself. In the grey-pink light of sunrise I could see the shape of a badger, and to my surprise he came right up to me. He stood looking at me with wise old eyes.
I hadn’t forgotten how to be polite so I stretched my head towards him, and we touched noses. I smelled him and, miracle
of miracles, it was the old badger from the copse. I’d worked hard to make friends with those badgers, and now, in my hour of need, the old fellow had come out in the snow and found me. He wasted no time but turned around and set off through the fields. He turned just once to make sure I was following, and I was, our paws crunch-crunching over the frozen snow. He had come to lead me home.
The badger hole felt surprisingly warm and welcoming as I crawled in out of the snow. I could still smell Jessica on the floor where she had slept next to me, and a tuft of her fur clung to the dried moss. It must have come from her tummy, for it was pure white and soft. It looked like a delicate white moth in the dark hole. I lay down with my nose touching it, my paws stretched over the empty place where she had been. Where was she now? Jessica had shared lots of wisdom and fun with me but she’d never mentioned the spirit world. Had her memory of it been blanked? Was she there now? Could she see me there in our old refuge, hungry and grieving?
Then I thought of our tabby and white kitten I had loved so much. She’d be a cat now. I wished I could find her. I wished she would magically appear at the badger hole, all fluffed out, her eyes shining like lamps in the shadowy wood.
I had lost everything.
That first night alone in the badger hole was endlessly dark. I had only my memories.
Ellen used to read me stories when she was a child. I knew them all by heart and most had happy endings. Ellen would read faster and faster, her eyes alight, racing through the scary bits so that she could read the last page with a smile. As she got older the stories were longer and deeper, and one day she showed me a book called The Diary of Anne Frank, about a girl who had to hide away for years during the war. Like me, she was in a desperate situation, but every day she wrote it down in a diary. It made her feel better, and it helped people to understand, years later, what she had been through and how she had coped.
I remembered that book, and the sad girl on the cover. If I was able to write, then I would keep a diary now. I’d start today, and it would go something like this.
THE DIARY OF A DESPERATE CAT
I am all alone now and still sleeping in the badger hole. I’m in there most of the day as it’s so cold. Today there is more snow whirling across the landscape. It piles higher and higher around my hole. My dinner is a small mouse, which I had been saving, and when I want a drink I lick some of the cold snow. My body is so thin that my ribs hurt when I lie down. Even my paws, which used to be soft and glossy, look bony and rough.
A fox comes by in the night and sticks his pointed nose right into my hiding place. The snow crystals on his whiskers glisten in the moonlight, and his eyes gleam as he looks in at me. I am too weak to fight, but the memory of Jessica confronting Paisley gives me courage. I puff myself up, flatten my ears and yowl ferociously. I smell the fox’s musky breath. I attack his surprised face with claws of steel. He backs away. But he doesn’t go. He skulks around, pacing to and fro, always looking at me with that rusty stare. He’s hungry too. I crouch in the hole, glaring back at him, but the energy of being constantly on guard is draining me. I can read the fox’s mind. He is waiting. And when I am weak, he will have me.
The fox sits down like a dog, watching me. His fur is in perfect condition, fiery red-gold and white. He’s a creature of the wood, and he doesn’t go hungry. He doesn’t give up and lie in a hole with only his memories, like I am doing. In a way he’s teaching me something.
I glance at the tiny white tuft of Jessica’s fur. And I can hear her sweet voice in my head, and she’s saying, ‘It’s no good just sitting there. You’ve got to go at him. Be a dragon.’
I don’t know where the strength is coming from but suddenly I am on fire. I charge out at the fox, right up to him. I scream at him and slash his nose with a paw made of iron. Again. And again. He yelps like a puppy. He turns and runs away. I stand there like the king of the wood.
It is morning now, and I’ve been awake all night watching for the fox. Hunger echoes through my body, but I so need to sleep in the morning sun. I am very, very lonely. I want Ellen. I want Jessica. I want the amber velvet cushion. I must be the coldest cat in the world, and the saddest.
Another day dawns.
The snow is melting now, and at midday the sun shines for a while. I venture out looking for food and find a crust of white bread that a bird has dropped. It is mouldy but I eat every single crumb. I go to look at the caravan. Will Ellen be there? In my mind I hear her sweet voice cry out my name and welcome me back. But the door is closed, the curtains drawn over every window, and there is tape over the cat flap. Sadness fills my being and I mooch about, my tail down, hoping to find something that will comfort me. Underneath, behind one of the wheels, I discover a very old dead mouse that Jessica had stashed there. Too exhausted to eat it, I carry it back to the badger hole in my mouth. It will do for my breakfast if nothing else turns up. In the evening I can see the sunset between the trees and I watch for Jessica’s star. It is there like a bright spirit shining in the twilight. I watch it rising behind the ash trees until I fall asleep.
It is moonlight outside and I can hear music and lots of footsteps coming down the lane. Something is different. I peer outside and see a lantern bobbing above the hedge. The music gets louder. I sit up. I remember that song. ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’. Ellen used to sing that. Perhaps it is Christmas. Oh I loved Christmas. I used to get given a catnip mouse and a ball with a little bell inside. Jessica and I had one each and we played for hours. Then Jessica would shred all the wrapping paper and drag it under the sofa. I try to go to sleep, but in the middle of the night I hear the church bells ringing.
Another morning, another dawn, and it is frosty. Yes, it must be Christmas Day. I know because I hear those bells ringing again and the sound of carols being sung. And the distant village smells of roast potatoes. I used to get given a plate of chopped-up turkey with gravy. But this Christmas is the worst week of my life. Surely a cat shouldn’t be all alone on Christmas Day? I’m getting angry. And where is my angel?
The day passes into night. Then morning. The hunger is deep and painful now. I am listless and weak, but I am still managing to wash. It’s not fun because my fur is coming out. It’s all over the place in the badger hole, and I’ve got some bare patches on my back and along my tail. Today the weather is still and I could go out, but I can’t be bothered. I’d rather lie in here and die.
Where IS that angel? I close my eyes and purr for a while, and think hard about my angel. What did she look like? I begin to visualise the haze of shimmering light, I imagine the tingle of her stardust through my fur, I listen for her voice, and suddenly she is there. She has been there all the time; I just haven’t been using my psi sense.
‘Please help me,’ I say to her. ‘I’m dying. And I’m only a young cat.’
There is a silence. My angel is sending me energy and love. But it’s not helping my wretched cold and starving body. It’s not healing my troubled mind. Then she answers, and she says something I did not expect.
‘You must help yourself, Solomon.’
She says no more. I lie there, angry, processing this information. Help myself indeed. But I’m a smart cat, and maybe I can figure out what to do. I can’t do a big thing. But I can do a small thing. I’ll do it. I’ll stop this diary of self-pity and help myself. I’m going to start meowing, as long as I can, for as long as I have to.
IF CATS COULD CRY
At first the meows I did were a bit modest, but once I got into it, they were LOUD. I tried to make them more like a cry than a yowl. I sent the cry echoing through the winter landscape, into the caravans and the cottages and the lanes. Now and again I paused to listen.
I heard footsteps. Someone far away was pit-patting down the lane, coming closer, stopping. Someone had stopped to listen. I meowed even louder, trying to put hope into my voice. I heard heavy breathing and the thump of feet in the copse. Someone had scrambled over the wall and through the brambles.
I meowed faster to en
courage the person.
‘Where are you?’ called a voice. ‘Pussy cat?’
Meow. Meow.
‘Are you up a tree? Down a tin mine? Come on where are you? I haven’t climbed over that hedge for nothing you know.’
I knew that kind voice. It was Karenza. Her black boots came scrunching through the copse and stopped. She was looking around for me. I managed to stand up on my wobbly legs, and I just remembered how to put my tail up.
‘Oh you poor, poor cat,’ she gasped when she saw me. She came gently towards me. ‘Will you let me pick you up?’
Would I let her! It was heaven to be in someone’s arms again and feel a warm coat and hear a heartbeat. I purred and purred as if I would never stop.
Inside Karenza’s cottage a bright fire was burning. She put me down on a sumptuous rug right next to it, and the warmth soaked into me. It was heavenly. Karenza seemed to know I was too weak to cope with the other cats and she shooed them into the kitchen and shut the door. She brought me a dish of Whiskas rabbit.
‘Nothing wrong with your appetite,’ she said as I tucked in. Afterwards I was too exhausted to wash. Feeling warm and safe, I stretched out by the fire to sleep. Before I drifted off, I heard Karenza talking on the phone.
‘I’ve found Solomon,’ she said and I heard a scream at the other end of the phone. ‘He’s here, and he’s safe, and I’ll take care of him until you come.’
My sleep was deep and blissful. Once in the night I awoke, surprised to find Karenza had put me in a round fluffy cat bed and taken me into her bedroom. She wasn’t asleep but lying close to me with her hand on my back. I was so thin that when she stroked me her fingers seemed to be touching my bones. She was talking to me gently and her hand was full of stars. Healing stars. I began to purr, and the rhythmic purring and the stars mingled together through the night.
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