“Go on, eat! You look like you need a good meal. Then we talk, okay?”
Felix sits back on his hind legs, his front paws in full regimental order.
“Will you help me? Paloma says you will know where I live. I have to get back, you see. It’s very important.” Why is it important? It is, of course. Mother must be so worried. My mistress, too. Felix stays silent. The other tomcats, watching from the shadows of fallen tree branches and crumbling headstones, crouch low, their tails flicking in jagged syncopation, prepared to pounce.
The chunks are larger than my usual kibble balls. I nibble away at the smallest one. Oh my! It feels so good! I am full after only a few mouthfuls. What’s the etiquette here? Will they be offended? I gulp down as much as I can, hoping it’s not customary to belch my gratitude or some other uncouth display of thanks.
“Thank you, but I can’t eat any more, I’m sorry.”
“Often the way with strays. When was the last time you ate, old timer? Do you remember?” I want to answer, but again the mew locks itself in my throat. I don’t know. I don’t know when I last ate. The show! “Shall we try to take you back home? Can you remember where that was?” Felix’s eye squinted in the afternoon sun.
It must be winter; the ancient star sits low in the sky. I feel restless. Not fearful, just distressed.
“There are roses. Pink and yellow. A gravel path. Lavender. There’s lavender along the side of the path.”
“Hmm, well that narrows it down to about a hundred different gardens on the island! Anything else? A pond, perhaps? One of those ugly fishing men things. They give me the creeps!” Felix shivers. I rack my brain. I must remember something, it’s my home, I have never lived anyway else.
“Catnip!”
“Ooh, now you’re talking. Your garden has catnip?” Felix raises his paw to his mouth and licks it with his pink tongue. “Continue. Very few gardens grow their own, you know. Does your home have a dog? A fence? A sprinkler?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t recall a dog. Surely, I would remember a dog!” My thoughts are dancing around again. “Flowers. Purple, lilacs, yellow, white and green. And pink, a lot of pink.”
“Let’s go back to the catnip. Where do they grow that? Try to picture it in your mind. Is it in a container or a border?”
I know Felix is trying to help, but the pictures swim in and out.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I...”
Before I can finish, I see Felix’s arm coming at me. He swipes at my nose. Claws out.
I flinch. He catches the corner of my ear.
“Meow!”
“Sorry, old man.” Felix licks my blood off his paw. “It’s a nasty habit of mine. The boys always say I need to be more patient.” He looks around at the circle of mangy mouse catchers, their eyes fixed upon me. They nod in creepy unison. “You were saying…the catnip.”
I stutter. “The c-c-catnip…yes, there is. I’m sure there was... Tall stems, taller than me. Purple. Brown-green leaves, coarse like tiny triangles” There are other plants, herbs, mint and rosemary, in a large wooden box. “My mistress used to shoo me away.” My heart crumples. My mistress, where are you? Why am I here? How did I get here? “And there is a well! By a stone wall.”
Felix lifts his hind legs and struts up and down before me.
“Sounds like Mildred Carmichael’s cottage on the corner of Love Lane. You didn’t stray far, did you?” The ginger tom stares me down with his one good eye. “Well, if you’re fed, I say we all take a little stroll up to the Carmichael’s. See if we can’t get ourselves a little of that good stuff. As a reward, you understand, for bringing her beloved Periwinkle the Fourth home from his wanderings.”
“Peregrine. My name is Peregrine the Third.”
“Whatever.” Felix leads the way, and I follow meekly behind, guarded on all sides by the rest of his gang. The sun is setting now, and it will soon be dark. What would my mistress think of an army of alley cats invading our little home? Another wave of sadness washes over me. I swallow down a lump in my throat. The feeling that something has happened echoes in my mind, but what it is remains just beyond my grasp.
At the cemetery gate, a cluster of queens and kittens are preening themselves on a moss-covered stone slab. I can see Paloma reclining against the corner, her left leg pointing up toward the sky, her tongue seductively flicking the fur of her inner thigh. Felix stops to admire the scene.
“Well, well, ladies. Need any help with your beauty regime?” He chuckles.
“Move along now, Felix!” An elderly she-cat, with a broken tail and a large patch of black fur covering both eyes like a masked supervillain, moves in between us and the bathing beauties. “Plenty of time for that after dark. My ladies need a rest, you know.”
“Fair enough, Queenie. We have business with Prince Puss-in-boots here. A garden with its own catnip. The boys will be frisky when we return.” Felix saunters over to Paloma. She rubs her head against the stone, rolling her slender frame around with an exaggerated wiggle of her hind legs. She stops, tail erect, and pushes her chest down to the ground, stretching her front paws out and raising her rear towards the approaching leader of the pack. Felix quickens his pace. Queenie skips in front and blocks his way.
“Tonight, tiger! You know she will be worth the wait.”
Queenie hisses at Paloma, who slinks away behind the stone.
As I walk out of the graveyard, there are familiar chimes floating on the air. Bells, the church bells. I must live close by. Maybe my mistress is Mildred Carmichael? I know her as ‘Mummy’. Mummy will be so happy to see me safely home. What is a little catnip to repay their kindness?
We amble along the country lane that runs alongside the flint wall of the cemetery. It must be winter. The trees are bare. The darkening sky is grey. The wind twists at my fur. Mummy will be so angry if my coat is all matted. My mother will tell me off too. She always tells me and my sisters how important it is to always look our best. Why do these thoughts hurt? There’s a dull pain in my chest. An emptiness almost as bad as the hollow feeling in my stomach. It grows with every weary step I take.
“Tell me, Prince Pawfect, about your fancy-pants household. What is life like at the Carmichael’s? Do you drink from silver bowls? Does the butler serve your dinner? And the ladies…” Felix stops sharply and turns, “Those pedigree ladies, you must have been put out to sire, a handsome chap like you.”
“Would you believe me if I say I can’t remember?”
The Clowder Chief stares me down with his one eye. “No” he snaps, then softens. “I would say you are being the gentleman they raised you to be. I admire that.” The other cats in our unlikely party mock me with calls of ‘fancy-pants’ and ‘la-de-dah’. Felix doesn’t stop them. I want to be back home, by the fire. Mummy will stroke my chin. I like that.
“As chief, I always get first pickings.” Felix flexes his tail. “That Paloma, such a fine kitten, isn’t she? She is so ready. I’ll be biting down hard on her pretty little neck tonight, high on the good stuff and savouring every moment.” Felix curls his tail in anticipation. “The rest of you boys can have her afterwards!”
My bodyguards cheer raucously.
I think about all the female cats in my life. My mother and my sisters. I shudder to think of them at the paws of these ruffians. Just lead them to the catnip and move them on as quickly as possible.
“Well, here we are, this is the Carmichael’s cottage. There is the well. The roses. Does it look familiar?”
I step carefully out of the group and stand in front of the wooden gate. I’m not sure. I usually stay close to the house. I am rarely outside the garden fence. Only when we go to a show, or to the vet’s or the groomer’s and then I am in my crate. I don’t want to let on that I’m not sure. My ear is still smarting from last time. Perhaps if I go through the gate?
I slink under the bottom bar. On the other side is a gravel path. There are twigs of old lavender bushes growing at the side, but the path itself is
not as clear as I remember. Dried husks of dandelions pepper the ground before me. The thorns of the rose bushes are stretching out at all angles and the lawn grass is high and untamed.
The mewing of my companions rises in volume until I can hardly hear myself think. Within seconds, the Wesberrey Clowder cats are exploring every inch of the garden. Their frustration growing louder and louder. I feel a heavy paw on my tail.
“So, where is it? Where is the catnip?” Felix rounds and takes a second swing at me with his open paw. This time I am more prepared and pull my face back into my neck, arching my back and scuttling my feet back to withdraw to a safe distance. Stand proud, my son.
“Felix, I’m not sure this is the right house. It looks different. The plants are wilder. The paint on the gate, the door? Yet, it looks familiar...” Felix is unamused by my ramblings. He primes his claws, ready for another strike. His hissing minions circle around me. They want the good stuff. “Maybe the catnip is in the back garden?” I suggest.
“You had better hope for your sake that it is. The boys are getting impatient. They don’t like cats who welch on their promises.” Felix points to the back of the house with his muzzle and members of the gang scamper up the side fence and work their way towards the rear of the cottage.
“There’s a cat flap in the side door. Follow me.”
I’m not sure why I said that. I think there is a door with a hinged plastic flap. Part of me wants to be wrong. This cannot be my house. This place is little better than a derelict shed set in a bramble wood. But there is the door and the flap.
“Well,” growls Felix, “You go first!”
No, it can't be my house. I hope they are out- my sisters, my mother. Don’t worry. Mummy will take a broom to these rapscallions.
I push through the dusty plastic cover. It opens, as it has always opened, into the kitchen. This is my house. My paws set down upon the familiar black-and-white checkered lino floor. Ahead through an open door is the front parlour. The fireplace where Mummy brushes my fur is cold. White sheets cover the furniture. The curtains are drawn, and a thin layer of dust coats every surface.
“So, is there another cat flap in the back?”
I turn slowly to Felix and nod.
This is my house, but Mummy isn’t here anymore. My mother and father, my sisters... No one is here anymore. I have pushed open the cat flap in my mind and memories crowd in. I remember. I am alone. I remember Mummy on the floor of the kitchen. I kept nuzzling at her hand. I was hungry. She hadn’t moved for days. She was cold. It had been just me and her for a while. She wasn’t able to comb my matted coat anymore. Her hands couldn’t hold the brush. There is no show. There have been no shows for a long time. No trips to the vet or the groomer. My mistress never went out anymore. I stayed with her as much as I could. I remember. I remember.
Squeals from the back of the house tell me that Felix and the gang have found the catnip. I take my chance and sneak back out through the flap in the side door and quietly make my way back towards the graveyard. Maybe they will let me stay, as I brought them to catnip heaven? Maybe they will let me live quietly on the outskirts of the cemetery? I don’t need a lot to eat, I will take the scraps. I pass the she-cats and tell them the boys will be back soon.
The night is drawing in. Paloma takes me to a vacant spot outside the cemetery where I can sleep for the night. I resolve to talk to Felix in the morning. Beg him to let me stay. Where else can I go? Who wants an ancient tomcat with no mousing skills and a matted fur coat?
“I have lost everything,” I tell her. Paloma nuzzles me gently and promises she will put in a good word for me that night. I am sure she will be very persuasive. I fear for her, but she is young, resilient. She has something Felix wants, for now. I am an old fool to think I can stay. They have the catnip. The house is empty. No one to shoo them away. I have nothing left to bargain with.
I curl up under an old tree stump. The night air wraps its icy embrace around me. The ground is cold. Carolling tomcats, high on the good stuff, return to a noisy night of feline pleasure. I hope that the dark night will cloak me until morning. I shiver. My heart lies shattered in my chest, pierced through with a thousand crystal needles. I remember. I am alone. I try to muffle my whimpers of grief. They cannot find me. It will be a long, lonely night.
Dawn breaks. After a night of revelry, the Wesberrey Clowder are slow to rise. I take advantage of their slumber to stretch my legs. My thoughts run to the fisherman’s catch. I would like to eat fresh fish before I die. Just a taste. That would be nice. Maybe I could hide out there on the docks.
My musings are interrupted by the distinct sound of footsteps crossing the graveyard.
The other cats stir. I can see Paloma on the far side of the graveyard. Her silky smooth white coat is grey and sticky from the passions of the night before.
I don’t belong here.
A woman dressed in black, her hair caught up in a sort of human tail, wearing what looks like a collar like mine, stumbles through the headstones. She stops outside the big mausoleum. The one with the humans dancing. She shakes her head and tuts.
I lose sight of Paloma.
Felix and the others wrap themselves around the human’s legs. At first, she seems startled and then becomes extremely apologetic. She runs off, sneezing. I want to escape with her. The Clowder follow. I can’t be seen. There’s a hole in the wall. I flatten myself into the crack and pray they pass me.
The human stops. She promises to be back soon with food.
Food!
I am starving. All these thoughts of fish have made my stomach ache for some nourishment, but I cannot go out. I must stay hidden.
The tomcats are angsty, scratching around for a fight. Please move on! I’m too old, too tired. Leave me here. I will die in this hole. There is nothing to live for anyway.
“Psst!”
A gentle paw strokes my back. I didn’t think anyone could see me from the lane side of the wall. I am a stupid old fool!
“Go with her!”
I squirm around to face the other way. It’s Paloma.
“Please, leave me alone.” I see a pain in her almond eyes that wasn’t there the night before. The kitten is now a queen.
“They will kill you if you stay. I tried. I really did, but…”
“You don’t need to explain.” I step out of my hiding space.
“The human with the tail has a kind face.” She does. The other cats seem content to wait. Maybe this is my chance? Paloma licks my cheek tenderly. “Go, go now. I will distract them.”
“Come with me?”
Paloma shakes her pretty head.
“I will visit, Grandad. Okay? When I do, let me in.” She rounds and leaps up on the wall and saunters along the ridge. “Hey boys! What’s a girl got to do to get some attention?” She jumps down to a choir of excited squeals.
I crawl out past the oak tree and slither down the lane, weaving through the shadows, in pursuit of my prize.
I can hear my mother’s voice lifting me up as I run. “Stand proud, my son”.
I am no alley cat!
I’m not designed to slink about hoping for tidbits and leftovers!
I am a champion.
I have a corkboard full of blue rosettes.
I am running after that human and I am having a proper meal, in a proper bowl in a proper kitchen. Humans love me. I will make her love me.
She is fiddling with some metal trays and tins of cat food at the back door of the vicarage when I catch up to her. I follow her into the kitchen.
This is a lovely kitchen. There are flowers on the table. I sniff the air. There are other humans here. I sniff again. No dogs. Perfect! The aga reminds me of my old home. It is warm. Inviting. And the floor is of black-and-white checkered tiles.
Stand proud, my son.
I jump up onto a wooden chair and from there onto the table. I sit up as straight as possible. This is not an occasion for slouching. This is the show of shows and I am best of breed!
“Okay, okay, I will feed you first.” The woman in black awkwardly scoops out the fishy contents of a small tin onto a green saucer. I make short work of it and snuffle it down. Lovely small chunks, perfect for my delicate mouth.
“Do you want some more? I guess you are really hungry.”
Almost there. This will be my new home. Just a cute lick of the lips and…
She pats me on the head.
She wants me to get off the table. Coaxes me. Tries to grab me, but I wriggled free.
She laughs. She wants to get me to go back with her to feed my ‘friends’.
I look around the cosy kitchen. I’m not going anywhere.
“Fine. Stay here.” She sneezes. How sweet! “Check the place for mice, whilst I’m gone.” Oh, there're mice too! This will do nicely, very nicely indeed.
She walks to the door.
Look back, look back.
She turns.
“I think I’ll call you Hugo.”
Hmm, Hugo? Better than Peregrine, I suppose. Take that, Felix! Not bad for black devil spawn, eh?
This is my house now.
Author of mysteries and mother of four, Penelope Cress lives on a small island off the coast of southern England. Addicted to tea, digestive biscuits and all things retro and inspired by the traditional mystery writers of Britain's golden age like Agatha Christie, her stories are witty, warm and charming.
Find out more at penelopecress.com.
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Back To School
by Russell Zimmerman
A metahuman cat burglar trying to live a normal life gets grabbed by the scruff of the neck and dragged back into superheroing, as trouble calls, fur flies, and fangs flash! What a cat-tastrophe!
Hellcats: Anthology Page 70
