Salome also jumped down and they both started circling Ernie. They moved so elegantly, swaying from side to side; Ernie had never seen cats look like this before and he was quite mesmerised for a moment. They stopped circling and stood in front of him; they both started purring and blinking their eyes in unison and Ernie was starting to feel very uncomfortable indeed. He knew that this was the ‘courting’ behaviour that cats do when they want a mate.
Cleopatra said in her high pitched mewl, “You see, Mr Cat, our humans are very fussy and they will only let us marry pure pedigree breeds, so we can then have pure pedigree kittens.”
“Yes pedigree kittens,” echoed Salome,
“But really it is so tiresome,” Cleopatra continued, “waiting and waiting for a suitable husband.”
“Waiting and waiting,” said Salome.
“I know that strictly you are not a suitable breed but…”
“A suitable breed but maybe we can overlook that, just this once,” purred Salome.
Cleopatra then started to move toward Ernie, “Maybe a small kiss,” she said.
“Yes, just a small kiss,” repeated Salome.
Cats rub noses when they kiss and Ernie felt a sheer panic rising in his chest. “Er, I think I’ll take my chances with Gripper,” he said and with that he quickly and neatly sidestepped Cleopatra and ran to the other side of the room where there was an open door. He saw a flight of stairs ran up them and then ran into a bedroom. “Yes!” he cried to himself – an open window! He leapt onto the bed and then onto the window ledge and looked out. He saw that he would have to jump onto what looked like the conservatory roof, but thinking about the two strange sisters from whom he was escaping from, he jumped… he landed with a thud on the roof. From there, he jumped across to a nearby apple tree, startling a sparrow and from there jumped to the ground. He then leapt over a garden wall, like a horse in the Grand National and ran and ran and ran, not stopping until he had reached ‘Wendy’s Wools’, the shop at which his sister lived. Lana was expecting him and was waiting on the doorstep, grooming herself.
“Where on earth have you been, Ernie?” she mewled, “What on earth is the matter, did something get you?”
“Nearly,” replied Ernie, “so very nearly.”
Cleopatra and Salome would never of course have lowered themselves to chase after Ernie and besides, they had never ran anywhere in their lives.
“Well I never,” said Cleopatra, “what a strange fellow he was, doesn’t he realise he would have had the honour of being here with us and learning about true breeding and him just a mere tom-cat! Well it just goes to show that we should never mix with lesser breeds, Salome dear,” and with that she jumped back on the sofa and started to groom, an elegant leg stretched out in front of her.
“I do so agree with you,” answered Salome, “but still he was rather cute, wasn’t he?” as she looked expectantly at the kitchen door.
“Salome!” said Cleopatra. “Remember you are a royal.”
“Yes dear,” replied Salome… but sometimes she thought it would be more fun not to be!
After all the excitement, it was half past one before Ernie and Lana shared a bowl of ‘Happy Whiskers’ cat food, kindly provided by Wendy.
“Two lady cats wanting to marry you.” Lana found this very funny as she knew that Ernie was a confirmed bachelor. “I think that those cats were Siamese cats,” said Lana, who listened to all the gossip in the wool shop, “and their humans are Mr and Mrs Woolacombe. Mrs Woolacombe comes in to buy wool and she’s always talking about ‘finding a pedigree cat’ for their princesses and breeding some kittens. They’re very spoilt, stupid creatures,” she added, whilst chewing a lump of cat food, “good job you got away or you might be still there now on that sofa!”
Ernie quickly swallowed the rest of his food, “Oh Lana don’t say that,” he said. “What a day! Well I better go and catch the bus to Butterwick to see Dad.”
“Tell him I will come and see him soon,” mewled Lana as she and Ernie rubbed noses, “now take care, I saw Gripper and his gang running towards the old manor house just before you arrived so you should be safe.”
“Thanks Lana,” he replied turning on his tail, just as Wendy came out on the doorstep,
“Off already, Ernie?” she said, “Give my love to old George; we’ll be up to Barrow soon.” She gave Ernie a stroke on his fur, and then he was off to catch the two o’clock bus to Butterwick.
Ernie ran out of the shop, past the mini-supermarket, over the bridge that crossed the River Wick and onto the small bus station that was next to the River Walk Shopping Centre. Ernie arrived and sat down at the bus stop. As he sat there, he saw a tall sloping figure with long hair partially covering his face and jeans which hung down so low you could see his ‘under-garments’ as old George called them. “Why they want their trousers halfway down their legs, gawd only knows!” he would say. Ernie didn’t know either, but on Fridays and Saturday nights, there would be all manner of strange looking young humans on the platform; the young ladies with very few garments on… and no fur coat to keep them warm, he thought. The lanky youth at the bus station was Otis from Bloom’s shop in Butterwick. He’d had a day off and he had been shopping in Fairmile. He carried a silver carrier bag with the words, “Get it! Fashion for Cool Dudes,” emblazoned in black on the front. Otis was listening to his iPod and was moving his head from side to side to the music…and up and down like old Mags’ chickens thought Ernie. Otis took out an earphone and said, “Hi Ern,” and then went back to his sounds.
The bus arrived and Ern got on. He went and sat at the back of the bus whilst Otis got on and sat at the front. There was only one other passenger, Ms. Brewster, whose brother, Mr Brewster, doesn’t like cats and lives in Butterwick and owns the amusement arcade. She was visiting him today and had a homemade fruitcake in her bag. The bus driver is called Norm and he didn’t bat an eyelid when Ernie got on. Norm and Ms. Brewster were discussing the weather,
“Looks like rain again,” said Norm.
“Yes indeed,” replied Ms. Brewster, “got me umbrella just in case.” She then turned her attention to Ernie, “Well Ernie, been to see Wendy and Lana, I’ve no doubt,” and she sat next to him and tickled him under the chin. Ernie just gave a blink in response; he just loved being tickled under the chin. “Must be awful lonely for old George,” she continued, “living on that draughty station with just you for company, eh, Ern, and no-one making good home-cooked food for him.” Now Ms. Brewster had never married so she was always on the look-out for a husband.
“Yep,” said Norm, “there’s nothing like coming home to a lovely home cooked meal and someone to share it with.”
Ernie was incensed. Me and George have lovely home cooked meals and we have each other for company, he thought, what a cheek! Of course he was unable to tell them this. Ms. Brewster kept talking away and Ernie shut his eyes, the rain had started now, it was pelting down. Ms. Brewster fumbled in her bag for her umbrella and Otis got up as he was getting off at Butterwick pier to go to the arcade; he mumbled something to Norm and got off.
“These young people today,” said Norm, “they don’t talk they grunt, you should be on here when schools out!”
“No thanks,” said Ms. Brewster and then turning towards Ernie, “Well Ern, this is our stop.” Now Ern, like all cats, hated rain and knew he would have to run fast so he wouldn’t get too wet. The bus pulled up opposite the road by Blooms. Ms. Brewster was going in to buy a new cat bed to put in the shed for her cat Sooty, who naturally is pure black. She has made the shed cosy and warm for when her brother Mr Brewster visits; Sooty will stay in there with her nice warm bed and plenty of food and water until Mr Brewster goes home, because, as you should all know by now… Mr Brewster doesn’t like cats!
Ernie ran across the road and ran as fast as he could up the cliff path; by now his fur was getting soaking wet which would mean an extra
-long groom as Ernie was most particular about his looks. He reached old Mags’ caravan and there was Fergus, sitting on the top step of the caravan under the awning. He was wearing his bright blue and red kerchief round his neck… really thought Ernie, he could never wear something like that! But Ernie loved his old dad even though they were so different. Ernie took a minute to look around, he hoped that silly yapping dog from next doors caravan didn’t see him, but no, he must be inside his caravan.
“Hello son,” miawoed Fergus, “come up here, there’s a nice bit o’ rabbit that the old girl left us. Cats will never refuse food even if they are well fed and rabbit was a particular favourite of Ernie’s. Old Mags had gone to down to the farmers market in Duckett’s Field, to sell her eggs and had left the caravan door open so that Fergus could go in and stay dry. Sonia and Ben and their children Mariella and Elliot were inside their caravan having tea, Kiya had curled up in a stack of firewood beside old Mags’ caravan. She looked up. “Hi Kiya,” said Ernie.
“I’m not bothered you know,” answered Kiya and curled back up again. Malachi and the chickens had gone to their dry barn.
“Hello, Dad,” replied Ernie, “Lana’s well and sends her love.” He then tucked in to the rabbit, which was delicious!
And so after a tasty rabbit dinner, Fergus and Ernie sat on the comfy padded bench in the caravan and Ernie told him all about his encounters with the Siamese twins and with Gripper and his gang. Fergus was amused by the twins story, he remembered a few years ago when Ernie had gone to the place all cats feared ‘the vets’ and he knew this meant that Ernie could not father hundreds of kittens like he had… ah well poor Ernie, but Fergus was most upset about Gripper. “Oh, I wish I had been there. I may be getting on a bit, son, but I would have shown that Gripper a thing or two, I’d like to see what he’s like without his gang, just paw on paw!”
“Nevermind, Dad,” said Ernie, “it’s over now. I will just have to be more careful in future.” Ernie was not a fighter like his dad, he preferred to outwit other animals, a bit like that cat Percy at the Old Sea Dog, a good friend of his. “Ernie,” Percy would say, “any silly cat can fight but why risk your fur being torn or other nasty things if you can find another way, like being more clever,” and Ernie had to agree. He stayed a little bit longer with Fergus, but it was starting to get dark; the rain had stopped and he heard the clock tower chime six times. It was time to go home.
“Bye Dad,” miawoed Ernie, “see you next time.”
“Aye son, now you be careful.” Fergus sat on the front step and watched Ernie run off to catch his bus back to Barrow. Well, he thought, his son was not a fighter so he would need to step in. I think I will pay a visit to Fairmile soon I will go and visit my old friend, ‘Bolt’, who lives at the railway cottages and maybe ‘Big Roley’, who had been covered in the local paper the ‘Butterwick Bugle’ as, ‘the fattest cat on the coast’.
Big Roley was black and white and he weighed 36lbs and had a small head but an enormous body. He was surprisingly nimble; he lived on the industrial estate in Fairmile with the maintenance man Frank. Roley had won many a skirmish by merely sitting on his enemy until they gave in and even Gripper was known to fear the mighty Roley! Yes, thought Fergus, I will pay my old friends a visit. He tucked his paws under himself and sat on the step mat to wait for old Mags.
As Ernie ran down the cliff path in the gathering dusk, he could make out Gunther the seagull and his friends sitting on top of Ben and Sonia’s caravan. They were making lots of noise, “Ello choo choo train cat, choo choo! CHOO CHOO!” and the gulls fell about screeching and laughing. In the past, Ernie would have given him some backchat but after the lost kitten episode all the cats had become more tolerant of Gunther.
“Hi Gunther,” he said, “good to see you,” and with that he bolted to the bus stop, just as the 6:15 bus back to Barrow pulled up.
Ernie realised he felt rather tired and cold and wet. There was no cheery Marvin on this bus; he certainly preferred to travel by train than bus. Ernie sat on the back seat and kept one eye open. At last he reached Barrow and ran back to the station; there was dear old George waiting for him. After George had seen off the last train, he picked Ernie up and gave him a lovely stroke and tickle under the chin. “Hello my old friend, did you have a nice quiet day, did you see Lana and send me best to Wendy?” Ernie just purred and purred. That evening, George lit the open fire as it was only the beginning of May and still quite cold. They sat in the little sitting room eating a lovely lamb stew and afterwards, George puffed on his pipe and Ernie fell asleep in front of the fire exhausted but so happy to be home. Every so often he would give little yelps in his sleep; was he dreaming of Siamese cats with flashing blue eyes and Gripper flashing his teeth; Ernie had certainly had an adventure!
11
The Cats’ Choir
One year it had been bitterly cold for many weeks all around Butterwick, Barrow and Fairmile. It was mid-December and the shops were full of sparkly lights, Christmas trees and seasonal songs. Snow had been falling thick and fast and covering everything in a white blanket, Even the River Wick had frozen and ducks would slip and slide on the surface. All the animals and birds and humans were preoccupied with keeping warm, the animals and birds had to try harder to find food. There were Christmas parties, fetes, talk about Father Christmas and the annual Christmas pantomime held in Fairmile town hall. Despite the cold and that all the transport was stuck with the snow and cold weather, the residents of the area carried on with preparing for the Christmas festivities.
Barrow-on-Sea looked picture postcard pretty covered in snow. In the town and squeezed in between the bakery where Ollie the Burmese lives and St Agatha’s church and church hall is an Italian restaurant called Pasta Fazoulle, which means pasta and bean in Italian. It is owned and run by Mr Reno Ravioli and, his wife Mrs Ravioli, who live in the flat upstairs with Grand Mama Clara and Grand Papa Giuseppe, their son Luigi and Grand Papa’s greyhound dog, Dalingo, and the family cat, Mario. Mr and Mrs Ravioli came from Naples many years ago and settled in Barrow. They opened their restaurant in 1963 and it had been open ever since. The folk from Barrow, Butterwick and Fairmile would celebrate all their special occasions there; it was the favourite place for lunch or dinner. “Best grub on the coast,” the locals said.
The décor in the restaurant had not changed much since it opened. Inside, the walls are painted yellow and all around the walls there are framed photographs of opera stars and Italian singers from many years ago and now rather faded in their frames. There are about fifteen tables inside all with red and white check tablecloths kept pristine and starched by Mrs Ravioli. The restaurant still has wine bottles with candles in on the tables and a packet on each table of ‘grissini’ breadsticks. Many years ago Mr Ravioli had trained to be an opera singer, but unfortunately he left Italy and never became famous… now he liked nothing better than too sing for his customers of an evening. In summer on warm days when the tables are outside, Barrow would shake to the sound of Mr Ravioli belting out ‘Nessum dorma’. Mrs Ravioli thought her husband was very talented and still loved his singing even after so many years. “Ah my dear ’usbund,” she would say, “’E is so talented.” Luigi on the other hand, would be scurrying to and fro taking orders, pouring wine, dashing about while his dad entertained. All the family would shout and call Luigi, “Luigi do this,” and, “Luigi do that” and “where are you, Luigi?” Luigi’s only quiet place was his little box room at the back of the flat, where he would plot his escape!
Mr Ravioli would say to Luigi, “Listen son, they no just come for da food but to ’ear you papa sing!” Luigi however didn’t agree as he didn’t like opera, he liked rap music; he liked Dizzee Rascal and the Black Eyed Peas… “The black eyed what?” his dad would ask.
As soon as the restaurant closed Luigi would be off to meet his friends at the pier in Butterwick. He had his own little car which Papa had brought him for his 18th birthday. Luig
i was the apple of Mrs Ravioli’s eye. She wanted him to settle down with a nice girl, but Luigi wanted to go to London and make his fortune. He didn’t want to stay in Papa’s restaurant. Grand Papa Giuseppe would say, “Dat Luigi ’e is so lazy, ’e ’ave to stay in the business what ’e go to London for? ’e is a stupid boy, ’e is just a big Mamone!” (Mamone means mummy’s boy in Italian). Every year all the Raviolis would go to Italy to stay with relatives and the restaurant would close for the whole month of August. Mr Ravioli had been building a house in Italy for the last thirty years but it was still not finished but it was best not to ask Mr Ravioli about his house, “Dat ’ouse! Those builders!” The house was now three storeys high with a strange crooked tower construction on top and it was quite an eyesore in the tiny village of Minorino sul Mare. The locals would say, “Look at dat silly ’ouse,” but of course they never dared to say it to Mr Ravioli!
Grand Papa has a greyhound called Dalingo and his one wish in life is for Dalingo to win a race at the greyhound stadium in Barlington. The problem is simple however: Dalingo cannot run despite Grand Papa having spent hundreds of pounds trying to ‘train’ him. “I can run faster than that dog,” Grand Mama Clara would mutter in Italian, as she couldn’t speak any English despite having lived in England for so long. Despite what the family said, Grand Papa continued living in hope, taking Dalingo for runs every day in the green parkland and fields that surrounded Barrow. Dalingo himself is a rather morose looking dog that was not as thin as a racing greyhound should really be because Mrs Ravioli and Grand Mama Clara keep feeding him pasta. Dalingo is grey and white, with big sad mournful eyes as he dutifully trots after Grand Papa every morning.
“You justa need more tuning, more alignment in your body you understand, Dalingo? Now run, boy.”
Dalingo would then run quite fast to start off with, but then he would stop and dawdle and sniff everything or just merely lie down.
The Cats of Butterwick Sands Page 8
