The City Cats

by Colin Dann

  There were few visitors to the park that morning, and those who did brave the weather failed to notice Pinkie whose coat was almost indistinguishable from the white mass that surrounded her. The familiar figure of Lizzie Reed, the food-bringer, didn’t appear.

  ‘I can’t return without something,’ Pinkie said to herself. She looked around. Ducks, geese and swans paddled in the patches of unfrozen water. Some stood awkwardly on the slippery ice, looking puzzled and uncomfortable. They were too big and strong for her to catch. And with snow covering the ground, food-gathering for the smaller birds was all but impossible. They stayed in the bushes or tree-tops, out of Pinkie’s reach.

  ‘There’s nothing to hunt,’ she muttered. ‘It looks as if the litter-bins are my only hope.’

  She soon discovered that these were empty. Yesterday’s rubbish had been collected. The park seemed devoid of sustenance. Pinkie thought of Toby. He was finding food. Her pride wavered. She had to be practical. She hurried back to Moss and Fern.

  The kittens jumped up to greet her. They nuzzled her and uttered little squeaky miaows, begging for food.

  ‘There’s no food yet,’ Pinkie told them regretfully. ‘But there will be soon. I’m going to look for Toby. He can help.’

  ‘Toby, Toby,’ chanted the kittens. His name was one of the first things they had learnt.

  ‘Yes, you’d both be full of praise for him, I suppose, if you could say more,’ their mother remarked. ‘But you don’t really know him. He isn’t quite the friend you think he is.’

  To the kittens’ dismay, Pinkie disappeared again. Moss ran after her a little way but she was soon left behind. Fern called her sister plaintively and Moss turned back, skipping through the powdery snow and trying to pounce on the snowflakes as they landed. She wanted to play and she frisked about, chasing her tail and tumbling over herself. Fern watched avidly and was soon persuaded to join in. So, while their mother was absent, believing them to be securely hidden, the kittens played out in the open, oblivious of any danger.

  Pinkie sought Toby beyond the park. She walked precariously along the slippery coping of the wall, calling him and looking into each yard. Her search was hopeless. Toby had returned to his other hideaway where he had taken Little Sammy. But she did have one piece of luck. Under the snow-covered climbing stems of the ivy, where Toby had once hidden some sausages, she found some pieces of meat, neglected or forgotten by the grey tom who had now moved his quarters. Because of the cold the meat hadn’t rotted. In any case Pinkie was quite used to high-tasting carrion from her earliest days, so she looked upon this little store as providential. There was enough for her and her kittens for a day or two. Toby hadn’t beaten her yet.

  She took up the largest chunk she could carry and hastened away. She approached her bamboo den from the rear. It was now mid-morning. Moss and Fern were nowhere to be seen. Their leaf-litter nest was deserted. Pinkie dropped the meat and rushed into the open. And there were the kittens, still enjoying their games and now surrounded by a group of humans with rapt expressions on their shining faces. Pinkie hesitated. She had never put any trust in humans. They were there to make use of when necessary, that’s all. She couldn’t tell if her kittens were at risk or not. The kittens themselves had no experience of people and, being so caught up in their games, were simply unaware of their interest.

  Pinkie called nervously. The kittens didn’t hear, they were far too busy. Their fur was daubed with semi-melted snow and they continued to chase each other around, squealing in delight. Pinkie called again, more urgently. Moss and Fern paused and looked about them. They saw their mother and ran to her excitedly. But Pinkie was in a hurry to get to safety. Scolding her youngsters, she nipped each of them in the rear and shepherded them directly to the den. The onlookers understood now where the fluffy little kittens had come from. They were the offspring of strays they told each other, commenting on the sad plight of such animals exposed to all conditions of weather. As the little crowd broke up and dispersed, two or three of its members made a mental note of where the animals had hidden themselves. It was their express intention to come back with some treat or other to help them through the winter.

  Meanwhile mother and daughters were devouring the half-frozen meat from Toby’s abandoned store. Pinkie softened and fragmented the chunks first with her own teeth before passing morsels to the kittens. There was enough for all of them. Pinkie waited for Moss and Fern to be satisfied before she ate her own share. Then she said, ‘Don’t ever move from here again when I’m not with you. You could have been stolen from me. I’ve already lost one kitten and I don’t want to lose any more.’

  She made sure the youngsters understood and then she began to think again about Little Sammy. She was determined to get him back, but in her own way. She guessed Toby would be back to try his persuasion all over again. She would spurn him, but then follow him secretly when he left her. Let him lead her to his new hideout.

  Pinkie was right. The next day, at dusk, Toby came looking for her. She had just returned with some more of the meat from the forgotten store, and the grey tom arrived to see Pinkie and the kittens enjoying what looked to him like a substantial meal. He was a little put out by the sight.

  ‘That looks like butcher’s meat,’ he commented. ‘But how can you still be getting that?’

  Pinkie took time to answer, chewing elaborately on a large mouthful. ‘I can fend for myself,’ she declared. ‘I can see you’re surprised by it. But I must look after my kittens.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come about,’ Toby growled.

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘Well, have you changed your mind?’

  ‘No! As you can see, the park has all I need. You won’t entice me away, so you may as well accept it and bring Little Sammy back.’

  Toby was baffled by her obstinacy. He lost his temper. ‘You’ll never see him again,’ he threatened her. ‘Not unless you accompany me.’

  ‘You’ve had your answer to that,’ she reminded him acidly, angry in her turn.

  ‘Is this your last word?’

  ‘You can count on it.’

  ‘A fine mother you are to your kittens,’ Toby snarled.

  Pinkie could see it would be in her interest to pretend not to care about Little Sammy. Then Toby would have little cause to suspect she’d follow him. ‘I’m fully occupied with these two without having to worry about their brother all the time,’ she told him airily. ‘Especially when you assure me,’ she added mischievously, ‘you’re taking such good care of him.’

  Toby blinked at her. He couldn’t believe his ploy had failed. ‘You’ve changed your attitude a good deal,’ he muttered. He sounded defeated.

  ‘I’ve had to,’ Pinkie answered. ‘You’ve seen to that.’

  Toby turned away, brushing snow from the leaves as he passed and showering himself generously. But he was oblivious of such discomfort. He reckoned that he had lost Pinkie for good and, morose, and angry with himself more than with her, he left without another word.

  Pinkie settled her kittens. Moss and Fern listened to her instructions. ‘I’m going in search of your brother,’ their mother told them. ‘You’re not to move from here, do you understand? Remember what I said before; it’s dangerous. You’re to wait here until I come back. I may be quite some time but, as long as you stay put, you’ll be entirely safe.’ She pulled some sprigs of fir around them which she had scraped together from the shrubbery bottom. The kittens were well concealed, dry, and sheltered from the cold. Pinkie skipped away with one last look back.

  Ahead of her, Toby approached the park entrance, the very place where Pinkie and Sammy had entered so many weeks before. Pinkie stole along in his wake, a white blur against the snow. She stayed just far enough behind the grey tom to keep him in view, but to avoid attracting his attention. When he paused, she paused; when he moved on, she moved on. Toby stopped at the wide street Pinkie and Sammy had crossed to reach the park. Pinkie hung back, wondering where he would go next. To h
er astonishment, Toby sat patiently by the kerb, glancing left and right at the noisy traffic.

  ‘He’s going to cross that road, I know it,’ Pinkie whispered to herself. ‘Oh dear, I don’t think I can go after him.’ Then she gave herself a shake. ‘Of course I can. I’ve got to, for Little Sammy’s sake. I did it before, I’ll do it again.’

  Pinkie’s fears were realized. Toby saw a gap and sprinted across. Pinkie trotted to the pavement. She saw Toby running ahead, up the other side of the road to a side turning. Something about that particular turning was familiar. She was sure she and Sammy had come from that side road after they had escaped from the removal van. She stood at the edge of the kerb, her heart beating painfully. She remembered how she and Sammy had taken refuge under a vehicle. She did the same now. From under a parked lorry’s protective hulk she watched for her opportunity. Traffic streamed past. It seemed to her as though there would never be an end to it. Then, at long last, she saw her chance and raced over, gaining the opposite pavement just before a taxi sped by. She actually felt the vehicle brush her tail, so narrow was her escape. But, frightened as she was, she couldn’t stop to think about that. She had to stay on Toby’s trail.

  She turned the corner. Yes, this was where she and Sammy had taken their first few steps into the heart of this new environment. She saw Toby clearly in the snow-covered lane just before he disappeared through an opening in a wall. Pinkie had a shrewd idea what that opening would lead to. She slunk cautiously along the wall and, as she reached the opening, she stopped and poked just her head round. The yard gates of the removal firm’s premises were ahead of her, flung wide to admit their returning lorries and . . . Toby! Pinkie saw him creep underneath one of the huge vehicles. There were no men about in the yard. There was a small office building which was lit up and she saw a man on his own moving round inside. Pinkie crept into the yard and hid behind one of the lorry’s wheels. She was back where she had started. She heard some miaowing coming from the front end of the vehicle. She knew at once it was Toby talking to Little Sammy. Keeping herself hidden, Pinkie moved closer.

  ‘Your mother positively refuses to come,’ Toby was saying. ‘She’s given you up. She doesn’t seem to want you any more. Don’t ask me why. My plan’s backfired on me.’ There was silence for a moment. Pinkie’s heart ached. Then Toby resumed, ‘I don’t expect you understand a word I’m saying to you?’

  Pinkie next heard Little Sammy’s squeaky voice. ‘Mother – not – coming,’ he repeated with difficulty.

  ‘Oh, I’m coming, I’m coming, you’ll see,’ she whispered inaudibly. Her heart was overflowing.

  ‘Did the men give you your food?’ Toby asked next.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there any left?’

  ‘Yes, there’s – there’s – p-lenty.’

  ‘Good boy. You’re learning fast. We get along all right, don’t we? Never mind your mother.’

  Pinkie saw Toby move away and then she noticed that, against the wall of the little office, there was a food-bowl which the grey tom was investigating. She ran to the front of the lorry. Little Sammy was curled up underneath. The ground was quite dry where the lorry had prevented the snow from settling.

  ‘Quick! Up!’ Pinkie hissed in a tone of command. ‘While his back’s turned.’

  Little Sammy, overjoyed at seeing his mother who belied the unwelcome news he had just heard, hastened to her side. He wasn’t equipped to deal with contradictions. He only knew Pinkie was there and that her tongue was licking his face fur in that wonderful motherly way he remembered from his earliest hours. Then she seized him by his neck fur and, minutes later, they were out of the yard and away along the lane, mother carrying son and moving as fast as she could go, back in the direction of the park.

  But Pinkie wasn’t thinking just about her refuge in the park. She was a step ahead of that and in her mind she pictured herself and her kittens not in the park, but in Quartermile Field. She really thought she had found the clue to her return there. The sight of the removal van, parked in the yard where she and Sammy had come to rest after their long journey, had stimulated her memory. If the van had brought them here from the neighbourhood of their old home, why couldn’t it take her back again? And with her kittens? To Pinkie the logic of this idea was faultless. In a few more weeks the kittens would be ready to walk greater distances. There would be no more carrying to be done. Then they could follow their mother wherever she led them. And Pinkie meant to lead them to their real home.

  15

  You’re going to see your father

  PINKIE AND LITTLE Sammy reached the end of the lane without any trouble. Pinkie set the kitten down against the wall. Little Sammy rubbed himself against his mother affectionately and began asking about Moss and Fern.

  ‘You’ll soon see them,’ his mother assured him. She cast a glance behind to see if Toby was coming. No, the lane was clear. Now she thought about the busy street. ‘Before we get home we have to put ourselves in some danger,’ she said, recalling her narrow escape from the taxi. ‘Whatever you do – however scared you are – don’t move. I’m going to carry you across a wide frightening road. You’ve been across it with Toby but you may not remember, as it wouldn’t have been so full of frightening things then.’

  Little Sammy’s eyes were popping. Pinkie grabbed him and moved out into the main street. The sight that greeted her was of a road chock-a-block with rush-hour traffic. However, there was one consolation for Pinkie. The congestion in the road was such that, at the moment they reached the pavement edge, there was a temporary standstill. Pinkie was quick to notice. She didn’t linger but, weaving her way boldly between and around the vehicles, she managed to get three quarters of the way across before it began to edge forward again. She couldn’t turn back. Terrified that at any moment she would be knocked flat, she had to keep on going. There was a squeal of brakes as she scampered in front of a car, but the driver was able to avoid the cat and her kitten and, before he had thoroughly recovered his wits, the animals were safe on the pavement and Pinkie was running lickety-split for the park entrance with her live bundle bumping against her chest.

  Inside the peace and quiet of the park she set Little Sammy down. ‘We’ve survived,’ she gasped. ‘It’s a miracle.’

  She allowed Little Sammy to walk the rest of the way himself. He trotted after Pinkie gamely. He hardly knew what danger he had been in and he was far more interested in the way his little feet sank into the soft powdery snow at each step.

  As they approached their den, Pinkie experienced a strange sensation which made her stop dead in her tracks. She could feel as plainly as though she could see him, that Sammy, her long-lost mate, was coming back. She sensed that he was closer to her than he had been for a long time. ‘Your father,’ she whispered wonderingly to Little Sammy, ‘you’re going to see your father.’

  And Sammy was on the move again. He had been rudely awakened by the noise and bustle of the market. The barrow he had chosen as a shelter was reclaimed and the stall-owner began to dress it with produce to sell. Sammy felt vulnerable amid the stamping feet and the blows and buffets of the cart. He slipped away in the morning rush and was hastened on his way by the market fishmonger who didn’t want a grubby tabby sniffing after his wares.

  Sammy ran and hid in a doorway. Then he recovered himself, remembered to set his face north, and ambled along Wardour Street looking for an alternative shelter to use until nightfall. He could find nothing permanent and he spent the rest of the day under parked cars or in doorways, moving from one spot to another as necessary.

  When it grew dark Sammy continued north. A solitary cat such as he went unremarked amongst the throngs of people hurrying home. He slunk along, avoiding the rush, and made good progress until he reached the nightmare of Oxford Street. This was no place for a cat. Sammy turned tail and fled. But he brought himself to a sudden halt. This wouldn’t do. He was going back on himself. He remembered the pandemonium in Trafalgar Square and how, when he had b
een patient, this had eventually died down. He must do the same this time. He sat against a shop-front, closed his eyes and dozed; but not for long. The cold, the tramp of feet and his own eagerness to be reunited with Pinkie wouldn’t allow him to sleep.

  In the early hours he crossed Oxford Street, continued along Berners Street and then into Cleveland Street. Now there was another wide road to negotiate, but Sammy was becoming an old hand now. He sprinted across Euston Road, made some turns and was in Albany Street by daylight. He was very tired. Across to his left he saw trees. This seemed to him a good sign. He headed for them and scrambled under a hedge, utterly exhausted. He was on the borders of Regent’s Park.

  This time Sammy did sleep, and he slept for a long time. The day was well on when he awoke. He was stiff and thoroughly chilled but when he looked up, these feelings were quickly forgotten. Sitting about a metre away, regarding him steadily, was Phoebe.

  Sammy jumped up. ‘How did you –? What on earth have you –?’ he spluttered.

  ‘I shadowed you,’ she answered simply.

  ‘When? How? It seems I’ve been travelling for ages.’

  ‘I was never far behind you,’ said Phoebe. ‘You never suspected then?’

  ‘Of course not. How could I have? All this way!’

  ‘Yes, all this way, Sammy.’

  He looked long and hard at her. ‘But why? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I thought you needed a companion but . . . well, I was never quite sure. I kept my distance. Then, when you looked as if you’d reached your journey’s end, I had to come into the open.’