‘Do they go to Africa?’
Angie shrugged. ‘Maybe . . . yes, I think there is a flight to Johannesburg.’
‘Is that near Timbavati?’
‘I don’t know, Leroy. We’ll look on the internet later.’
She dismissed it as unimportant, but I could see the dreams streaming through Leroy’s mind. Dreams too big and intense to share.
The first time I was let out into the small square of garden, I remembered what Vati had taught me, and checked it out, walking slowly over the grass, feeling energies through my sensitive paws. I found a place where moles were living under the ground, I found an underground spring, and I found an energy line. It was in an odd place, close to a big stone in the wall of the house. Talking to Vati seemed possible when I sat there, but the contact was muffled. I missed him so much.
I kept an eye on Angie, who was getting used to a new job, and making new friends. She came home tired, and Leroy was difficult and demanding. He wanted every last bit of Angie’s love and energy.
Leroy was obsessed with the zoo, and he pestered Angie every day. ‘Why can’t we go? I’ve never been to a zoo.’
‘I will not spend my money visiting THAT PLACE,’ Angie declared. ‘When we have time I’ll take you to a proper zoo where they care about the world’s wildlife.’
‘But I want to go to that one,’ Leroy argued. I saw the look in his eyes. He was going to go there, no matter what, with or without Angie. I sensed it burning in his soul.
In the spring Angie bought Leroy a bike and a helmet to wear. Straight away, Leroy disappeared. He whispered goodbye to me and his eyes flashed with excitement. ‘I’ve got a bike, Timba. Now I can go to the zoo.’ I sat on the windowsill and watched him wheel the bike into the road.
‘Don’t go too far, Leroy. Just up and down outside, and be careful,’ Angie called from the kitchen.
‘Yeah . . . OK. See you later,’ Leroy shouted. He disappeared down the road at full throttle, pedalling with such energy that I thought the bike would fall apart. He was pushing it and pulling it at the same time, and lifting the front wheel off the floor, then banging it down.
I sat on the doorstep, and waited for him to come back.
Soon Angie was standing in the street looking for him, her eyes anxious. ‘Where has he gone?’
I knew, but how could I tell Angie? I followed her up and down the street with my tail up, wanting to help, and in the end she picked me up. I tried sending her images, but she didn’t get them. All I could do was cuddle against her and purr as she got more and more anxious, and cross with herself. ‘How could I have been so stupid? Oh God, if he gets hurt on that main road, I’ll never forgive myself.’
The next-door neighbour, Issy, got involved, and her cat came out too, and sat glaring at me. He was a portly tabby with one ear folded down, and he hadn’t made friends with me, even though we’d been through each other’s cat flaps.
‘Leroy’s such a wild impulsive child,’ Angie told Issy.
‘You can’t take yer eyes off the little buggers these days,’ Issy said. ‘Especially boys. I’m glad my lot are grown-up. They all had bikes, and skateboards, and I spent half my life in A&E with ’em. But sometimes you just have to let ’em go and let ’em learn, that’s what I say.’
‘You’re right,’ Angie said, but her eyes still searched up and down the road. ‘But Leroy had such a bad start. I have to protect him from himself.’
‘Let’s put the kettle on,’ said Issy kindly. ‘And by the time we’ve had a coffee, he’ll be back, Angie, you’ll see.’
Angie looked tempted, but she shook her head. ‘Thanks, Issy, it’s kind of you, but I can’t. I must find him. I’d better get the car out.’ She put me down on the garden wall. ‘Will you keep an eye out for him, Issy? I’ll drive to the park and other places he might go. He can’t have gone far.’
I did a purr-meow. Leroy was already far away, I knew that, and I so wanted to tell Angie. I had to watch her drive off in totally the wrong direction. I went to sit on the energy point by the big stone, and called the Spirit Lion by sending a silent message into the light. He came instantly, filling the garden with radiance. I asked him why humans were so limited in their ability to communicate.
‘Centuries ago they took the life out of language,’ he said, ‘by carving it into stone. Now they scribble it with pens, and tap it out on keyboards. All they want is to see it, to read it, and to them that is truth. In doing so they condemned telepathy and called it witchcraft.’
‘Witchcraft?’ I asked, and felt my spine turn to ice. Had I once been a witch’s cat? The memory sailed into my mind. A proud memory. I had been a witch’s cat, and the witch had been Angie! We had talked wordlessly to each other. We had healed animals and plants, and we had teleported along the golden roads. It was my best lifetime.
The Spirit Lion saw my thoughts. ‘Humans can still do it,’ he said. ‘They have only to remember . . . and some of them do. That’s why cats are so important. Cats are fascinating to humans. Cats are wordless communicators, and teachers.’
‘So how can I teach Angie? How can I reach her now?’
‘When she wants to learn, she will sit with you,’ said the Spirit Lion. ‘In the meantime you can only be there for her, let her make her mistakes and just love her. Some of her mistakes, like going in the wrong direction, are meant to happen. It is part of the plan. She can’t control Leroy. What he is doing right now is part of his destiny.’
‘What is he doing?’ I asked, and the Spirit Lion fell silent. His eyes met my questioning stare. ‘Merge with me,’ he said, ‘and I’ll show you.’ I became one with him as my aura blended with his radiance where he shared his thoughts wordlessly.
First he showed me Leroy’s bike. It was lying in the dappled sunlight under an oak tree, and Leroy’s red helmet shone in the piles of leaf mould and mossy roots. Leroy was nowhere to be seen. But my hackles were up, my whiskers twitching. That smell! A stench of confined animals . . . their droppings, their hot fur, the tang of fear, and the smoulder of desperation.
Once the smells settled into our consciousness, there were sounds to identify. Unfamiliar, strident bird cries and the flutter of wings, the clank of rusty metal, the high-pitched chattering of active, hyped-up creatures I couldn’t identify. We listened, and heard the wind teasing petals from blossom and sweeping it into corners. Then the scrape-scrape of a lion’s paws on rough concrete, an endless rhythm, a hopelessness as he padded to and fro, never going anywhere except from one wall to the other.
And then we saw Leroy.
He was clinging to the outside of the boundary wall, his feet wedged into the cracks between bricks, his eager eyes searching upwards for a way through the strands of wire along the top. I felt moved. Leroy was brave. Braver than me, and I was a cat!
Safe in the haven of my Spirit Lion, I watched, and hoped, and tried to send Leroy love. Painfully he climbed on, helped by a sturdy ivy plant, dragging himself up and up until he was looking down at the padding lion with an awestruck smile. The lion glanced up at him, sniffed, and continued padding as if he didn’t care. He’d been there, done that, and didn’t want to be bothered with humans.
Leroy’s hands stretched towards the wire. He touched it, and all hell broke loose. A deafening siren started, sending the animals into panic, and a man burst out of a door, a shovel in his hand. His angry eyes scanned the top of the wall, and saw Leroy clinging there.
‘What the HELL are you doing?’ he bellowed. ‘Get down off that wall right now or I’ll come out and drag you down.’
Shaking with fright, Leroy scrambled backwards. We heard the tearing of the ivy plant as he fell in an explosion of leaves. Then he ran, rubbing the blood from his arms, seized his bike and flung himself onto it. Leaving the red helmet lying in the leaf mould, he pedalled wildly into the traffic and headed home.
At that point the Spirit Lion gently disengaged from me. We both knew I had to be a support cat for when Leroy made it home.
/> When he finally came riding up the street, Angie was pacing up and down like the lion.
‘Where have you BEEN?’ she asked.
Leroy shrugged.
‘Nowhere,’ he said.
I ran to him with my tail up, and, while Angie ranted, I purred and loved and showed her how to welcome a tired, distraught child.
I got used to the place, but the homesickness never left me. I was OK when Angie and Leroy were there, but when Angie was at work, and Leroy at school, I was left alone for long hours. I missed Vati terribly, and I missed Graham. I missed Poppy, and the chickens, and the freedom of a big garden. Here the back garden was boxed in by other gardens where there were cats who didn’t want to be friends. I tried to establish a territory, but it was limited. The spring was cold and rainy, so I spent hours indoors by the Aga, or sitting in the window. Angie and Leroy played with me and brushed me, and then I was a happy cat. But I yearned for those exciting playtimes with Vati.
In my heart I didn’t feel at home.
Angie sat with me on her lap when Leroy was in bed. She shared her sadness with me. She missed Graham. She hated Lisa. She felt betrayed. ‘But we must make the best of it, Timba,’ she often said. ‘Think positive.’ Then she would talk about Leroy. ‘I love that boy. I so want to help him. He’s got such a talent . . . and such dreams. We have to help him make those dreams come true, Timba. Don’t we?’ I always agreed with a yes-meow and lots of purring.
One wet Sunday the sparks were flying from both their auras as Angie and Leroy sat in front of Leroy’s laptop. Curious, I jumped onto the table and sat with them, looking at the screen. They were looking at the White Lions!
‘Don’t walk on the keyboard, Timba.’ Leroy moved me gently aside, but I wanted to touch noses with one of those lions. I stared and stared, feeling my neck getting longer. Slowly I stretched forward, my whiskers tingling with excitement, and touched noses, nicely. The lion didn’t respond, and Angie and Leroy laughed at me, but I felt I’d reached across the world and given wordless love to this brave, important lion.
‘It says their coats can be whiter than the whitest snow,’ said Angie. ‘A White Lion is the most sacred animal in Africa.’
‘Yeah, but they’re not albinos,’ Leroy said. ‘No one knows where the White Lions came from. It’s a mystery! Come on, Angie, let’s read the legends again.’ He clicked something and a load of writing appeared instead of the interesting pictures of lions. ‘I can nearly read this now . . . but you help me with the long words, Angie.’
‘WOW! Listen to this,’ said Angie. ‘“The name Timbavati is from an ancient Shangaan language –” AND – “it means the place where star lions come down from the heavens”. WOW.’
Leroy’s face shone. He searched the block of text on the screen and pounced on another word. ‘“Golden”,’ he said. ‘“Timbavati is on a golden . . .” I can’t read that, Angie.’
My spine began to tingle. A golden road, I thought.
Angie took over the reading. ‘“Timbavati is on the Golden Nile Meridian,”’ she read.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an energy line . . . a sacred pathway across the world,’ Angie whispered, and her words excited me so much that I did an amplified extended-meow. More laughter. I didn’t think it was funny. Miffed, I stared into Angie’s eyes. ‘Timba understands that, don’t you, lovely cat?’ she said warmly, and got a yes-meow in return.
Leroy was racing ahead, his eyes searching the writing. ‘“Sphinx,”’ he said. ‘It’s on the same line. What’s a sphinx?’
‘Google it,’ said Angie, and Leroy tapped the keyboard and clicked. The screen flickered, and a picture appeared of the ancient stone sphinx in the desert. It spooked me, and my memory flipped into life. I remembered a time, centuries ago, when Vati and I had been proud Egyptian cats. We had played in the hot sun, and slept between the glistening stone paws of that mighty sphinx.
‘Timba understands this too.’ Leroy looked into my eyes, and in that moment I understood something else. Leroy was developing telepathy. He could read my thoughts. ‘Do you miss Vati, Timba?’
I walked over the forbidden keyboard and kissed Leroy on the nose.
Chapter Thirteen
JOURNEY SOUTH
It happened very quickly.
One minute I was a contented cat, and the next I was faced with a life-changing challenge.
‘You’re the best cat in the world, Timba.’ Angie pressed her cheek against my fur, and I looked up at her, blinking my eyes slowly and purring. ‘I hope we never lose you.’
Odd that she said those words, as if she sensed I was on the brink of a momentous decision. I took my job as a support cat very seriously. Most cats only had one human to look after. I had two. Angie, who was still hurting from Graham dumping her, still missing Poppy, and trying too hard to be an earth-angel to Leroy. And Leroy, who needed me even more.
On that drowsy afternoon in late summer, my life should have been blessed. I should have been full of gratitude for a home where I was loved and pampered. I was the best cat in the street and, when I sat up on the garden wall, everyone who passed by admired me. ‘Aren’t you beautiful!’ and ‘What a magnificent cat,’ and ‘You’re so fluffy, and so friendly. I wish you were my cat.’ I soaked it all up, like fan mail. It was like an insurance too. I knew that if I followed any one of those adoring fans down the road, they would adopt me.
But something was missing from my life: Vati. I tried to get used to it, the way Angie was coping without Graham. The way she still laughed and smiled and got on with it. I was managing OK, until the momentous decision arrived like an unstoppable rain cloud darkening the sunlight.
I was sitting against the wall, close to the big stone in the place where I’d sensed a precious line of communication. My direct chat line to Vati. So far our long-distance chats had been misty but joyful. Vati had appeared with his tail up, looking sleek and mystic. He told me he was OK with Graham and Lisa. He told me Lisa had a baby girl, Heidi, and Heidi was crawling all over the house like a cat.
The Spirit Lion had taught me how to sense the energy line with my pads, so I did that now, and visualised Vati’s winsome little face with the white dot on the nose. His eyes flashed up before me, black and terrified. My paws began to burn with pain. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I asked, but Vati seemed totally unable to communicate. I tried and tried and got no response. Darkness inked its way along the golden pathway, right into my heart.
I sat there, stunned.
Something terrible had happened to Vati.
I ran to Angie. She was leaning on the garden wall, watching the road. ‘Leroy should be back soon, from his first day at big school,’ she told me, and scooped me into her arms. Normally I would have purred and made a fuss of her, but now I felt my heart was breaking.
I had to go.
I had to find Vati.
Sadly and silently, I licked Angie’s dear face which was warm from the sun. It was my last chance to love her. I should say goodbye nicely, I thought. I should purr. But I couldn’t. I felt like a cat torn in two.
The best I could manage was a long stare into her sensitive eyes, and immediately Angie saw that something was wrong. ‘What’s the matter, Timba?’
I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. I slid out of her arms and jumped down to the pavement.
‘Timba? Are you OK? Timba . . .’
I half turned, flicked my tail, and gave Angie a silent meow. Then I trotted purposefully down the road, my tail down, my heart heavy. I didn’t look back, even when I heard the school bus, and the sound of Leroy dragging his school bag along the ground. He’d had a bad day. And I was a support cat. What was I doing?
The only glad thought in my mind was that I’d eaten all of my lunch, every last crumb of the delicious, easy food Angie made for me. I was healthy and strong, my coat luxurious and well brushed. It would keep me warm through the lonely nights of my journey south . . . back through the dark forest, and over the sh
ining river, to the green hills where I’d been born.
Angie thought I would come back, like I always did. She’d trusted me, and let me be free, and it had been the best life a cat could have. She’d patiently helped Leroy, taught him how to love me the way a cat should be loved, and he was getting it right. I had grown to love Leroy. Now he’d think I’d abandoned him.
For a long time I heard Angie and Leroy calling me, but I trotted on automatically, as if my mind and body were totally separate. On and on through the streets, not even pausing to put my tail up and let somebody stroke me, not worrying about traffic or dogs, or which way to go. I knew. My instinct was crystal clear, and I let it guide me south. I kept going, until the voices and memories faded, and a sense of detachment hung over me like the shadow of night.
Crossing the road was VERY scary. I spent a lot of time crouched under parked cars, watching for a clear space. Judging the speed of cars was a skill I hadn’t developed and, after a couple of near misses, my confidence was shaken. The endless, confusing streets and the exhaust fumes gave me a headache. In the deepening yellow light of late afternoon, I took refuge in a garden. The gate was open, so I crept in and hid under an evergreen covered in scarlet berries. I scent-marked its stout trunk and leaned against it, feeling the calm energy of the plant world stabilising my agitated heartbeat. It was good to have a wall between me and the traffic.
I listened, hoping to detect the last calls from Angie and Leroy, but now I was too far away, lost in the roar of a town I had never bothered to explore. I’d been a home cat, my territory modestly limited to the surrounding gardens. The listening seeded an ache in my heart, a yearning to hear the voices one last time: ‘Timba. TIM . . . BA.’ Who would call me Timba now?
No one would know who I was. I’d chosen to leave my home; now it became clear I was leaving behind my identity. I was any old cat now. Nameless and shameless. If I was going to live without love, then I’d have to be tough. The hunter instinct surfaced alongside the hunger now growling around my belly. I surveyed the strange garden and the imperious blackbirds hopping about on the lawn. My tail twitched. Catching one would be easy. But less convenient than the tasty supper Leroy would have been giving me right now.
Timba Comes Home Page 12
