Rainbow Street Pets

by Orr, Wendy

  He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know where Mr Larsen had gone, and he wasn’t even trying to follow the ambulance: he was just running.

  It was a long time before he stopped. When he did, he didn’t know where he was.

  CHAPTER 6

  abbits were Mrs Lee’s favourite pets, but she loved stories about all amazing animals. She showed the family the newspaper article on Friday night.

  ‘Buster!’ said Josh. ‘That’s the big cat who’s exactly the same colour Rex was!’

  ‘Poor Mr Larsen,’ said Mrs Lee. ‘And poor Buster.’

  ‘We’ve got to find him!’ said Josh.

  So the next morning, when Josh and his family walked to the beach, they went past Mr Larsen’s house on the way.

  Josh searched under bushes and into shadowy, cat-hidey corners. He peered through the high wire fence of the house that was being rebuilt next door.

  ‘When did Mr Larsen go to hospital?’ he asked his mum.

  ‘Wednesday night,’ she said. ‘Wednesday till Saturday is a long time for a cat to go hungry.’

  Josh thought about how he used to hold a carrot for Rex to nibble as a special treat. He thought about how they had always made sure Rex had clean water and pellets so he was never thirsty or hungry.

  He knew that Mr Larsen would have looked after Buster the same way. But Mr Larsen couldn’t look after Buster now because he was in hospital, and Josh’s family didn’t have Rex to look after. It’s just not fair! thought Josh.

  ‘Let’s look for Buster instead of going to the beach,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what I was going to say!’ everyone else said together.

  They looked up into trees and walked up and down the streets, around the block and the next block after that, but there was no sign of a giant marmalade cat.

  Mrs Lee made Josh’s favourite noodles for dinner that night, but Josh could hardly swallow them. He kept wondering if Buster had found anything to eat. He hated thinking about that brave, crazy cat being afraid, lost and starving.

  But Buster was a smart cat. When he’d stopped running on that terrifying Wednesday night and realised he didn’t know where he was, Buster found a quiet garden with fat bushes sprawling against the garage wall. He crawled in under the middle bush, scratched out a bed in the dirt, then curled up and slept for the rest of the night.

  In the morning he sat up and groomed himself, combing the bits of broken glass off his head with his claws, and licking the dried blood off his paws. His rough sandpaper tongue smoothed out the fur along his back and his tail, and then he sat on his bottom, stretching his legs and curling between them to lick his belly and everywhere else.

  Buster felt calmer when he was clean. He swaggered out of his camping place as if it had always belonged to him.

  The first thing he saw was a small spotty dog in the garden next door. The second thing was a woman putting a bowl down on the back step, and going back inside.

  Buster was ready for breakfast. He jumped to the top of the fence and over to the step before the dog had time to see him. With a hiss and spit, Buster chased the little dog away from his bowl: dog food wasn’t as tasty as cat food, but it was better than no breakfast at all.

  The dog was so shocked at being chased by a cat that it quivered against the back fence for a minute before it started to bark.

  ‘What’s the matter, Patchie?’ the woman called from inside the house.

  Buster munched faster.

  The woman opened the door.

  ‘Get out of here!’ she shouted, as Buster raced across the yard like an orange streak of lightning. ‘Come on, Patchie! That nasty cat won’t get you again!’

  When Buster stopped running, he sat in the sun and groomed the dog food crumbs off his face. Then, keeping close to bushes and shadowy trees, he started off in the direction of his home.

  CHAPTER 7

  t took Buster another two days to find his way back to Mr Larsen’s house. Big dogs chased him and people shouted at him. Cars screeched to a stop when he raced across roads without looking. He tried to steal meat from a big dog, but an even bigger dog came out from its kennel, and both dogs were so angry they jumped the fence to chase him.

  That was the only time Buster was really afraid, because he could chase two little dogs or one big dog, but he couldn’t fight off two big dogs. It took a long rest behind a stack of firewood, and nearly ten minutes of extra grooming, before he was ready to start finding his way home again after that.

  But an hour later he found half a meat pie on a picnic table, and that was so good he forgot all about being afraid.

  Late that night, when he’d walked as far as he could for one day, he sneaked in a cat door to eat a huge bowl of dry food before chasing a fluffy white cat out of her comfy bed.

  ‘Be quiet, Princess!’ a man shouted down the stairs.

  The white cat slunk off to hide behind the couch while Buster settled into her basket. He slept happily till the first rays of morning sun shone in the window. Then he slipped out the cat door before anyone was awake.

  Finally, early on Saturday morning, he reached his home. He arched his back, rubbing happily against the front door and mewing to be let in.

  No one came to the door. Buster stalked around to the back door, but it was shut tight. The lounge room window that he’d broken had been fixed, and it was closed too. There was no way in.

  Buster crept back more cautiously to the front door. He sniffed at it, and this time he didn’t rub against it. He knew that Mr Larsen wasn’t inside.

  The big cat felt again the terror of Mr Larsen lying on the floor, the sirens, and people with metal trolleys taking his man away. He flattened his ears and crept under a bush to wait.

  A car pulled into the driveway, and Buster watched Mr Larsen’s son get out. He didn’t move when the man went into the house and came out again with a tin of cat food.

  ‘Here, Buster!’ Mr Larsen’s son called, waving the tin as he walked around the garden. ‘Come on, puss!’

  Buster was hungry, but he didn’t like Mr Larsen’s son, because whenever he visited, Buster wasn’t allowed to sit near Mr Larsen. If the men sat inside, Buster had to go out, and if they sat on the verandah, Buster was shut inside.

  So he waited while Mr Larsen’s son walked right past the bush where he was hiding. He didn’t even twitch when the man sneezed right in front of him.

  The problem was that Mr Larsen’s son hadn’t ever spent any time with cats. He thought that waving a cat-food tin would be enough to make a frightened cat run out to meet him with a thank you! meow. Then he could go to the hospital and tell Mr Larsen he didn’t need to worry anymore.

  But Buster wasn’t going to go to anyone except his own Mr Larsen.

  CHAPTER 8

  osh dreamed that Buster was stuck in a rabbit hole. He knew that he had to pull him out, but then he turned into Buster, and there was no one anywhere to help. The more he thrashed and wriggled the more stuck he got, but he couldn’t stop. Panic was rising in his throat; he was choking; he was never going to get out of here …

  He woke up sweating, tangled in his sheet, with his heart thumping. He’s not even my cat! he thought. Why do I have to have nightmares about him?

  But by the time he got out of bed, he knew there was only one way to stop the gnawing ache inside him.

  ‘Can we look for Buster again today?’ he asked at breakfast.

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ said his dad. ‘Remember how good Rex was at hiding?’

  Two years ago, in a lightning-flashing, window-rattling thunderstorm, Rex had disappeared. They’d searched every room, under every bed, behind the couch and in every corner, and they’d all felt sick worrying that somehow the rabbit had hopped out alone into the stormy night.

  Josh remembered the birthday-party feeling of seeing Rex hop into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, as if nothing had happened. He wanted that feeling again.

  ‘We should check at Rainbow Street firs
t,’ said his mum. ‘They might have found him already.’

  They dropped Mai off at netball practice, and then Mr and Mrs Lee and Josh drove to Rainbow Street.

  They walked down the path towards the cherry-coloured door. An old man was cleaning out a water trough, while three goats grazed under a tree. One goat had only three legs.

  ‘That’s horrible!’ Josh said, pointing.

  The goat looked up and walked away.

  ‘Bessy doesn’t like to be pointed at,’ said Bert. ‘But she does just fine with three legs now.’

  They went inside.

  ‘Can I help you?’ someone asked.

  Josh looked around. It sounded like the old man, but the only person in the room was Mona.

  ‘You’re not crazy,’ Mona said. ‘Gulliver sounds exactly like Bert. He thinks he’s the receptionist.’

  Josh started to laugh. It was the funniest thing he’d ever heard: a cockatoo that sounded like an old man and thought he was a receptionist. And when Josh laughed, Gulliver did too. He didn’t laugh like an old man: he giggled like a little girl.

  Then everyone was laughing. It was impossible not to, with Gulliver giggling and Josh spluttering. He hadn’t laughed since Rex had died, and now Josh couldn’t stop. He laughed till he was gasping for breath. His stomach ached and tears rolled down his face.

  Bert came in to see what was happening.

  ‘G’day, mate!’ said the bird, and that started Josh all over again.

  ‘Now,’ said Mona, ‘I’m guessing you didn’t come just to see Gulliver?’

  ‘We live near Mr Larsen,’ said Mrs Lee. ‘We’ve come to ask about Buster.’

  ‘The cat with attitude, we called him,’ said Mona. ‘I just hope that attitude is helping him survive now.’

  ‘Where do you think he could have gone?’ asked Josh.

  ‘He’s most likely hiding somewhere near his house, or trying to get back to it,’ said Mona. ‘But a frightened animal can run a long way.’

  ‘So he could be anywhere?’ asked Mr Lee.

  Mona nodded. ‘And wherever he is, he can’t live outside on his own. It’s not safe for him, and it’s not safe for any birds or possums he meets. We need to find him.’

  Josh felt a lump of fear in his stomach, just like when he’d thought Rex had disappeared into the thunderstorm.

  The next day was ‘First Monday of the Month’ assembly.

  Josh had stayed up late working with his dad to get ready for it, and he left for school early. He turned right at the first corner, and when he got to Mr Larsen’s house, he opened the gate.

  He knocked on the door just in case someone was there. No one was. Josh walked all around the outside of the house, peering into every corner of the garden.

  ‘Here, Buster!’ he called. ‘Puss, puss, puss!’

  There was no sign of a cat anywhere; not the faintest meow.

  Josh walked slowly back down the footpath. His shoulders drooped and he scuffed his feet. He didn’t want to go to school.

  He stared through the fence of the house that was being built next door, but the garden had been bulldozed. There were just piles of wood, metal tubes and pipes – no bushy shrubs for a cat to crawl under, or leafy trees to climb.

  Josh straightened up his backpack, and walked on to school.

  I could still change my mind, he told himself, as he turned onto Ocean Street.

  I don’t have to do it, he thought as he waited for the crossing guard.

  Why am I even thinking of doing it? he wondered as he walked in the gate.

  ‘Because Buster’s a lot more scared than I am,’ he said aloud, as he stepped into the school hall.

  He knew he had to do it.

  Mrs Stevens was talking to the kids who were presenting this morning. Hannah was the last in line. Josh remembered how he’d wished he didn’t have to listen to her talk about the pets in Rainbow Street. Now he wished that Buster was in the shelter too.

  He took a deep breath and marched up to the principal.

  It was the longest assembly Josh had ever sat through. There were announcements from teachers and reports from class captains, two girls singing a duet, and a boy playing a violin solo.

  Then Hannah stepped up and told them about a dog that had arrived at the shelter last week and was ready to adopt.

  ‘He’s friendly and very, very cute,’ said Hannah, showing a picture of a shaggy grey-and-white dog peeking out from beneath its woolly fringe.

  ‘Awww,’ breathed the audience.

  Josh hoped they’d care as much about an ugly orange cat.

  ‘And now,’ said Mrs Stevens, ‘we have one more urgent item.’

  Josh walked across the stage. He could hardly breathe, and he felt as if he might throw up. He really, really didn’t want to do that.

  The microphone was too high; he was a lot shorter than Hannah. He heard someone laughing as he struggled to bend it down.

  You can’t run away now! Josh told himself.

  He showed his first picture: a picture he’d found online of a big orange cat, with a big heading that read LOST CAT: BUSTER.

  ‘Except Buster is a lot bigger,’ said Josh. ‘And he’s got enormous paws.’

  His voice squeaked as he said ‘enormous’ and the word echoed shrilly through the hall.

  ‘To catch squeaky mice?’ said the school bully.

  ‘For a pipsqueak!’ said someone else, and a wave of laughter rippled through the boys in the front row.

  ‘That’ll do!’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘Josh has something serious to tell us.’

  Josh moved quickly to the headline from the newspaper article: CAT SAVES OWNER’S LIFE!

  Finally he showed two phone numbers: the Lees’, and the Rainbow Street Shelter’s.

  ‘Buster’s not an ordinary cat,’ Josh finished desperately. ‘He’s a hero. So if you’ve seen him, please tell me or take him to the animal shelter.’

  His knees were wobbling as he walked back across the stage. Hannah smiled.

  ‘You’re not going to throw up, are you?’ she whispered.

  Josh’s face glowed red as a traffic light. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘How do you think?’ she asked. ‘I always feel the same way.’

  ‘Well, I’m not doing it again!’ said Josh.

  Lachlan caught up to him as they crowded into their classroom.

  ‘I’d never have had the guts to stand up in assembly when I lost my dog. I really hope you find Buster.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Josh.

  All the rest of the day, some kids made squeaky mouse noises when they saw Josh – but others came up and said that they had a cat too, or they had a pet who’d got lost once, and that they’d look for Buster on their way home. Even kids who didn’t have a pet stopped and said, ‘I hope you find your cat.’

  But the next day, no one had seen a cat that could possibly be Buster.

  CHAPTER 9

  fter school on Tuesday, Josh and his mum went back to the Rainbow Street Shelter – but Buster hadn’t turned up there either.

  ‘We can try putting a cage-trap at his house,’ said Mona. ‘I phoned Mr Larsen’s son, and he said that would be okay.’

  ‘Won’t Buster hate being trapped?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Probably,’ said Mona. ‘The poor thing’s been through plenty already, but a night in a cage is better than being hit by a car.’

  Josh felt cold right through. He had to find him!

  They carried the cage out to the car, went back home for a tin of tuna and an old beach towel, and drove around to Mr Larsen’s house. Josh felt like a burglar, sneaking up to someone’s verandah knowing they weren’t home.

  ‘We’re doing the right thing,’ his mum said, but she knocked on the door first, just like Josh had the day before.

  They opened the tuna and walked all around the garden again, brushing branches aside, peeking under bushes and calling, ‘Here, Buster! Puss, puss, puss!’

  But there wasn’t a shadow of a cat,
or an echo of a meow.

  ‘We’ll have to give up now,’ said Mrs Lee. ‘There’s nothing more we can do.’

  ‘I’ll just check here first!’ said Josh, because there was one more big bush that he hadn’t crawled under. He was suddenly so sure Buster would be there that he could almost feel the cat’s fur under his hands.

  But Buster wasn’t there either.

  Josh thought about what Mona had said, and helped his mum put the cage on the verandah where Buster used to sit with Mr Larsen. He half-crawled in to lay the beach towel out, smooth and comfy for Buster to lie on. Then they put the open tin of tuna inside.

  Once Buster went in to eat it, the door would close and he’d be safe till morning.

  Josh woke up in the middle of the night and lay in the darkness for a long time, wondering whether Buster had found the tin of tuna.

  All the while that Mrs Lee and Josh had been walking around the garden, Buster had flattened himself under a bush so low no one would think an enormous cat could possibly fit under it. He’d smelled the tuna, but after those days of being chased and afraid, he was not going to come out for anyone.

  When they’d left, he could still smell the fish. All evening, the scent of tuna wafted towards him like a song. As soon as it was dark, Buster crept towards it.

  He stretched one paw into the cage, as far as he could, and batted the tin. It rolled a little bit closer. Buster wanted that tuna very badly; he whacked the tin harder. It bounced against the cage wall and rolled to the other end.

  No matter what Buster did, he could not get it out. And no matter how badly he wanted it, he would not walk into that cage. Buster licked the taste of tuna off his claws, and stalked into the night.

  So when Mrs Lee and Josh walked around to Mr Larsen’s the next morning, the tuna tin was upside down at the end of the cage, the towel was scruffed up at the front, and Buster was nowhere to be seen.