Cats On The Run (Tuck & Ginger Book 1)

by Ged Gillmore

  Ginger stood up and arched her back. It had grown dark while she’d been sleeping, and apart from Tuck’s snores and sleepy mumbles, the barn was silent. There was no sign of any of the other cats—who had presumably gone up to the house for their dinner—and Ginger wondered why she’d woken up. She listened to her bellies one by one, but they were no more hungry than normal. She was wondering if maybe she needed to go to the toilet (no more litter trays—hoorah!), but no, all seemed calm in that department too. Then she heard a noise up above her.

  ‘Ooh,’ it went. And then, ‘Aah.’

  She looked up and saw the barn cats hadn’t gone for dinner at all. They were sitting next to one another inside the high window where Harry had shown her the way to the hills. They were looking at something going on outside. Well, Ginger didn’t want to wake Tuck so instead of shouting to the cats, she carefully made her way up through the rafters. Harry was the first to spot her, and he signalled for her to approach.

  ‘What is it?’ Ginger said. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Look,’ said Harry. ‘Over in the hills where you were asking about today. Something is going on.’

  Ginger looked and saw in the distance, right where she’d told Harry she wanted to go, a bunch of orange flames tickling the sky.

  ‘There were some explosions,’ said Harry. ‘We came running up but they’d finished. Now it just looks like the whole place is on fire.’

  Ginger didn’t respond. She just sat there with her mouth open, staring at the distant flames.

  ‘What’s out there?’ said Harry, seeing the expression on her face.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ginger. ‘There used to be this beautiful old farm. But maybe something else has been built in the meantime.’

  She didn’t sound very convinced, and Harry didn’t question her any further. They just sat there in silence, looking at the flames with the other cats until they heard Tuck yowling below them.

  ‘Waaa-ow,’ he yowled. ‘I fell asleep, and everyone left me, and it’s dark, and I’m scared. Monsters are going to get me, and no one cares because I’m just a lonely orphan. Waaa-ow. I fell asleep …’

  But by the time he’d yowled all this, Ginger and the barn cats (top name for a pop group!) had run down and were comforting him.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Sally, touching him nose to nose. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tuck. ‘That’s a relief. What’s for dinner?’

  The barn cats all looked a bit embarrassed by this, and none of them said anything until Harry coughed.

  ‘Er,’ he said. ‘We all went up to the farmhouse for our biscuits whilst you were asleep. We meant to bring you some back, but we didn’t.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the flabby tabby babby, who looked particularly guilty. ‘It’s just we had no way of carrying them.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said his daddy tabby, which somehow made the excuse sound even less convincing.

  Tuck’s bottom lip started quivering, and he looked like he might start yowling again until Ginger put a calming paw on his back and said, ‘Don’t worry, everyone. We catch our own dinner. Don’t we, Tuck?’

  ‘Do we?’ said Tuck. ‘What are we having?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking maybe a tasty rat-goo,’ said Ginger with a silent t.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Tuck. ‘When will it be ready?’

  ‘I tell you what, Tuck. You go downstairs and play chase me with all the little animals there, and as soon as you get back, we’ll start cooking. How does that sound?’

  Tuck didn’t even answer. He just ran to the edge of the ledge and jumped onto the tallest stack of hay, ignoring the strange look Ari gave him and Larry’s cry of ‘Be careful, they bite!’ Then he jumped boing boing boing down the bales until he was at the bottom.

  Well, can you imagine the scene down there when the rats started to come out? Tough, you’re going to have to. This is a book after all, not a video game. Easier on the thumbs, but it does require a bit of an effort. Here, I’ll help. It was very, very dark at the bottom of the barn. The big opening in its side faced east, where the sky was at its very darkest that night, and the fire in the distant hills made no dint in the gloom.

  Now, as you know, cats can see in the dark. Not in the pitch-black, of course. Then they’re as blind as we are. But as long as there’s a tiny bit of light they can use that to guide them. And although it was very, very dark on the floor of the barn, there was just enough light from the stars in the night sky coming through the open side of the barn for Tuck to see perfectly clearly. At first he sat still, wondering if maybe Ginger had tricked him and there weren’t any animals down here after all. He was still a little sleepy from having just woken up, so he decided to close his eyes and count to ten. If there was no one to play with when he opened his eyes again, he’d go back up to the ledge. So he closed his eyes and of course immediately became completely invisible. Black cat, dark barn, deep shadows—even he’d have had difficulty seeing himself.

  The rats had no chance. Thinking no one else was about, they came scurrying out to see what they could find to leave icky germs on. Then Tuck opened his eyes again. Wow! He couldn’t believe it! Ginger hadn’t been joking at all—there were lots and lots of animals to play with.

  ‘Ooh,’ Tuck said. ‘Dodgeball! Let’s play dodgeball! We’ve no ball but grrramp,’ and he bit the closest rat in the back of the neck. ‘Got you!’ he said. ‘My turn, my turn!’ Well, as you can imagine, in the space of four minutes none of the rats was playing anything but harps. ‘Oh,’ said Tuck. ‘That’s boring.’ And he climbed back up to the ledge to find the six barn cats staring at him with open mouths and Ginger blending some garlic into a block of butter.

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Sally.

  ‘That was inspirational,’ said Harry.

  ‘That was appetizing,’ said the two tabbies together.

  Then they all gathered around him and asked him how he’d done it. They made him flex his muscles and show them his teeth.

  ‘Break it up, break it up,’ said Ginger from the corner where she was dropping pinches of saffron into a steaming pot. ‘Tuck, bet you can’t run down and bring up all those dead rats in under a minute. Go!’

  Well, if the barn cats had been impressed before, now they were blown over. Tuck went down and up, up and down, six times from the high ledge to the distant barn floor. Each time he came up he was dragging a big dead rat in his mouth. Each time he went down he was so fast he was just a blur in the shadows.

  ‘How did I do?’ he said when he’d plonked the last rat down in front of Ginger.

  ‘Fifty-three seconds,’ she said, dusting flour off her bellies. ‘Not bad. Now go and wash your paws and see how many of your fans want to join us for dinner.’

  The answer was six, and those six pussycats were half an hour later all turning their compliments from Tuck to Ginger as they wolfed down their delicious second dinner.

  ‘What a wonderful cook you are,’ said Barry.

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Larry.

  ‘Great,’ said Ari, looking at Ginger strangely.

  Harry said nothing. He just purred as he ate and looked at Ginger with soft eyes. Now, I don’t know if you know this or not, but unlike humans, cats prefer their second dinner to their first dinner. That’s why they always yowl for more food even when you’ve already fed them. In fact, the only thing they prefer to a second dinner is a third breakfast. Of course, they never eat lunch.

  ‘We’re so happy to have you here,’ said Sally, who was sitting half on the floor and half on Tuck’s lap. ‘Will you stay forever?’

  ‘No,’ said Ginger in a sad but firm tone. ‘No, we have to leave in the morning.’

  ‘In the morning?’ said Tuck forlornly. ‘But we only just got here. And it’s warm, and there’s lots of animals to play with, and the food’s great, and … and …’

  The six barn cats looked at Ginger, and they all said ‘Please stay’ in a way which would tug on the cat gut of almost any
cat in the world. But not Ginger. She had seen fire over her home, and she knew she had to go.

  ‘Let Tuck and me talk about it in private,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll see.’

  Well, we all know what ‘We’ll see’ means. It means either ‘no’ if it’s from a strict or unreliable person or ‘yes’ if it’s from a softie. And none of the barn cats could believe that anyone who could cook as well as Ginger could be anything but a softie at heart. How wrong can you be?

  Still, Ginger let them think what they wanted. She didn’t want to spoil their enjoyment of what until now had been a wonderful night. She left them chatting and deconstructing, for the fiftieth time, Tuck’s catching of the rats and her own cooking of them, and picked her way carefully up through the rafters to the window. The fire in the distant hills had dulled to no more than a few wisps of grey smoke. Ginger heard Tuck coming up behind her—he couldn’t even walk quietly, that cat—and waited for him to speak first.

  ‘Why do we have to talk about it in private?’ he said. ‘Why can’t we stay?’

  ‘You can stay,’ said Ginger. ‘I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do. But I can’t. I have to get back to my home—if I’ve still got a home left.’

  And then, without prompting, she told him all about Major and their fight and her kidnapping and the farm beyond the Great Dark Forest. Tuck had never heard her speak so much in all the four-and-a-half years he’d known her. And he’d never, ever thought he might see her cry. And he was right, he would never see that, but as Ginger spoke he started crying for her.

  ‘That’s awful,’ he said.

  ‘But you like it here,’ said Ginger. ‘You can stay. And Sally likes you—you’re a real local hero.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Tuck, ‘Sally’s a bit annoying, and her bottom smells funny. But I do like it here. I think I would like to stay.’

  Ginger nodded and looked back through the window. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘Just do me a favour. Don’t make a fuss when I leave. I hate goodbyes. I’d rather just sneak away.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘As soon as everyone’s asleep. Look at them.’

  Tuck followed her gaze down and saw the six barn cats curled up across various parts of the ledge, like six cat-coloured circles. They looked like they were already asleep.

  ‘That’s now then,’ said Tuck.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ginger. ‘This is goodbye.’

  Tuck started crying again, so Ginger pressed her nose to his. Then she brushed past him and made her way back down through the rafters to the ledge. Tuck watched as she picked her way between the sleeping cats, across to the edge of the ledge and onto the highest stack of hay. She jumped down each stack in turn, much more easily than she’d climbed them, until she reached the barn floor. Then she looked up and there, at the very highest point of the barn, she could see Tuck waving sadly at her, a tiny silhouette against the starlit window. She gave him a little wave in return, and then turned and left the barn.

  Excuse the interruption, folks...!

  But we thought you'd like to know about the new adventure!

  If you are enjoying Cats On The Run you're gonna love...

  Cats Undercover!

  Prepare yourself for an incredible world of undercover catbots, fist-fighting felines, puddles of poodle piddle and even an audition on Kitten’s Got Talent.

  Available now in paperback and for Kindle here

  Now let's get back to those Cats On The Run!

  WHAT ABOUT ANOTHER BIT?

  Meanwhile, back at the milliner’s, Terrence the Topper now had six banana skins stuck up his brim. What? Oh, I’m so sorry, completely wrong story! That’s Hats on the Run. Let me see. Bats on the Run, no, Gnats on the Run, no, Pat’s got the Runs—no, no, no. Here we go! Cats on the Run, got it! Right.

  Where were we? Oh yes, meanwhile, chez Burringo, Major was walking around, inspecting the apartment. The rather fresh breeze on the broomstick ride from the farm had not only blow-dried his hair in a very eighties fashion, it had also woken him from the concussed and confused coma into which the backwards-blasting bazooka had bolted him. Upon awakening of course, he had still been held by the scruff of his neck by Rodney, so there was nothing he could do but sit there and watch the world whizz by below him. Major found this experience strangely relaxing, and by the time he and Rodney arrived back in the apartment, he was more chilled than either of the witches. The dude was back in town.

  ‘That’s not Ginger!’ screeched Janice when Rodney walked in with Major under his arm.

  ‘No chips, Sherlock,’ said Rodney. ‘I know it’s not Ginger. But it is a ginger cat and it’s pretty smart. Look what it did to my hat!’

  Janice gasped at the huge hole in her husband’s helmet. ‘He did that?’ she asked. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ said Rodney. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted and it’s getting light outside.’

  True to her personality, Janice’s laziness outweighed her curiosity. She let Rodney pick her up off the sofa and carry her up the stairs in a fireman’s lift, which always made her giggle in a most revolting manner. This left Major downstairs alone, where he walked around, inspecting things. He tried out the sofa and found it suitably soft. He jumped up on the work surfaces and liked their lickability. He scratched at the stair carpet (scratchy enough), pushed his nose against the corner of the fridge (frigid enough), and played tennis with the blind cord (cordial enough).

  ‘Mmm,’ he thought. ‘Mm-hm.’

  You see, Major did like life at the stables, but he’d been there a long time, and ever since Ginger had left him, the place had never really felt like home. If these witches wanted to put him up for a bit, let him sleep on their sofa, and feed him twice a day, well, who was he to complain? And if he didn’t like it, no doubt he could move on when he felt like it. And so, comforted by these life-threateningly mistaken thoughts, Major curled up on the sofa, which was still warm from Janice’s saggy bottom. There he fell into a deep doze and dreamt all day dreams he had long forgotten. Who knows what it was about that place, but for some reason he dreamt only of the cat who had broken his heart and left his life listless and limp. When he awoke that evening, once again, for the first time in nearly a week, the flat was filled with the sound of big ginger sighs.

  And where was the object of his dreams just then? Where indeed? Where wasn’t she? And why wasn’t she where she wasn’t, and who wasn’t she being when she wasn’t there? Agh! See how annoying it is when people ask too many questions! Dear reader, if you ever find yourself asking too many questions, it’s best just to stop, reflect (a mirror might help), and ask if you really need an answer. Which, of course, is another question, so be careful. Bennyway, let’s get back to Ginger. It’s getting dark, and she’s all alone with nothing but her six empty bellies for company, and something creepy is about to happen.

  It was getting dark and Ginger was tired again. She had been walking all day, following a winding country road that led towards the Great Dark Forest. Now, you’re probably wondering why she was following the road, especially if it was winding. Wouldn’t it have been quicker to cut across the fields in a straight line as the crow flies? Well, humdy haw, let’s think about that one.

  Firstly, grass tickles the tummy, and when you’ve got six bellies that’s a lot of tickle. Secondly, rivers. Heard of them? What if Ginger hit a river, huh? Cats and water don’t mix. And I don’t mean in an oil-and-water, it’s-OK-they-separate-again kind of way. Oh no. I mean they don’t even talk to each other at parties. And thirdly, Ginger was trying to hitch-hike. Crazy, I know. Hitch-hiking like that can get a cat as flat as a mat, but Ginger was in a hurry. She hadn’t liked the look of that fire she’d seen the night before. Something was clearly wrong, and she needed to get back to Major ASAP.

  So Ginger dragged her weary tiger-striped frame along that windy road all day, the sun climbing high in the sky and parching her throat. It was a very quiet road, and only tw
o or three cars passed by. Each time she climbed up the grassy verge and stuck out a claw, but each time they sped past, empty but for the driver and with plenty of room for a cat, even one with six bellies. Selfish clods.

  By late afternoon Ginger was a very tired pussy indeed. Oh, how her paws ached from the hot and gritty tarmac. Oh, how her bellies ached, inside from emptiness and outside from the scratchy thistles on the verge. She was beginning to regret not bringing Tuck along with her. Admittedly, he would have annoyed her all day with talk about the moon and mushroom blooming sauce. But right now she could have started looking forward to a light chocolate mouse or a vole roll. Three of her bellies rumbled at the very thought of this, but the other three were too tired to do even that. ‘One more hill,’ thought Ginger, for the road not only wound and weaved, it rose and fell too. ‘One more hill and I’ll stop.’ So she dragged herself along the tarmac, on and on, until at the very top she found a gap in the hedge that ran alongside it.

  What a view. Far back the way she had come she could see rolling green hills, the road a snaking, grey line that appeared here and there across it. In the very furthest distance she could make out some dark shapes, which must have been the city, and as she watched they started to glow as lights came on. To her left, west, the sky was burning and bruised as the sun’s rays angled at the pollution and particles and petite, purply things that make a sunset. And ahead of her, stretching as far as the eye could see, lay the Great Dark Forest.

  Gulp. There was no point in pushing on any more that day. She was more tired than a, than a … More tired than a tick in a … Oh lord, she was so tired she couldn’t think what she was more tired than. She sat there struggling with it, watching the sun set to the west and the sky grow surprisingly dark to the east. She realised it was dark not only because the night was coming but because low black clouds were rolling in towards her. Ooh nooooo—a storm!