Charlie the Kitten Who Saved a Life

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Yes, I am!’ I meowed, feeling a bit scared now.

  I had no idea what had happened there. But if I’d really had magic powers, there was one thing I was sure of: I’d have magicked myself back to my human family by now and would be sitting on Caroline’s lap, purring into her ear, and not caring if she spent all day every day looking at strange moving pictures on the television, just as long as I never lost her again.

  The following day, we were walking past the pub at the harbour when we saw another strange thing. Inside the pub window was a big piece of paper with a picture of a cat on it and some large Human writing underneath. This time it was Tail-less who noticed.

  ‘Blinking codfish, Charlie!’ he meowed. ‘That cat in the picture looks just like you!’

  Big, still feeling spooked by what we’d seen on the television screen, immediately crept up for a closer look.

  ‘It does look like you,’ he told me, almost accusingly, when he came back, ‘but I don’t think it is. That cat looks fatter, and more groomed, and it hasn’t got scars on its head or a nasty eye, like you.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. Even from a little distance, I could see it was true that the cat in the picture didn’t have my wounds.

  Of course, I wasn’t sure exactly what I looked like, apart from what my humans, and other cats, had told me. Caroline had sometimes picked me up and held me in front of that shiny thing they call a mirror, and said things like ‘Ah, Charlie, look at you!’ – but all I could see was the little tabby kitten who always seemed to appear in the mirrors around the house, copying whatever I was doing. When I was very young, I thought he was another kitten who lived in the house, but Ollie soon put me right on that, explaining that he wasn’t real – he had no scent and if I tried to rub faces with him, all I’d get was the hard shiny surface of the mirror. I presume you all think the same as Ollie and I do – that the mirror cats are something like the pictures on television.

  So the mirror cat in our house may, perhaps, have been a picture of me. If it was, then I had a good idea what I used to look like before I got lost and started living rough. Before I got badly beaten up by a gang of alley cats, almost lost the sight in one eye and apparently gained some scars that I supposed would last my whole nine lives. But I didn’t want to freak Big out any more than I’d done already.

  ‘OK. Obviously not me, then,’ I said.

  We saw another picture, exactly the same, in the café window. Another one in the window of the fish and chip shop when we went scavenging that evening. Next day, there was one in the bookshop, one in the bread shop, and one in the window of the Chinese takeaway shop. When we walked back past the café, Shirley and Jean were sitting in their usual spot outside. I lingered behind the fence for a while to listen to their conversation, and Big waited for me. He didn’t mind me using my two friends as sources of inside information, as long as he was there to keep an eye on me and I didn’t venture too close.

  ‘It’s such a shame, isn’t it,’ Shirley was saying. ‘They must be so desperate to get him back. The pictures are going up everywhere.’

  ‘Yes. Well, of course, since it was on the News, everyone knows about that cat who chased the seagull away from the old lady. The family who put up the notices seem to be convinced it’s their cat, don’t they? They were staying here all through August, I heard – down at the Oversands end of the bay, in one of those rental cottages, apparently. The little girl’s inconsolable. There’s some story about her being very ill, and she seems to think it’s her fault the cat went missing.’

  ‘Ah, bless her, poor little love. And that’s her little cat in the picture, is it, Jean?’

  ‘Yes. Look, have you read it? LOST: CHARLIE. Young neutered male tabby. Last seen on 28 August in the Oversands area of Mudditon-on-Sea. Believed to be still in Mudditon. Microchipped. Reward for safe return. And it’s got a mobile number and email address. Apparently the girl’s father has been staying in Mudditon again since they saw the cat on the News – walking the streets, calling out for Charlie.’

  ‘Well, I do hope he finds him, for that little girl’s sake. If it is that same cat, of course. Tabby cats are two a penny, though, aren’t they? For a start, there’s our little friend who visits us here. He’s a tabby, and he looks about the right age, doesn’t he. And we did think he looked like the cat who was in the paper.’

  ‘Yes, but come on, Shirl – he’s much skinnier than this one in the poster, and so scruffy looking, poor little thing. He really doesn’t look like this cute kitten in the pictures, at all. To be honest, I wonder if the family are just clutching at straws. I’d be very surprised if the cat in these posters is the same one who chased the seagull.’

  ‘But then again, we’ve both been saying our little one doesn’t really behave like a feral, haven’t we. He seems too trusting.’

  I’m sure you can imagine how I felt as I listened to all this! I was mewing to myself like crazy and twitching all over with distress.

  ‘What the dog’s bum is up with you?’ Big kept asking me, but I was too intent on listening, to reply. Julian was looking for me! It seemed that so much time had passed, my family must have actually gone home to Little Broomford, but they hadn’t forgotten me. Caroline was pining for me! Julian had come back specially to put up pictures of me, he was walking the streets calling me! If only he would walk past here right now, I’d run to him, and I’d be rescued. I’d be taken home, I’d see Caroline, I’d be back to my old life, to you, Oliver, and you, all my other old friends in Little Broomford.

  But then I mewed again with a new bout of anguish. What if he never happened to walk along the same street or path or alleyway at the same time as me? What if he gave up, like Big had suggested I ought to give up looking for the holiday cottage? Then he’d go back home without me, telling Caroline I was nowhere to be found. The pictures would be taken down again, and all the humans around here would stop talking about me the way Jean and Shirley were doing now, and nobody would look for me, and I’d have lost my only opportunity of going back to my real life. How could I afford to take that chance?

  I glanced at Big. He was looking at me with such concern, meowing quietly to me about calming down and not getting myself upset, and why didn’t I tell him what the humans were saying? And I felt yet another wave of distress as I realised how fond I’d become of him and the other boys, how they’d taken me into their gang and looked after me, despite the fact that I was so different from them, and despite them thinking I was weird and posh and possibly magic on top of everything else. They’d be upset with me for leaving them now. Or perhaps they wouldn’t – perhaps they’d just think that was part of my weirdness, and forget about me as quickly as they’d accepted me.

  ‘Well,’ Jean was saying, ‘even if it really is our little cat, Shirl, there’s not a lot we can do until we see him again – then we could have another good look at him. Now, shall we get the bill? I need to get back and start a bit of housework.’

  So this was it. I had to trust those two females; trust them, and trust my own grasp of Human language, or my chance was gone. I poised myself, preparing to make a dash for it.

  ‘Where are you going, Charlie?’ Big said, but there was something in his voice that made me think he’d guessed this was goodbye.

  ‘I’m sorry, Big,’ I meowed. ‘Thanks for everything. Say goodbye to the boys for me. I’ll miss you all.’

  ‘Charlie!’ he yowled as I ran straight round the end of the fence and threw myself at the legs of the nearest of the two females. ‘For the love of bloody rats’ intestines, don’t do it! They’ll skin you alive! They’ll roast you and eat you with their stinky red ketchup!’

  ‘Goodbye, Big,’ I mewed back to him loudly, as Shirley, gasping with surprise and squawking to Jean about what a coincidence it was that I’d turned up at that very moment, bent down to pick me up. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I called back as he continued to yowl after me ‘But I’m going home.’

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN />
  It wasn’t until I was being held tightly in the arms of this human female I’d adopted as my friend, that I realised just how much I’d changed since I’d been living rough with the feral cats. She was squashing me against her enormous chest with her big plump arms, she was so determined not to let me go, and I was having to clench my teeth, shut my eyes tight and force myself to lie still, so strong was my instinct to nip her sharply on her wrist, jump down and run away. But even while I was struggling with myself I was wondering how it was that I seemed to have lost my trust in humans. I’d never been frightened of them in the old days. Oliver had taught me that although there were definitely some bad ones in the world, most of them were kind to us cats and wanted to be our friends. Yes, I’ve always remembered that, Ollie, because I was impressed that you’d learned to trust humans again despite having had a horrible experience with a very cruel human when you were a tiny kitten.

  I was thinking about this now, telling myself to remember Oliver’s wise words, as Shirley was holding me in her tight grip.

  ‘Isn’t this incredible, Jean?’ she was saying. ‘Just as we were talking about him, he turned up!’

  ‘Yes, it’s amazing,’ agreed Jean, ‘it’s almost as if he was sat behind the fence listening to our whole conversation.’

  ‘I wonder if he is the missing Charlie. You’re right, though, he’s not like the picture in the poster. His coat is in a terrible state, and he’s got a few battle scars. And I don’t like the look of that poor eye.’

  ‘Well, the poster says he’s microchipped, so there’s only one way to find out whether it’s him,’ said Jean.

  ‘Yes!’ I meowed urgently. ‘The only way is to take me to Julian! He’ll recognise me straight away! Call his number! You said it was on that notice!’

  But instead, they were fussing around, paying for their tea, getting their handbags and suddenly I was being carried off, out of the café and along the road.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I squealed, struggling furiously, as they carried me further and further away from the yard and my new friends. Even now, they’d probably be talking about me, wondering together at my stupidity in running off with humans. Would they miss me? Or would they just be glad to be rid of a nuisance and a liability?

  ‘Calm down, little cat,’ Shirley soothed me. ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Jean said suddenly, stopping outside a house. There was a little car parked in front of it and she unlocked its doors. ‘You sit in the back with him, Shirley. He really ought to be in a basket of some sort, but it’s only a short drive. Look, I’ve got a little blanket there on the back seat that I use for my grandson. Let’s wrap him up in that so he can’t try to escape if he panics.’

  ‘No!’ I meowed, starting to wriggle frantically now as Shirley climbed awkwardly into the back of the car with me and proceeded, with Jean’s help, to wrap me up so that all my paws were completely immobilised. ‘Let me go!’

  ‘There,’ Jean panted. ‘Now just hold his head down so he can’t bite you. He’s getting upset, poor little thing.’

  ‘Of course I’m upset! You’ve taken me prisoner! I don’t want to go in the car with you! Where are you taking me?’

  All my resolve to trust Jean and Shirley and to remember Oliver’s words of wisdom had flown out of the window. And as the doors were slammed shut, and Jean started the car running along, I’m ashamed to say I cowered on Shirley’s lap, growling quietly and letting out the occasional little mew of fear as if I was the kind of cat who’d never been used to humans at all.

  ‘It’s all right, little kitty,’ Shirley kept saying. ‘It’s all right.’

  But it wasn’t. It was all wrong. I shouldn’t have trusted these humans. Why had they tied me up? What were they going to do to me? I should have listened to Big, after all, and stayed with him and the boys, where I was safe and being looked after. At the thought of Big, I mewed even more loudly. He’d been such a good friend! I’d remember him for my whole nine lives! I’d forget all about going back to Little Broomford, if only I could magic myself back with him and the boys right this minute!

  Oh yes, you might very well look shocked, my friends. I can hardly believe it myself now. How appalling, how shameful that I was thinking like this, forgetting already where my real loyalties lay, forgetting how much I’d yearned for a chance to be back with my human family, to be cuddled by Caroline again and fed lovely cat food by Laura. But this is what fear does to you. It turns you from a sensible, reasonable cat – from a hero cat, in fact, one who has survived extreme danger, who has risked lives and limbs to try to protect his vulnerable and much-loved human kitten – into a snivelling wretch of a scaredy-cat.

  I admit it, I was behaving like a scaredy-cat and I’m ashamed now to think about it. After everything I’d been through, you see, it seemed like just as happiness and reunion with my humans had been within my sight, I’d ended up making the wrong choice, a fatal mistake. And now I was so frightened and alone, I felt like giving up. I just lay there and cried. I cried for Big and the other boys. I cried for Julian and Laura and Caroline and even baby Jessica. I cried for you, Oliver, and you, my sisters and friends back in Little Broomford. But mostly, I cried for myself.

  Thank goodness, though, it wasn’t very long before the car stopped again.

  ‘Here we are,’ Shirley said, still clutching me in my tightly wrapped bundle as Jean helped her out of the car. ‘Now, don’t start panicking, little kitty. Mr Caswell is a very kind man.’

  Mr Caswell? Who the fox’s backside was Mr Caswell? I couldn’t imagine how he could be anyone kind. If these human catnappers had been genuinely on my side, they’d have been taking me straight to Julian! Anyone else could only be plotting to do me harm. Surely it couldn’t be true what Big had been screaming to me? Were they going to roast me and eat me with ketchup? Oh my ears and whiskers! I wriggled and wriggled, yowling and spitting at Shirley as she carried me up some steps into a building that smelt … it smelt like … what was that smell? What was the memory it was bringing back to me? It was making me shudder, would have made my fur stand on end and my muscles quiver, if only there was room for that to happen inside my tight bundle. We went through a door into an empty room with a bare floor and some hard empty chairs around the walls. The smell in here was almost overpowering. And just then, another door opened and out came a dog – -fortunately, attached to a human by one of those long straps they need to keep them under control – and immediately, it all came flooding back to me. I knew where we were! For catnip’s sake, they’d brought me to a vet!

  Can you imagine how much I was wriggling and hissing and spitting now? Shirley almost dropped me twice, and Jean had to help her to hang onto me.

  ‘Let me go,’ I growled. And to the dog, who was sniffing around their feet, trying to jump at their legs to get a closer look at me, I shouted: ‘Bugger off, you big stupid snarling piece of rat’s poo, you!’

  I know, I know, my language was pretty awful. It was the influence of the feral boys, you see, together with the terror of my situation. I couldn’t help it. But I don’t speak like that anymore, now I’m back in civilisation, obviously, so please don’t let the little kittens here copy me.

  ‘Down, boy!’ the dog’s human was trying to persuade him. ‘You’re frightening the poor cat. Sorry, ladies,’ he said to my captors. ‘That’s a feisty little feline you’ve got there!’

  ‘Oh, he’s not ours,’ Jean said. ‘We think he’s a feral, although we did wonder if he might be a stray – the one who’s been advertised in all the shops and cafés. We’re hoping the vet can scan him, even if just to rule it out.’

  ‘No!’ I shrieked, trying to get my teeth into Shirley’s wrist. ‘I know what vets do – I’m not stupid! He’ll stick a needle in me! It’ll put me to sleep! I’ll never wake up!’

  And just at that moment, the other door opened again and out came a tall male human in a white coat.

  ‘Hello,’ he said to the female
s. ‘Have you got an appointment?’

  ‘No,’ Jean said, still trying to help Shirley to hang onto me. She could hardly make herself heard above my yowling. ‘Sorry, Mr Caswell, it’s kind of an emergency.’

  ‘Has he been hurt or something?’ said the male, peering down at me. I spat in his face.

  ‘No, we’ve found him,’ Shirley said. ‘Well, he actually found us! We did wonder whether he might be the missing cat that’s in all the posters around town. I hope so, anyway, now we’ve gone to all this trouble,’ she added with a little laugh. ‘Although he’s been so feisty on the way here, I’m beginning to think he is a feral after all.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve got one of those posters up myself,’ the vet said, still staring at me. ‘His owner, a Mr Smythe, came in to tell me about him. The cat was on the BBC News, apparently – chased a seagull, or something?’

  ‘That’s right. Do you think it’s him, Mr Caswell?’ Jean asked.

  ‘I doubt it, to be honest. As you say, this cat seems half wild. Let’s have a look at him, anyway, shall we? Bring him through. I’ll get Ginny to help me hold him still. We’re going to need our gloves on, I think!’

  And so, as the human with the dog went out, calling, ‘Good luck. I hope it is the missing cat,’ I was carried through to the next room. In here, the smell reminded me so strongly of my previous experiences with vets that I nearly fainted. I was unwrapped onto one of those slippery, shiny tables, where I was forcibly held down by Mr Caswell on one side, and a young female in a white coat on the other. I’d stopped yowling now. I was so sick with fear, I’d kind of retreated inside myself and just lay panting, waiting for the end of my lives.

  ‘He’s certainly quite a young cat,’ the vet said, having prised open my mouth and looked at my teeth. ‘A neutered male, probably only about a year old. Very malnourished.’ He was poking me around the ribs. ‘Covered in fleas. Coat dull and matted. One back leg injured – he seems to have had a bite down to the bone that hasn’t healed properly and it’s left him with an abscess.’ I flinched as he touched my sore leg. ‘Sorry, boy. Scabs on his head, one ear bitten, and a very badly infected right eye. Lucky not to have lost his sight. Been in a few fights, by the look of him. Well, ladies, I’d be surprised if this is our missing Charlie. I’d say he’s more likely to be a long-term stray who’s turned feral. But I’ll certainly scan him for you to make sure. If it’s not him, we’ll keep him here, treat his wounds, de-flea him and get him nursed back to health, and send him to Cats’ Protection. Hopefully someone will adopt him.’