by Pete Lockett
“Shut up, moggie,” shouted Ali angrily before resuming his unscientific endeavours to get the computer functioning. Continued random tapping on the keyboard and jerky mouse movements did nothing to resolve the situation as his anger started to rise like steam in a pressure cooker.
“Oh, fuck it,” exclaimed the teenager as he bent down to pull the plug from the wall.
“Don’t swear,” shouted Frank, not disturbing his reclined position or closed eyes.
“Oh no, not at the wall. Don’t pull the plug out at the wall, use the reset button you moron,” yowled Ed, as the young man did exactly the opposite.
Ali span round, pissed off at the animal noises coming from the cat, and seething from the powerlessness evoked by the faulty computer.
“I’ve told you before, don’t get on the sofa. Are you thick or something?”
With that he leapt out of his computer chair and proceeded with haste over towards Ed, grabbing his fur coat behind his head and carrying him swinging like a six-pack into the kitchen. Once inside, he tossed him from waist-high onto the kitchen floor. Instinct kicked in immediately and Ed’s legs splayed out to cushion the blow, large feline paw pads acting to reduce any impact from the landing.
It was a sensational feeling: the large pad and four satellite pads under each paw landed on the floor as he cascaded down into a crouched position and then back upright, arching his back in an upwards curve. His whiskers were super-sensitive, almost like a second set of eyes feeling out the location of objects around him whilst his tail counterbalanced him with delicate and subtle movements. He felt like he was gimbal mounted.
“Do something useful and eat your food. It’s been there all day. What’s up with you?”
Ali slammed the door and retreated back to the living room, leaving Ed in the kitchen alone. Lo and behold, there in the corner was a bowl of cat food and a saucer of milk. He looked around the small room. There were white artificial looking cabinets, washing machine, oven and virtually everything one would expect in a low budget kitchen. The beige patterned lino on the floor was slightly padded but wearing thin and torn in places. The kitchen was in urgent need of an overhaul.
Next to the sink he could see piles of dirty washing-up and a solitary marigold glove hanging over the side with under-whelmed limpness. He ambled over towards the food, his legs instinctually following the walking pattern; back left, front left, back right, front right, back left, front left, back right, front right and so on, like an elegant four-legged centipede feeling proud of itself.
Mysteriously mathematical, but very satisfying, mused Ed, as he neared the food wondering how he would get on with it. It had not been a favourite for him as a human. It smelt good though as he moved his head over the small bowl. He started licking it, piece by piece before biting the bullet and getting his feline fangs involved in the extraction of the first whole lump. It was slightly oily, covered in flecks of semi-translucent jelly, but felt like proper cuts of meat. He tossed it up and down in a kind of juggling motion between his teeth before getting it into the optimum position for consumption. The flavour exploded as he took it fully into his mouth and sliced it apart with his sharp, white teeth.
It might not be too bad here for a few days, he thought, as he finished the first piece and went about clearing out the rest of the bowl, finishing up with a refreshing drink of milk, just like when he was a little boy.
I seriously hope they don’t have a dog, he thought, as he began to explore the kitchen, a quick process due to the size. To the left of the food bowl was a comfortable-looking cat basket, complete with blanket and small furry pillow. Excellent, he thought, as he looked forward to a few nights’ safe and comfortable sleep. Around the corner from the washing machine and sandwiched between it and the fridge was the door to the garden, a cheap plastic door, glazed at the top with pseudo Georgian inserts, partly falling away at the sides.
The bottom of the door intrigued Ed the most. A plastic cat flap about seven inches square led out into the garden. This would be vital for him to get out when the time came for the next transience. He butted his head against the flap and out into the small alleyway which led down into the main garden, leaving the flap swinging back and forth in his absence. The garden was small, probably about twenty-five feet long and as wide as the semi-detached two-storey house. At the back there was a small patio door which led out to the garden from another small room.
I would’ve knocked that through into the living room, thought Ed, as he made his way into the overgrown mess of the garden, reflecting that his new guardians were obviously not the green-fingered sort. He danced into the un-mown grass, keen to test his jumping and climbing skills. It was such a welcome contrast to being a tortoise. His whiskers were ever aware, jetting out like flexible laser beams of hair from his snout. It was an extreme sensation.
Eagerly, with his agile, feline legs, he jumped up and down out of the grass on the spot, over and over again, up and down like a jack-in-the-box.
“Dad, come and look at this, Smunky has gone mad in the garden. He’s just jumping up and down like a lunatic,” shouted Ali from behind the thin glass conservatory door.
“Whatever,” replied Frank, uninterested in the whole situation.
Great, so I’m called Smunky! Why, why Smunky? What the hell does it mean?
Ed stopped his acrobatics and used his legs to jump up onto the fence. However, being new to the cat kingdom he had no idea of his own strength and completely misjudged it, clearing the fence to land in the bush next door.
“Dad, Dad, you’ll never believe what he’s done now.”
“Shut up for Chrissake, I’m trying to get some rest,” barked Frank, as Ali went back into the living room to see his computer giving him the dreaded ‘frozen blue screen’ treatment once more.
Meanwhile, Ed had landed upside down in a prickly thorny bush and was wriggling and twisting his body to get free. With a yank and a jerk, he suddenly spun out and fell three or so feet to the ground, uprighting himself in flight and landing on a soft mown lawn, legs splayed out.
Mmm, that’s a cool design, thought the cat, as he shook himself down and began casually strolling across the garden.
“You scummy little bastard, what have you done to my bush?” suddenly rang out from Ed’s left. He glanced round with surprise to see a red-faced and very angry old man proceeding towards him, clutching with angst to his Zimmer frame as he made very slow progress. He looked as though years of poverty had worn away at his body, whilst years of misery had slowly eroded his character. Tatty grey tweed trousers, baggy and torn, hung from his thin hips, a brown leather belt ambitiously trying to retain enough tension to avoid embarrassment. This was crowned with a grubby white shirt adorned with thin blue stripes and a purple synthetic tank top with numerous small holes and tears.
His gnarled and twisted hands clung to the top of the metal walking frame, knobbed and twisted as the protuberant joints seemed to be visibly growing like a complex of inconvenient ginger root. He struggled on, fuelled by anger and resentment, his wispy, overgrown, thin grey hair blowing randomly in the breeze.
“You really think you’re going to catch a cat, you Muppet? Save it, or you’ll have a heart attack,” announced Ed, omitting a strange array of cat noises in the direction of the man as he grappled with the frame, lifting it one side then the other, trying to get to the cat. His vile rage showed in his frothing, bulging, red face and was evidence of a lifetime’s frustration. The long grey tufts on either side of his mainly bald head flicked impotently from side to side as he shuffled further.
“You fool, what d’you think you’re doing?” meowed Ed, as he calmly skipped onto a small wall and then up onto a cheaply constructed and tatty wooden garden shed. He looked down from the roof, at the door hanging on one hinge from a badly rotting door frame. The man came to rest just in front and grabbed his walking stick from the side of the silvery metal frame, lifting it skywards, shaking it in Ed’s direction, banging on the bottom p
art of the gable roof.
“You bastard, you bastard,” he shouted as he smacked away at the roof with the stick, causing bits of the unkempt structure to fly off into the garden.
“Chrissake man, were you on the losing side in a war or something? You’re causing more damage than I ever could have in the bush,” screeched Ed, as he backed off to the rear of the roof and up onto a tall thin wooden fence. It was hardly wide enough, but his fine-tuned balancing skills made walking along the slender and narrow wooden structure mere child’s play. He skipped along, leaving the spouting buffoon behind, exhaling his rage like an impotent volcano.
The fence ran along the back of a number of gardens and was going to be a very useful through-route for getting around the area. He stopped for a moment and looked back to get his bearings and a visual landmark so he could easily return to the house.
They have food and a comfortable warm place to sleep so I’d be a fool not to go back and stay a few days. Besides, maybe I could try and browse the internet on the kid’s laptop when they’re out. That’s not going to be easy with these fat paws though, thought Ed, noticing a rusting red swing in the garden where he had had the altercation with the old man. Next to it, the bush had indeed been left in disarray with wooden supports and bits of thin wire mesh left in a bundle on the lawn. The old man just stared motionless at the damage.
I don’t recall making that much of an impact on it. Oh well, onward and upward, thought Ed.
With this, he resumed his journey along the fence, down into a small alley and along into a small park and pond, marvelling at his newfound agility. It was as though every time he jumped or landed he was Zebedee or some other spring-based jumping novelty toy. Excitedly, he pounced up onto walls, sheds and fences and back down again onto the tarmac walkway, his paws splaying out whilst his legs took all the pressure of each jump with a satisfying springiness. His whole body felt so flexible, like a big slab of very soft, flexible rubber.
He ambled out into the main road, keeping on the pavement and slinking along close to the sides of the parked cars, ducking in and out from under them between the wheels. He powered himself skywards again with his strong back legs and jumped up onto the roof of a blue Honda Jazz car, walking along its roof, down onto the bonnet and then down onto the floor to continue on his way. He came to rest on the small front wall next to a finely pruned and arranged rose bush. The smell was almost overpowering for the cat, leaving him intrigued by the depth of its odour. Finally it got too much to bear and he jumped down and back along the way he’d come. The intensity of all the smells around him was altogether overwhelming. Even the car tyres gave out an incredibly strong rubber smell as he strolled along the street. Worst above all, were the piles of dog poo at every possible tree location along the way, sometimes even just dropped off in the middle of the pavement.
What must owners be thinking, letting them do that? If they could smell what I could smell they would certainly rethink the strategy of their dog’s toilet habits, thought Ed, as he slinked past yet another mess, careful to keep his pristine furry paws away from any of it. Soon he was on his way back to his new home and back along the fence past the old man’s house. He skipped down from the fence onto the brick and breeze block enclosure that formed a barbeque area at the end of his new garden and proceeded home.
Back into my Smunky shack, he thought, as he trotted along the small alley and flicked his way through the cat flap, leading with his head. Frank was in the kitchen making tea and toast for himself and his son. Ed snuck through the open kitchen door and slid into the living room. Ali was still at the computer, his right hand flicking through options with the mouse whilst the left hand held his mobile phone to his ear.
“What do you mean leave it on 24/7? Isn’t that dangerous? Dad will go bananas about the electricity bill.”
Meanwhile Ed had spotted another cat basket in the corner of the living room, smaller than the one in the kitchen but equally comfortably lined with a warm, thick furry blanket. He slinked over and skipped in, avoiding the saucer of milk alongside.
Great, looks like I’m going to be spoiled for a few days, he thought, as he lay down in the basket on his side, his legs straight out flat on the blanket. His head perched proudly upwards as he craned to see what Ali was up to.
“Well, it’s okay now. It’s all working fine, I think. Let me put you on speaker phone so I can use both hands.”
Ali propped the phone up against the screen of the laptop and pressed the small icon on the screen for the speaker.
“Can you hear me?” shouted Ali.
“Yes, I can, you don’t need to shout,” replied the thin, tinny micro voice at the other end of the line.
“Great. What was it you said, Control, Alt what?” queried Ali.
“Control, Alt, Delete, hold down the first two at the same time and press delete.”
“Won’t that delete something?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, you really are a beginner. No, it won’t delete anything, just do it,” replied his friend with more than a degree of irritation.
“Ehm? Which one is ‘control’?”
“My god, are you kidding me? It says C-T-R-L on it. How thick can you be?”
“All right, all right! Keep yer hair on. This is the first time it’s gone wrong. I knew we shouldn’t have got a laptop. See, I told you Dad, we should have got a proper desktop computer,” announced Ali as he turned round to his dad who had just entered the room with tea and toast.
“How the hell would I know? You decided, not me. If it was a kettle or toaster then I might have had an opinion. A bloody computer though, I don’t know why you waste your time with that muck. Anyway, here’s your tea and toast; come over to the table and eat it now,” replied Frank as he deposited the two plates and cups on a small table by the window, carelessly slopping the tea over the edges of the cups.
“Carter, I’m going to have to go, sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I can come over tomorrow night and fix it up. Leave it on until then,” replied his helpful friend.
“Did you hear that, Dad? We have to leave it on overnight. Then Carter’ll come and fix it tomorrow.”
“Okay, anything, if you just come over and eat your bloody toast. Get a cloth from the kitchen as well to mop this up,” exclaimed Frank, less than bothered about the situation.
“Listen, I’ll see you later, Carter. Thanks, man,” exclaimed Ali as he hung up before heading to the kitchen for a cloth and back over to the table.
“Thanks, Dad. He’ll sort it all out. He’s brilliant with all this stuff. He knows more than the teacher about computers in our computer class. I should get a bit more knowledgeable about it myself really. I feel so helpless when something goes wrong,” exclaimed Ali, as he tucked into his thickly sliced toast, covered in much too much butter.
“Whatever! Eat that and then we should leave to go to the match or we’ll be late. A win tonight and we go five points clear at the top of the table,” declared Frank, for the first time displaying a degree of enthusiasm in his voice.
“Hey, Basingstoke Town rule the world, ‘Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum’. Come on you Dragons,” exclaimed Ali excitedly before opening a drawer under the table, pulling out a blue and yellow scarf and tying it around his neck.
“What does that mean anyway, Dad? Why does everyone sing that?” queried the boy.
“Christ knows. Italian I think. Must be something to do with that bloody operatic twaddle they used as a theme tune for the World Cup. What a load of crap.”
With that, Frank pulled down a strikingly unattractive, Basingstoke FC bobble hat and forced it over his slightly fat head, down to, but not over the ears.
“We really need to leave it on do we, Ali? Are you sure it’s okay?” queried Frank, gesticulating towards the computer.
“It’ll be fine, Dad, and it takes hardly any juice. Let’s go to the match or we’ll be late. I’ll pop these into the kitchen,” proclaimed Ali confidently as he scooped up the cu
ps and plates and made tracks towards the kitchen.
As if the hat and scarf were not enough, they soon both had garish bright and lurid yellow and blue jackets and were heading out of the front door.
“See you later, Smunky. Take it easy, furry fellow,” shouted the boy back into the living room before slamming the front door shut. He tinkered with numerous locks before heading down the garden path and out onto the pavement. Ed jumped up from his basket and onto the window ledge to see them both heading sluggishly along the road and away from the house.
Chapter 9
Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum
Right. This is my opportunity. Let’s see if I can do anything on the computer with these ridiculous paws, thought Ed, as he jumped down onto the frayed and tatty carpet, up onto the computer chair, and onto the desktop. Ed had never been much of a football fan, but knew that if they were at a match then he would have a two or three hour window to explore online and gather some deeper information about the circumstances around his death.
He stared at the glittering ocean screensaver splashing over the laptop screen, keen to entertain whoever would be bored enough to stare at it. He looked closer and could see it was certainly not state of the art, without a brand name or any logos anywhere on the black and silver plastic body.
Right, I need to twist it round sideways so I can get better access to the keyboard, thought Ed, as he jerked cautiously at the front left edge of the machine, gently turning it sideways, careful that none of the cables became detached.
If I yank any of these cables out I’ll never get them back in again, considered the cat whilst realising how lucky it was that the device had a touch pad controller rather than a mouse.
Thank God for that. Besides the fact that I wouldn’t be able to control it with these paws, I might eat it.
With this, he turned the machine a good ninety degrees, realising how difficult it was going to be to do anything meaningful with it. Sitting in front of the machine with his body erect he stroked across the touch pad, disengaging the screen saver and switching the view over to the desktop and a commonly generic Microsoft image of flowing sandy dunes and an impressive blue sky. From the icons at the bottom of the screen he could see that it was still connected to the internet. The obstacles were falling one by one.
