by A. N. Wilson
Thus it was, very gradually, that I set off in the direction of this street. Or so I imagined. I crossed road after road. The houses became more Harbottlian. And then they stopped altogether and I came to a vast ring of road where the engines of murder came at one another from all sides and drove round and round in circles. Some sort of game, I suppose. Horrible great thing. So I realized that I was lost and that I would never find my way back and this did not cheer me up very much as you can imagine. But I did retrace my steps into the town. There was not anything else worth doing so I paced and paced along being a good deal more cautious even than usual about crossing the roads. As a matter of fact there were hardly any engines of murder about. The nearer the centre of the town I got, the quieter things became. Only in the middle of the town was there much sign of life. A group of some dozen two-footers, all dressed in the same sort of manner, were standing in the main square. The males had peaked caps and the females wore extraordinary bonnets with curly bits at the side. They all held huge lumps of metal to their lips but the sound they made was euphonious. At their side there was a large fir tree. One of the strangest trees you ever saw in your life. It was actually growing electric light bulbs and they were all alight. I know that you will think I had been walking too far and that the tiredness had gone to my head. You will be thinking that I dreamt it. But I swear to you it was an electric light bulb tree.
A small gaggle of two-footers were standing around the light bulb tree and listening to the uniform people make the music with the metal in their mouths. And I approached, because this was interesting, and because there was nothing better to do. You can imagine my surprise when I heard my ‘name’ coming into some of the two-footing conversation!
A woman was standing there with two younger females, little more than children. ‘I love Christmas carols,’ said the woman. ‘And I love the dear old Sally Army band.’ This was an amazing revelation. I had never been too sure what armies were, but I gathered that they were large groups of two-footers, not unlike a commune, which ganged together for the purposes of fighting. My darling’s minder, Sally, appeared to have one of these armies all of her own.
‘I think this is going to be the nicest Christmas ever,’ said one of the girls, ‘now that we’ve got a kitten.’
‘I think so too,’ said the woman.
‘Look,’ said the girl who had not yet spoken. ‘That’s Pufftail!’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said the other girl. ‘You’re always saying things like that.’
‘Look for yourself.’
‘All cats look like that,’ said the other girl, rather absurdly. ‘Quite a lot do anyway.’
‘Not as large as that,’ said her sister, ‘and not with such a big fluffy tail, and not with that frightening angry expression on their faces, and not with half an ear missing.’
‘I really think it might be Pufftail,’ said the woman. ‘But don’t touch him if it is. I don’t want our lovely little kitten catching fleas.’
This was Upstairs Woman who spoke through the window to Sally. And from their extremely insulting remarks I deduced that they had recognized me. One of the children approached me and looked horribly as if she were going to try to stroke me. I hissed and raised my hackles as fiercely as I could.
‘You see,’ said the other, more prudent child, ‘that’s Pufftail.’
After they had heard the metal-blowing for a few more minutes, the little family agreed they were cold.
‘And have we bought all our presents?’ asked Upstairs Woman.
‘It’s too late now,’ said one of the children. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and all the shops are shutting. Isn’t it exciting? It’s Christmas Eve!’
‘And we have a kitten for Christmas.’
‘But don’t tell Daddy,’ said Upstairs Woman. ‘It’s his surprise.’
It was a relief to hear that they had finished their shopping. If I kept my distance I could follow them home and revisit all my sad haunts. It would be torture to do so but worse torture to stay away. And so I followed the trio who were carrying bags of parcels and baskets of holly and mistletoe. And the walk from the electric light bulb tree to their street was a surprisingly short one.
‘Can you see who’s following us?’ said one of the children.
‘The one you call Pufftail,’ said the other.
‘Don’t talk too loud,’ said the woman. ‘Just let’s ignore him and pretend we haven’t seen him.’
‘Dirty old thing,’ said one of the children.
‘That’s not very nice,’ said the other girl. ‘He’s no dirtier than we would be if we lived out in the streets all the time.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ I said, but she took no notice.
‘How would you like it if your wife had been run over,’ she went on.
‘I couldn’t have a wife, could I?’ said the sister.
‘You know what I mean.’
I am not sure that I did, but the child went on, ‘I think he’s come back to see his kittens.’
‘They don’t know that sort of thing,’ said Upstairs Woman. ‘I think he’s just come back on the scrounge. Well, I’m not giving him anything because we really don’t want such a dirty old thing in the house.’
‘They let him into the kitchen at Number Twelve.’
‘That’s their affair.’
‘Well, I think he should be allowed to see Tabitha. She is his own daughter.’
‘We don’t know that,’ said Upstairs Woman.
So they went indoors and slammed the door in my face.
I wandered up and down the back gardens disconsolately. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back. And yet there was something almost consoling about my return and about seeing all the places and sheds and walls and fences which We had made our own.
I was anxious to know what had happened to the kittens. One of them had gone to Number Sixteen. But what of the others? There was a very nasty moment when I bumped into Rocket, the ginger tom from next door, who informed me that all the kittens had been drowned. But this turned out to be a false rumour. ‘More’s the pity,’ said Bundle. ‘They’ve decided to keep all three, but they’ve given one to the people at Number Sixteen. A Christmas present, they say, whatever Christmas is.’
‘It’s to do with lights and trees,’ I said. Bundle let me in for a snoop round at Number Eighteen and then I went up the road to Number Twelve where they fed me very handsomely – some sort of fowl I think – and let me sleep on a cushion in the corner of the kitchen.
I slept very long and very deep and when I woke in the night I decided not to go out but simply to lie there and enjoy the feeling that I was back among friends. I dozed and I sat and I sat and dozed. And by the time I had finished dozing, the morning light had appeared.
‘Good morning, Pufftail,’ said the two-footer who inhabited Number Twelve. ‘A very merry Christmas,’ and she put down in front of me a plate of uncommonly palatable liver.
When I had finished it, I went a few doors down to Number Sixteen. Already the whole family were up and the place was a riot of paper and silly hats and quarrels. I noticed they had a tree – a much smaller tree than the magic one and with no electric lights but the same shape. I sat on the windowsill and looked at the tree and for a moment I thought that my wildest hopes and dreams had come true. On the branches of the tree there were coloured balls made of glittery stuff. The sort of thing that any cat would want to smash if he or she was able. And there was a little cat who was doing excellent work with the glittery globes, jumping up at them and biffing them and biting them as if they were young blackbirds. And it was, but was not, Her! The resemblance to my beloved was uncanny. The same white chest, the same ribbed tail, and, when she turned, the same delicate face, white around the mouth and a yellowish tabby around the brow and nose. And, yes! The same extraordinary bright green eyes.
Well, you have guessed. This was the cat they had decided to call Tabitha. And she is your mother, young kitten; and perhaps you can guess now why I am ra
ther fond of her and rather fond of you...
Pufftail paused, the fluffy old street cat, and looked down into his grandson’s eyes.
‘I think,’ said he, ‘that I have probably told you enough about my life for now. Of course, I shan’t stay long in this neighbourhood. Once I had seen your mother settled, I waited to see her have kittens of her own. And now I have seen you settled, I shall have had enough of settling. It won’t be long now before I take to the road once more and stroll away and forget all about you. And you will forget all about me. But try to remember some of the things I have told you. Remember never to trust a two-footed thing. Remember... ’ But even as he spoke, Tabitha, light of foot and bright of eye, came towards them over the lawn.
‘Still talking!’ she laughed.
‘Grandpapa was telling me that he was going to go off on his travels again,’ said the young kitten. ‘Can I go with him? Please, Mother.’
‘And where is it this time?’ asked Tabitha. ‘The car park? The next street? The roundabout? Yes, he has the most exciting travels, don’t you, old man?’ Pufftail was about to splutter. But she continued, ‘I expect you are hungry. What can I get you? A chicken leg? One has been injudiciously left on the larder shelf.’
And with rather a satirical twitch of her tail, Tabitha trotted back into the house to fetch her father something to eat.
