Copycat (6 page)

‘Around the fields. Hedgerows, copses, that sort of thing. Most of them are gone now. Buildings instead.’

‘Were there rabbits and so on?’

‘Of course. Wild rabbits, squirrels, birds. It all seems a long time back. I’ve been claimed by the pub for two seasons.’

‘And are there
any
fields left?’

‘A few. Do you want to see them?’ Snowy asked.

‘I’d like to, yes.’

‘All right. I’ll take you there. And you’ll help me with these bunnies here if we can get the fox to do a bit of digging?’

Pinkie had temporarily forgotten the lop-ears. She thought they were better left where they were. ‘Well, yes, if we see the fox . . .’ she replied vaguely.

‘I’ll see you later, then,’ said Snowy. ‘I’ve got to go and be the pub. People will be arriving soon.’

Pinkie moved away. ‘Being the pub’ was beyond her understanding. But she understood about people well enough and she didn’t want any more scares. ‘When shall I see you?’ she asked.

‘Stay along the riverside. I’ll pick you up when I’m at liberty again.’ Snowy ran off towards the pub’s entrance, which was now open.

Pinkie went in the opposite direction. She hadn’t caught anything and she was beginning to think of Monty’s meat-bowl again.

—8—

The Church Cat

Word got around the local cat population of the fierce tabby who was hogging Monty’s meat. As the news spread it was exaggerated and Sammy began to acquire the status of a kind of monster. A lot of curiosity was created and several of the cats were determined to go and see this phenomenon, so at dusk that day the inquisitive ones began to head for Monty’s garden. One of these was a beautiful blue Persian who belonged to the local vicar and was referred to as the Church Cat by all the others. She was a magnificent specimen with long, silky blue-grey fur, coppery eyes, a proud expression, and a faultless pedigree. Her name was Hermione but no one called her that. She spent most of her time licking and polishing herself and kept apart from the others who she thought were mostly common and inferior. However, even she was interested in the existence of the ‘bruiser’ who had upset Domino so easily.

Sammy had spent most of the day in the garden. Every so often he called Pinkie but always in vain. Once or twice he climbed on to the high wall to look for her but she was nowhere to be seen. Sammy decided not to go any further than the wall. He didn’t want to dirty his coat, which he was anxious to look after properly, as Monty did his. And somehow the wall began to assume the nature of a boundary between his new regime of caring for himself like a pet and his old happy-go-lucky vagabond days.

‘Where’s your precious mate?’ Monty dared to ask at one point as Sammy endlessly padded up and down.

‘How should I know?’ Sammy snapped back irritably. ‘She was scared off, thanks to your human friend with the loud voice. She doesn’t understand humans, Pinkie doesn’t, not at all. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if you’re a pet.’

‘But she’s not a pet, is she?’ Monty returned.

Sammy realized he had revealed more of his thoughts than he had intended. ‘If she could behave like one, there would be no problem,’ he said simply.

Monty looked long and hard at Sammy, expecting an explanation. None was forthcoming and he didn’t have the courage to probe further.

‘When will the girl come this evening?’ Sammy asked, remembering his promise that Pinkie should have his share of the meat.

‘That’s all you care about – food – isn’t it?’ Monty was bold enough to comment. ‘I told you before. Towards dusk. She wouldn’t come in the dark. How long do you mean to stay here?’

Sammy stopped in his tracks. ‘I’ve only just begun,’ he answered. ‘My plan’s a long-term one. I want Pinkie and me to be safe like you. And we can be, both of us, if she’d only listen to my advice.’

‘Safe?’ Monty queried. ‘Safe from what?’

‘Danger. The round-up. The patrols. What do you think?’ Sammy said in exasperation. He came close up to Monty who was resting in a sunny spot on the grass, his paws tucked under his chest. Sammy loomed over him. ‘You’ve no complaints, have you?’ he demanded.

‘No, no, not at all, none that I can think of,’ Monty answered hastily, jumping up and putting a distance between himself and the tabby. ‘No,’ he continued, ‘you did what you said you would last time and I suppose –’

‘I’ll do it again, eh?’ Sammy growled, half in jest. ‘You bet I will. I’m a fixture here as far as any other cat is concerned. They’ll soon appreciate that.’ He grinned cocksurely. But Monty swallowed hard. He felt helpless. Only the return of his owners could alter that. And their return, he knew from experience, could be a long way off.

The inquisitive cats, among whom were Ling, Spike and the Church Cat, had all eaten their own meals during the day and, by the evening, were ready for a little excursion. Ling and Spike travelled together and arrived at the fence separating Monty’s garden from the neighbour’s. Timidly they waited a while before they climbed the final obstacle.

‘It’s quiet enough,’ the grey Burmese said. ‘Why don’t you go and have a quick look over?’

‘No, no, we’d better make sure we can’t be seen first,’ Spike answered at once. ‘Is it
dark
enough?’

‘Don’t want it too dark or we won’t see
it
– I mean him – will we?’ Ling objected.

‘Well, you go and look, then, if you’re so keen,’ the ginger said.

Ling’s fat, eager face fell. ‘All right, shall we go together?’

‘Oh, come on, then. Ready? Up – we – go.’

They perched on top of the fence. At the other end of it a blue-grey shape loomed, teetering as it endeavoured to scan the ground.

‘The Church Cat!’ Ling hissed. ‘What’s
she
doing here?’

‘The same as us, obviously,’ Spike answered. ‘Ah, hello, Monty.’

The black cat, whose food-bowl had become such a focal point, was sitting on his lawn, looking up at the gathering. ‘No point in your coming,’ he said irritably. ‘I’ve a permanent guard in residence here. You haven’t the remotest chance of getting anything to eat. In any case, you’ve no right to –’

‘We haven’t come for food,’ Ling assured him. ‘We heard about the – the – “guard”,’ she giggled. ‘And we were curious.’

‘Well, don’t come any closer,’ Monty warned. ‘Sammy will think you’re after his meat.’

‘
His
meat?’

‘It’s mine really. You know that. But the tabby’s laid claim to some of it. And what can I do? He’s bigger than me and he’s made my home his own. I’m no better off than before, when Domino and some of you lot used to come prowling around.’

Sammy hadn’t tbuched the remnants of the latest food delivery. He had been saving it for Pinkie, who of course hadn’t shown up. Now he heard the cats’ voices and came to investigate. He saw Ling, Spike and the Church Cat on the fence and suspected a joint attack on the meat supply. More cats must be coming, he thought. Could he contain a whole mass of them? Better to eat the meat himself before he was overwhelmed. He growled fiercely at the onlookers, which was exactly what they had come to see, and raced for the cat-flap. It didn’t take a minute for him to demolish the food.

‘Phew!’ Spike gasped. ‘What a tiger! Rather your home than mine for that kind of companion.’

‘You’re such a comfort,’ Monty said bitterly.

Sammy re-emerged. Now there was no possibility of a contest, he began to take an interest in the other cats. He looked admiringly at the Church Cat who was preening herself on the fence-top before leaving. Her curiosity had been satisfied.

‘What a perfectly splendid coat you have,’ Sammy said to her unexpectedly.

Hermione paused in her washing routine, one front paw left hanging in the air. ‘One does one’s best,’ she mewed in a musical voice. ‘It needs a lot of care and attention.’

‘And apparently gets it,’ Sammy remarked, adopting an indentical pose to the Persian’s without realizing he was doing so.

The Church Cat fixed him with her copper-coloured eyes and then continued with her toilet, quite unconcerned. Ling and Spike were agog, wondering what would happen. Sammy watched Hermione avidly, then copied her movements with great precision. This was a wonderful opportunity for him to learn. The Church Cat, however, finished abruptly and jumped from the fence, out of view.

‘Don’t go!’ Sammy called, bounding up the fence after her and putting to flight Ling and Spike as well as two other cats who had just arrived to take a peek at the monster. ‘I want to know who you are. Where do you come from? I need you,’ Sammy babbled, humbling himself before the Persian without a qualm.

‘You need
me
?’ she enquired haughtily. ‘I hardly think we can have anything in common.’ She stepped away daintily, wanting no truck with this savage.

‘No, you see, I – what I meant was, I could be like you,’ Sammy persisted, unconsciously aping her dainty walk.

The Church Cat turned and stared. ‘I’m the Church Cat,’ she announced. ‘That tells you everything you need to know, I think. And I can assure you, you could
never
be anything like me.’

Sammy was heedless of the insult. He was spellbound by this superb creature – her superior air, her perfect deportment, her velvet fur. He followed her silently, trying to do everything the way she did it: every leap, every trot, every jump. Some of the other cats began to titter. The monster from Monty’s garden now offered no more of a threat to them than a kitten following its mother. They laughed at the smitten tabby who ignored them, intent only on pursuing the beautiful blue Persian.

‘Where’s your tiger now?’ Ling chortled as she and Spike went homewards.

‘It’s astonishing,’ Spike replied. ‘He seemed to change character completely. It makes me think Domino was fooled. That Sammy is all bluster.’

Hermione made her graceful way back to the vicarage, the last house in the row. She didn’t understand why this rough, scarred tabby insisted on following her. She wanted nothing more to do with him. Sammy, on the other hand, had seen his ideal and was determined not to lose sight of it. If he could learn how to look as immaculate as this Persian, he need never fear a patrol swoop again. And, of course, what he learnt would be passed on to Pinkie as well. At the entrance to the vicarage the Church Cat turned.

‘I hope you’re not coming for my food,’ she trilled. ‘You’ll get none here.’

‘Food?’ muttered Sammy. ‘I’ve
had
food. I want to watch you.’

The Church Cat blinked and stretched her legs elaborately. Sammy did the same. Hermione shook her hind legs, one after the other, and ambled up the path to the front of the house. Sammy shook his hind legs and ambled after her. A security light flashed on as the Persian jumped up to a front window sill.

‘That’s my signal,’ she told Sammy. ‘I’ll be let in now. There’s no convenient little door here for intruders to use. So you’ll simply
have
to go away.’ She drawled the last sentence in a very affected manner.

‘. . .
have
to go away.
Have
to go away,’ Sammy echoed, practising the Church Cat’s accent.

‘Stupid creature,’ Hermione murmured as a window opened and she whisked inside.

Sammy sat and gazed after her. For a long time he waited, hoping for another glimpse of this perfect model. He was disappointed and, finally, he stirred. ‘
Have
to go away.
Have
to go away. I
have
to go away,’ he mimicked dreamily. Without thinking about where he was going he wandered into the churchyard, still trying to move in that easy, graceful style that had so entranced him. He had forgotten all about Pinkie. Beyond the churchyard there was a low stone wall. Sammy noticed a white cat vault over it and vanish into the darkness. His mate’s brief appearance was a shock and he suddenly came to himself.

‘Pinkie!’ he called. ‘Over here. It’s me!’ She didn’t materialize and he ran to the wall and jumped on to it. There was a field on the other side in which were rows of tombstones. It was used for burials now that the original graveyard was full. It was mostly unkempt, although there were areas where some people had kept their relatives’ graves tidy. In one of these clearings Sammy saw Pinkie devouring a kill. His feelings of guilt returned.

‘Have you had luck?’ he cried, running up. He saw her prey was only a vole.

‘Can you call this luck?’ she snapped. ‘All day I’ve been out and around hunting and this and a dead mouse are all I’ve come up with.’

Sammy’s face dropped. How he regretted breaking his vow. ‘You – you could have all the meat
next
time,’ he said in a small voice. It always seemed to be ‘next time’.

Pinkie’s resolve had weakened. Her stomach was hollow and she craved a good meal. ‘I’ll come now,’ she said. ‘Just to eat. I won’t stay. Is it safe?’

‘Yes. It’s safe. But – well, I had to eat the food this time. There’s no more till the morning.’

Pinkie stared at him. She understood. ‘Your greed got the better of you,’ she summed up. ‘How do I know that won’t happen again?’

‘I promise,’ said Sammy. And he did mean it. ‘Come early tomorrow. I’ll be waiting indoors with Monty. And, Pinkie, try to clean yourself up a bit in the meantime. Your coat is horribly soiled and you smell a bit rank. You don’t seem to be looking after yourself at all.’

—9—

The fox

During that day Pinkie had rambled up and down the riverside, wondering when the Pub Cat would be released to join her. She had high hopes of the rabbit hunt. It was late in the afternoon when Snowy at last came into view from the pub end of the towpath. Pinkie was so eager to begin she rushed up to him.

‘I’m starving,’ she said. ‘I’ve only made one catch so far. There was a dead mouse by the wall but I hardly touched it because I knew there’d be better prey later.’

Snowy looked puzzled. ‘Better prey? Where?’

‘
I
don’t know,’ Pinkie answered testily. ‘You’re going to show me, aren’t you? Wild rabbits, you said, and a – a fox to help us.’ She hoped Snowy wouldn’t remember his plan to ensnare the lop-eared bunnies.