Solomon's Kitten (4 page)

A few more swipes from my paw, and the pink bauble was off the tree. I chased it across the floor, under the chair and out again. It rolled under the sideboard and wouldn’t come out. So I
swiped another one down and batted it into the kitchen, where it went ping-pinging across the tiles.

I leaped and twirled, and belted round and round the tree in a frenzy of fun, swiping more and more baubles until they were scattered everywhere. I chased them north, south, east and west,
skidding and pouncing and tearing the carpet with my claws. I got the miniature white teddy bear down, carried him in my mouth into Gretel’s bedroom, and pushed him into the toe of one of her
slippers, thinking I’d have another game later getting him out.

The fat Father Christmas went under the sofa where my collection of secret comfort toys was hidden – my catnip mouse, a Babybel cheese, and various bits and pieces from the garden. With my
heart beating very fast, I sat for a moment, looking up at the tree. A few smaller baubles were left at the top with the skinny fairy. I didn’t fancy her but I wanted that robin SO much.

The only way to catch him was to leap high into the prickly branches. It was hard, but the challenge fired me up even more. I leaped until my fur felt on fire, my paws hot and tingling. At last,
I had the robin between my paws, in mid-air, and I wasn’t going to let go. I fell backwards and the tree toppled right over, spilling earth on Gretel’s pink carpet, and I had to crawl
out from under it, the toy robin in my mouth, my heart thudding with excitement.

It had been a wonderful morning and, worn out, I took the robin onto the windowsill behind the curtain. I tucked my paws under myself and went blissfully to sleep with my chin on it.

Hours later, Gretel pushed open the back door and dumped her shopping on the table. There was a crunching, cracking sound. Still sleepy, I stayed behind the curtain.

‘What’s that doing here?’ she shrieked.

‘Looks like a bauble off the tree,’ said another voice, an old quavery sort of voice. ‘And you’ve trodden on it. Where’s the dustpan?’

‘Don’t fuss, Mum. I’ll sweep it up in a minute.’

I listened in growing alarm as Gretel came into the lounge and saw the wreckage.

‘Oh, NO!’ she howled. ‘What an unbelievable mess.’

Feeling the shockwaves, I stayed hidden behind the curtain. I was in terrible trouble.

‘It’s that CAT. That CAT’s done this!’

‘I told you not to have a cat, dear. I wouldn’t have one.’

‘How can ONE CAT make such an almighty mess?’

‘You’ll have to get that carpet steam-cleaned, dear.’

‘I worked so hard to keep this place decent. The Christmas tree looked wonderful, and it’s ruined . . . RUINED.’ Gretel began to make the most alarming howling noise. I
listened in horror, thinking I should run to her and purr. I fluffed my fur, kinked my tail and padded out from behind the curtain with my face bright and friendly.

‘There you are!’ she screamed. ‘You little BEAST of a cat. Look what you’ve done. Look at it.’

‘Don’t take on so, Gretel,’ said her mother, but Gretel had only just started, and seeing me made her worse.

She grabbed me with bony hands, and chucked me out into the garden. It was freezing fog. I went to the puss-flap to come in again, but she had jammed it shut. I meowed and scrabbled but she
banged her fist in the door and shouted.

‘You’re not coming in here, you demon cat. You’re going back to that cat home. I’m not keeping you any longer.’

‘But she’s such a lovely cat.’ Gretel’s mother professed not to like cats, but she was defending me. I sat outside in the fog, listening to the loud conversation and the
sweeping, tinkling sounds from the kitchen. Then Gretel’s mother said, ‘Can’t she live in the shed? When I was a girl, our cats lived outside.’

‘Today’s cats don’t.’

‘Well, she’s got to go somewhere. It’s Christmas.’

‘I do know that.’

In the end, Gretel did try to put me in the shed. She set up a cardboard box with a rug in it, while I purred round her ankles, trying to make peace. She put me in it and I jumped out
immediately. I didn’t like that rug. It felt bad and scratchy, as if a bad-tempered person had used it and left their anger in every fibre of the wool. And the box smelled of vinegar.

I didn’t want to be in the shed. It was cold and dusty, and there were fierce-looking tools on the walls, and no space for me to play, and no fire to warm my bones. Gretel had left the
window open so that I could come and go, and the freezing fog drifted in, making everything damp. It was my first Christmas, and I was so lonely and miserable. I meowed and meowed through the night
at the sealed-up puss-flap. Eventually, Gretel opened the door in her dressing gown, and I shot past her ankles, headed for the rug by the fire.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ She picked me up. ‘You are driving me UP THE WALL. Meowing all night, keeping me awake.’

I tried to be loving and friendly, but she ignored my love and carried me out to the shed again. She shut the window, and the door.

I was a prisoner.

‘It could be a blessing,’ said my angel. ‘Wait and see.’

She was right in a way. Gretel eventually melted and let me back into the bungalow. But I was never left in there alone again, and, when she went out, she left me in the shed, if she could find
me. I got wise to it and hid, so when she did go out, I had freedom to explore.

And that was how I came to be sitting on the wall on a summer evening when TammyLee walked by and my angel said, ‘Follow that girl.’

The experience of being out all night was new to me. I’d never seen the stars before, or watched the dawn. The sun didn’t snap on like a lamp, but took its time.
Once, I had sat and watched a water lily opening on Gretel’s pond, and it was like that – slow and pink, unfurling petals across the sky until it exposed the centre disc of burning
yellow. The burr of moths’ wings on the scented elderflowers was replaced by the hum of bees, and above me on the top branch, a blackbird started singing. I listened and absorbed his pure
melody into my heart. So that’s what birds were about. Pure joy.

When I got up for a stretch, the blackbird changed his song to a harsh whit-whitting alarm call, warning the other birds that I was there.

I was hungry for my breakfast, and needed to move, but when I did, the baby boy started to cry. I ran back and kissed his tiny red nose and he opened his eyes. They were the brightest turquoise
blue, and full of astonishment. He responded to my purring with a sort of chuckle, and I arranged myself over him again, keeping him warm. I nudged his arm with my head, trying to get him to stroke
me, but it felt floppy and weak. Was he dying? His aura was thin now, just a fuzzy line of aqua and lemon. His angel was there, and she was a rainbow swirl in the air.

The baby gave little grizzling cries, intermittently, but the crying seemed to suck the remaining energy out of him. All I could do was watch over him and purr. He needed a human. He needed food
and milk, but he couldn’t crawl out and help himself. I had to find someone, or he would die.

Anxiously, I watched the common from under the canopy of elder trees, and in the distance people were walking their dogs. But no one came past the elder tree.

I listened to the burble of the river rushing over stones, and at last I heard footsteps clonking over the bridge. Shoes. Like TammyLee. Had she come back?

I bounded out with my tail up, and saw a woman with a scrap of a dog on a lead. It flew into a frenzy of yapping when it saw me, but I wasn’t fazed. Then it cowered and wound its lead
round her ankles as I approached.

‘Well, you’re a brave cat,’ she said, bending down to stroke me, ‘and aren’t you beautiful! I hope you’re not lost.’

I meowed and meowed, sitting on the path in front of her. If only the baby would cry. What could I do? She stood there, watching me, the dog tucked under her arm. He was twitching his nose and
looking towards the tree.

‘Come on, puss, I’ve gotta go home.’

She stepped over me, and walked on. I ran after her, meowing. I belted past her, with my tail fluffed out, and again sat on the path in front of her. I lifted my paw and patted the hem of her
coat, then got it between my teeth and pulled.

‘What ARE you doing?’ She laughed at me. ‘You funny cat.’

I did the loudest meow ever. It echoed over the common, and I trotted back towards the tree, stopped and turned to look at her. She frowned, and just then, magically, the baby boy gave that
little grizzling cry.

Still with the dog tucked under her arm, she followed me under the tree. She saw the bag. She looked in.

‘Oh my God. Oh no, NO. A baby. Oh, you poor little MITE.’

I thought she would pick him up straight away, but instead, she tied the dog to a tree, and jumbled in her bag. She took out a mobile phone, tapped it and did a lot of talking. ‘I’m
Linda Evans, and I’m on the common by the footbridge over the river, and I’ve found an abandoned baby. He looks new-born, and he’s been dumped in a carrier bag. He needs medical
attention, and so does the mother, whoever she is.’

Next, Linda eased the baby out of the bag. He was so small, smaller than me, and I was a cat.

‘Look what he’s wrapped in,’ she exclaimed, pulling at a thin purple scarf with threads of silver in it. She cuddled the baby close and wrapped her coat around him. ‘You
poor dear little soul. Who’s done this to you?’ Tears ran down her cheeks, and the dog was whimpering. I went and sat beside it firmly, to calm it down, but its legs went on
shivering.

Linda seemed to get into a panic as she watched the baby. She sat down on the grass with him on her lap.

‘Don’t die on me, darling. Come on.’ She rocked him and cuddled him, but he was still and floppy. Holding the phone again, she shouted, ‘Be quick. He’s not going to
make it. Please. Please get here.’

She pulled out a scrap of torn paper from the folds of the scarf, and looked at it. Four words were scrawled on it in bright pink letters.

‘
HIS NAME IS ROCKY
,’ Linda said, showing me the words on the paper as if I could read. She pursed her lips. ‘That’s all,’ she said. ‘That’s all
his mum left with him. Evil woman, whoever she is. Just give me five minutes with her. Doing that to a dear little defenceless baby.’

I ran back to her and added my purring and my love, and she didn’t push me away. A siren was screaming up the road on the other side of the river, a blue light flashing. I climbed up into
the elderberry tree, to watch what happened. Oh, those humans were awesome. They pounded across the bridge, dressed in orange, a man and a woman, leaving the ambulance with its light flashing, its
doors open. They took the baby boy and rushed him inside the ambulance, where they messed about with tubes and bottles, working on this tiny being called Rocky, whose life I had saved.

From my perch in the tree, I could see that his aura suddenly brightened, and he cried then, properly. The paramedic turned and gave a thumbs up, and Linda scooped up her dog and burst into
tears.

‘Will you stay there, please? The police are on their way.’

The doors of the ambulance were closed and it raced off. I watched it go, remembering the baby’s bright blue eyes, remembering his soul energy.

I hung around, making friends with Linda as she waited there, crying, a screwed-up tissue in her hand. She seemed glad to have me with her. I worked my way up to her broad shoulder and draped
myself over it.

‘You are a loving cat,’ she said, and looked into my eyes as I peeped round at her. She was a motherly person, like Harriet, I thought. Yes, Linda was a Labrador kind of human. We
had a bond now. We’d both helped to save the life of an abandoned baby.

When the police arrived, I stayed on Linda’s shoulder while they talked, and they were interested in me.

‘So what’s the cat doing here?’ the policeman asked. ‘Is it your cat?’

‘No . . . but it led me to the baby. Just like a dog would have done.’

Me! Like a dog? I was miffed at that.

‘Perhaps the cat belongs to the mother. Has it got a collar?’

‘No.’ Linda burrowed her fingers in my ruff. ‘It’s a well-cared-for cat, that’s obvious.’

‘Have you ever seen it before?’

‘No. Never. But I don’t think it’s a stray, and it’s not feral.’

‘If it’s microchipped, it might lead us to the mother. Let me hold it.’ The policeman held out his arms and lifted me gently off Linda’s neck. I’d never had a
cuddle with a policeman before so I touched noses with him and made a fuss, purring and rubbing and kissing his neck, and he was enjoying it, I could tell. He was feeling my back to see if
I’d got a microchip, whatever that was.

‘I think I can feel one. We should definitely hang on to this cat and get it scanned.’

He was holding me too tightly now. I knew what he was planning to do. I could feel the intention buzzing through his fingers. He was going to put me in one of those baskets. I had to act
fast.

Without giving him any warning, I went from being a loving softie to a fighting tiger. I kicked hard with my back legs, thrashed my body around, and managed to reverse out of his grasp, a long
thread of police uniform caught in my claw. I hit the ground, bounded, and fled, my tail kinked cheekily.

‘Follow it, will you!’

The other policeman thundered after me across the common. I was fast, and smart. His boots crashed through the bushes but I soon evaded him, diving into some nettles, up a fence and into a
garden, over a garage roof and into the street. Through the front gardens again, I ran stretched out like a fox with my tail streaming. A few dogs barked at me, and blackbirds flew up from lawns as
I escaped into the town.

Satisfied, I sat on a busy corner, watching the traffic and the children going to school, and wondering where my home was. I didn’t know. None of the roads looked familiar. I
couldn’t locate any of the scent marks I had left as I followed TammyLee.

Being lost didn’t faze me. There were so many nice people around, and the town looked interesting with its bright windows and lovely smells of bacon and toast. Intrigued, I trotted down
the busy road, pausing to sharpen my claws on the magnificent lime trees.