Tigger (10 page)

Even before our furniture had arrived, a succession of men had called at the house and walked around the top of the garden with Dad. They all pointed and talked a lot while Dad scratched his head, nodded and sometimes looked a little worried. I watched from the apple tree in some apprehension. Somehow I sensed that those visits would spell the end of my hard-won peace.

I was right: only a few days later, my morning nap was interrupted by the arrival of large, noisy machines, which moved to the top end of our garden and destroyed it completely, leaving a gaping hole where grass and roses had grown. The two scaly creatures I had met earlier on left their hidey holes in alarm and emigrated next door. So did most of the birds. When the machines had finished their work of destruction, they were replaced by men who lined the big hole with a crisscross pattern of iron rods, designed to trip me up every time I went in there to check on progress. Next, they produced a large hose that poured a sticky, grey substance into the hole. That evening, my paws sank right down into it; it took me hours to clean myself afterwards. The following day, however, it turned out it had all been worth it: my paw prints had dried solid and were displayed beautifully all over the hole, finally adding a bit of interest to the ugly site. The hole stayed like that for a long, long time. Lots of people were able to admire my paw prints, and the bottom of the hole gradually filled with rain and dirt.

The summer came and still our hole stood abandoned. Dad, who seemed frustrated by the silence in the garden, spent many hours digging up those parts of it that the machines had missed. He created deep trenches leading off from the house to the big hole. Soon our garden looked like a mole's playground. I fled to my tin roof, from where I could hear, but thankfully not see what was going on.

Eventually, the workmen returned to destroy my paw print artwork by covering it up with a fine paste of bluish colour. That night, I was prevented from making my usual inspection of the building site by Dad, who locked my cat door. I complained loudly, but he did not relent. By the time he let me out for my morning walk, the blue paste had set rock hard and no amount of walking over it left any impression whatsoever. Well, if he ended up with a soulless hole in the ground he had nobody to blame but himself! I left him to it and retreated to my tin roof yet again, the only place of sanity left for now. I was tired, having had little sleep in the night due to my efforts to get outside, and slept deeply.

I woke to the sound of splashing water as the sun was beginning its descent behind our hill. Intrigued, I jumped on to our fence to investigate – and looked down on an expanse of lovely, blue water. I was transfixed: in the time it had taken me to sleep off my early morning disappointment, the ugly hole in our garden had filled with water and transformed itself into the crystal-clear pool of my dreams! I jumped down and had my first, delicious drink from its side.

Over the coming weeks, paving stones were laid around our new pool, plants and boulders appeared in various places, and finally Mum carried out the deck chairs. Unfortunately, it was autumn by then and getting too chilly to swim. The children went in anyway, but I could tell they had trouble breathing in the cold water. From then on, the pool pretty much belonged to me, except for the times when Dad came to clean it or Mum tended the plants around it.

Peace descended on the garden once again, and with it boredom of a kind I had never known before. I tried half-heartedly to hunt a little, but the tiny mice I managed to track down in corners of neighbouring gardens – our own garden having been pretty much depleted of all wildlife by the builders and their machines – were so pathetic I was almost reluctant to present them to my family. True, the ones in Perth had been no bigger, but I hadn't known anything else then. Now I knew the plump, shiny moles and the tasty squirrels that lived in the forests and fields of America. By comparison, everything we had here fell well short of the mark.

I realized with a shock that becoming a world traveller had spoilt my enjoyment of what might otherwise have passed as a perfectly good life. I now expected all the good things I had had in different places to be in the one place where I happened to be at the moment. And all the bad things I had experienced elsewhere no longer seemed to matter in hindsight: I no longer minded the disgusting American water; my flights seemed quite exciting on reflection; and I could not imagine why I didn't want to share my armchair with grey cat Piglet back then. It was all very confusing.

The children were back at school after the long holidays and Mum now had a job in the city, where she spent a lot of her time. This was new, and I didn't like it, because the house was very quiet without her. Fortunately, Dad was working from home now. He had a small office downstairs, next to the ‘Rose & Crown', where I sometimes kept him company, but it was soon covered in piles of paper, books, folders and bags, making it difficult to find even a small square of carpet to lie on. Plus, he kept blaming me whenever he lost something in the mess. So I spent nearly all my time on the tin roof or on my armchair and asked for more food whenever a member of my family showed themselves. Eventually, I had to face the upsetting truth: I had quite lost the spring in my step and had turned sad and glum.

Mum was worried about me. She bought me a little bottle of medicine and made me take a few drops of it every day. It tasted bitter and we had nasty fights over it that upset me and left Mum with scratches on her arms. After a while, we both agreed we would be happier without the medicine, and Mum stopped trying to cheer me up. I slipped back into my melancholy frame of mind, dozing for long periods and snacking in between.

I should have known Mum better; I should have guessed she wouldn't give up; perhaps I should even have pretended false cheer in order to fool her. But I didn't do any of those things, and so Mum took the children off on one of their shopping expeditions one day and they returned carrying a small box, which they set down on the carpet in front of me, smiling brightly. I was suspicious of course, but intrigued enough to drag myself off the armchair to see what they had bought. Clearly, whatever was in that box was meant as a surprise for me. I didn't hold out much hope, and I was right. Emily opened the box and lifted out – a tiny, white kitten! She put it down on the carpet in front of me; it crept closer and whispered a meow. I was struck dumb and immobile for a second or two, unable to believe what I was seeing. A kitten? Another cat? The ultimate insult! Competition for food, drink, attention – everything! My life was well and truly ruined now.

I did the only thing I could do, under the circumstances: I arched my back, demonstrated the full length of my claws to the creature and hissed at it. It retreated behind its box and the whole family tut-tutted at me. At me! How dare they? Wasn't this all their fault in the first place? I turned on my heel and marched off. They would not see me again until dinner time. I climbed to the top of next door's apple tree, where they would not think to look for me. Mum and Emily came out and called me, but I ignored them; let them stew. Perhaps they would see sense and remove the intruder before I returned.

Come dinner time, there was no sign of the kitten in the house and my dinner was ready. Relief washed over me: the creature had gone, thank goodness! All evening, my family made a fuss of me, and I reluctantly accepted their apology. That night, I slept at the foot of Mum and Dad's big bed, as usual, and thanked my lucky stars that I was still the only cat in the house.

The next day, however, started with a bitter disappointment: just as I was finishing my breakfast, Emily walked in, carrying the kitten! She put it down on the kitchen floor, and once again it scuttled over to me, wanting to make friends. I shrieked, jumped back and hissed. I would not share my kitchen with this – thing! I would not share my bowls, or, come to that, my Emily.

It seemed that Emily had other ideas. She crouched down between me and the creature and stroked us both with one hand each. I hid behind her and hissed at the kitten every time it tried to come near me. After a while, I jumped up on the kitchen worktop to get out of its reach and to have a better look at it.

It didn't seem very healthy: there was a large bare patch with a fresh wound on its side, and its eyes were sticky. It was also sneezing quite a lot. Perhaps it would die soon; but probably not before it had infected us all with some horrible disease. What were they thinking of?

Emily now produced a new set of bowls and placed them on the kitchen floor at some distance from mine, but not far enough, I reckoned. She filled one with food – my food! That was
my
food! – and the other with water; I didn't mind so much about the water. Then she set the kitten down in front of the bowls and watched it eat. It ate very slowly. I would easily be able to eat all my dinner and then the kitten's dinner as well, once we were left undisturbed. Perhaps the creature would have that one use, at least.

After breakfast, Emily took the kitten away again and peace returned to the kitchen, if not to my mind. I sat and pondered the situation. If the kitten was here to stay – if it didn't die of its disease, or get run over by a car, or eaten by a dog, all of which were well within the realm of the possible, I reassured myself – and if my family did not recognize the utter folly of their ways (which they rarely do), then what? My life would never be the same again, that much was clear. I would forever have the kitten following me, asking stupid questions, needing help, wanting to play when I wanted to sleep… It really did not bear thinking about.

I sulked all day on the apple tree, trying to think of a way to get rid of the kitten, but failed. At dinner time, Emily once again placed it near me in the kitchen and I had to watch it picking daintily at its dinner for ages, while I was still feeling hungry after gobbling mine up in a matter of seconds. I was hoping to be left alone with its bowl once it had lost interest, but Emily appeared from out of nowhere as soon as the kitten walked off and removed its half-full bowl.

Over the next few days I worked out where the kitten slept at night: in Emily's bed! It hid under her hair, in between her ear and her shoulder. There was no way I could get at it without waking her. I had no option but to retreat to Mum and Dad's bed. That, at least, was still mine and mine alone. I would have to get at the kitten during the day, but even then there never seemed to be a minute when Emily or another member of the family wasn't watching. What had happened to school? Or work? It was intolerable. I continued hissing at the kitten at every opportunity, while it continued trying to sidle up to me.

Over time I realised that the kitten was, in fact, a ‘she'. They had called her Tammy, which starts with the same sound as my name, but in every other respect she was as different from me as she could be: brainless and over-eager to please, long-legged and scrawny. And she was bright white, for goodness' sake, apart from her head and ears, where she sported a silly little bonnet of grey hair, and her grey tail. She would stick out a mile in the russet forests of America! But, I had to remind myself, we were far from those forests, so it probably didn't matter what colour she was. In any case, it was clear she was a nuisance and always would be.

To make matters worse, it started raining not long after she arrived. No more escaping to the apple tree. I snuggled down on my armchair instead and tried to forget all about the kitten. It worked; I fell asleep and drifted into sweet oblivion…

I had a lovely dream. I dreamed of my brother lying close to me and licking my head in all those places I couldn't reach for myself. It was a delicious feeling – nobody had licked me like that in years, not since he died. I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine and felt him purr softy. He licked all around my ears and up my cheeks, in exactly the way I liked best, as only he could. I was in heaven and didn't want it to stop, ever! Moving my head a little so he could do my other side I half opened my eyes and almost fell off the chair. Strewth! It wasn't my brother at all who was snuggling against me and licking me; it was the kitten! I had a mind to jump up, clobber her over the ears and throw her off my armchair – only it felt too good to be close to her. I was confused.

I decided to gain time by pretending still to be asleep, and it worked for a while: she continued to weave her magic on my head, licking me slowly, rhythmically, until I was so full of happiness I felt I would burst. Just then, she held her own head out for me to lick… Now, that was going a bit far! And how did she know I was awake, anyway? Startled into activity, I had given her one lick before I knew what I was doing, then another, and it felt almost as good as before. Her tiny head lay against my shoulder and I could hardly believe how small her ears were. In fact, the whole kitten was so small I could almost lick her entire body in one go. There was something very vulnerable about her. I felt a little ashamed of having wanted to bash her. What glory could there be in beating up someone so small and helpless? So we continued licking each other for a while, before we both drifted off to sleep again.

She woke up first and embarked on a lengthy and vigorous cleaning session. The armchair shook with her efforts. I yawned and stretched before opening my eyes and watched her. All things considered, she wasn't actually as ugly as I had first thought. Her eyes, I noticed, were no longer sticky; they were dark and almond-shaped now, and she had the tiniest pink nose I'd ever seen. When she had finished her toilette, she skipped off on her long white legs, light as a feather, and seemed to have forgotten all about me already. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be trouble – and that she would need a lot of looking after if she was to survive the week! With a sigh, I heaved myself off the armchair and padded in the direction of the kitchen, where she was already helping herself to my water.