Tigger (19 page)

Even without the children, though, our new house turned out to be almost perfect: wide window sills in the bedrooms upstairs provided excellent views of the garden and all the goings-on down there; the big kitchen had the added bonus of a floor-level fridge, handy for inspection whenever Mum or Dad opened it. But my favourite room of all was the cosy lounge with the black fire box, which I sensed we would need soon, in addition to the clicking panels. There was a real chill in the air already.

The presence of the dogs in the house remained the one disturbing feature of our new life. I raised this with Mum and Dad several times. They had been outdoor dogs in Australia. Their kennels on the veranda had been their beds at night and their resting places during the day. We cats ruled the house. Why had they suddenly attained the status of indoor dogs? Mum said the dogs were getting old, and Dad said it was too cold in England to leave them outside. They both promised that the dogs would not be allowed upstairs, to enable Tammy and me to put some distance between us and the dogs when we felt like it, but beyond that they would not budge. Objections were pointless, so the dogs made themselves at home in our new house.

They didn't even have kennels any longer. Instead, they were given nice, big beds in the hallway and the run of the downstairs rooms. Max was in heaven: he had never really liked being outdoors, especially in winter. Mum had had to make curtains for his kennel to keep the drafts out, and he'd always worn a coat at night during the winter months. Now he could be found stretched out on the soft carpet in patches of sunshine previously reserved for us cats, enjoying the luxury of a warm house. This wasn't a satisfactory arrangement at all where Tammy and I were concerned. Worse still was Mishka's drool all over the kitchen floor, where we had to pick our way carefully to avoid getting wet paws, and her habit of bulldozing everything in her path, including us.

The rule that said dogs were not allowed upstairs was quite a lot of fun to begin with. Tammy and I sat on the half landing to remind the dogs of our privileged status, while they looked up to us longingly. Even so, Max respected the new rule without question: wild horses wouldn't have dragged him upstairs once he had been told it was forbidden ground. Mishka was another matter. Forbidden ground was exactly what she was looking for. Doing things she wasn't allowed to provided a challenge for her and alleviated any boredom.

She first began to creep upstairs while Mum and Dad were out and had a good sniff around all the bedrooms. I told them as soon as they returned home, but they didn't believe me. Finally, one night she went upstairs while Mum and Dad were asleep and staked her claim to the new house by peeing on the carpet in one of the bedrooms. I'm glad to say the sheer size of the puddle immediately ruled out any suspicion that it could have been Tammy or I, and we all knew Max never went upstairs, so the culprit was soon identified and told off. Not that she cared.

But Mum and Dad became wary after that. They put various obstacles at the bottom of the stairs to keep Mishka out. Tammy and I had to weave our way through chairs and drying racks in order to get through. But not for long, because Mishka removed them almost immediately. This made a lot of noise, especially in the middle of the night when all was silent, and it woke Mum, who is a light sleeper. Mishka was sent back to her bed and Mum restored the barricade, eventually adding complex reinforcements such as elastic bands and bits of string. Now we had to jump over
them
as well as weave through the furniture. The reinforcements succeeded in making Mishka's job more challenging, but not impossible and definitely more exciting still. When Mum was away on one of her trips, Mishka managed to get through the barricade, creep upstairs and sleep next to Dad for one whole night. Tammy and I were appalled at her impertinence. It wasn't until the morning that her snoring eventually woke him. I've never seen him jump out of bed so fast.

When Mum heard what had happened, she bought a special gate that could be fastened to the bottom of the stairs. Tammy and I were still able to get through the bars, but for Mishka the sturdy gate spelled an end to her nightly entertainment. Hard though she tried to remove it, using teeth and claws, it was solidly fitted and never gave way.

This should have been the end of it really, and we fully expected to be able to settle down to undisturbed nights, but we hadn't reckoned with Mishka, who was frustrated, perhaps, but never beaten. After a couple of nights of brooding boredom, she chased Max from his bed and made him stand in the middle of the hallway. He did this patiently enough for a couple of nights, but eventually he grew so tired he had to call for help. I went downstairs and had stern words with Mishka – to little effect, I'm sorry to say. Grinning slyly at me through her slanted eyes, she continued growling at Max whenever he tried to return to his bed. I had no choice but to get Mum, who stormed downstairs, gave Mishka a good smack and settled both dogs back in their beds. It lasted for less time than it took me to go outside for a pee. On my return, both dogs were out of their beds again, and this time Mum
and
Dad were downstairs, looking tired and cross. We all agreed that Mishka was not an indoor dog and should sleep outside again. Mum bought a new kennel for her, the old one having been left behind in Australia, Mishka moved outside and Max gratefully crawled back into his bed. So did the rest of us.

Mum and Dad decided to have a party to celebrate our arrival in the new house and the end of our big move. They began by moving all the furniture we had only just carefully placed, to make more space in the middle of the living room and in the kitchen. Apparently they expected lots of guests. Mum spent hours in the kitchen on the day, preparing little bites to eat. I tasted most of them: they were scrumptious. Dad went shopping and returned with bags full of clunking bottles. He neatly set out most of our glasses on trays in the kitchen. Then Mum gave the dogs a good brush, to make them look respectable. She said there was no need to do anything to me and Tammy, because we already looked great.

The guests arrived in dribs and drabs to begin with, and I welcomed them in the hall. Tammy took one look at the first arrivals and disappeared upstairs. I stood my ground for a while, but when more and more guests came in, and the ones I had welcomed earlier wouldn't move on from the hall, I began to feel uncomfortable. There were human legs everywhere, and the dogs were waving their tails in my face. The noise level rose and rose until my ears hurt. Eventually, I decided to leave them all to it and joined Tammy upstairs.

Even there, we did not remain completely undisturbed, as our guests wanted to see the house and were brought through by either Mum, Dad or the man who had wielded the paint brushes when we first moved in. Everyone ooohed and aaahed, but thankfully nobody thought of looking underneath the big bed, where we were hiding.

The laughter and yelling continued for ages, and by and by I needed to go for a pee. I crept downstairs to see whether people had perhaps settled down in the living room, leaving my path to the back door through the kitchen clear. The hall was empty enough, but once I entered the kitchen, I was faced with hundreds of legs and terrifying noise. There was food out on the table and all the guests were helping themselves. Mostly, they were moving in an orderly queue around the table, but there were those who went against the flow, and some were just standing around, chatting. My escape route was blocked in all directions.

I looked around for Mum or Dad, who might have carried me through the fray to the back door, but they were nowhere to be seen. I would have to make my own way through. At least nobody had seen me yet, so I had surprise on my side.

My best option was to run under the table, where there were no human legs, and then to plan my further escape from there. I dashed in between a few legs and made it to the safety of the space under the table. The buzz of human voices was now all around me. Plates were sliding across the table overhead and cutlery was clunking. A piece of ham plopped down right in front of me. What a bit of luck! Before the big, black shoe next to it had a chance to squash it, I dashed forward, retrieved it and settled down to my tasty snack. Under the table turned out to be a great spot. Shame I had to leave, but there really was no time to lose; I was getting quite desperate for a pee.

Peering out through the forest of legs and feet, some of them high-heeled and razor sharp, I could see that further progress would be tricky. I ventured out several times, only to be forced back by a maverick pair of feet crossing my path, missing my paws by a whisker. It was no good: I would have to proceed in stages. A lady was sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs nearby. Maybe I could make a dash under her chair and on from there? It was worth a try. I ran over to her, dodging feet all the way and had almost reached her when she uncrossed her legs and planted them both squarely on the floor, blocking my access to the space under her chair. Too bad; there was no way I could stop. My momentum carried me right up her legs and on to the plate on her lap. I was in too much of a hurry to check what was on the plate. Besides, the lady let out an ear-piercing shriek and jumped up. Plate and cutlery crashed to the floor, while I catapulted myself off her lap in the direction of the back door. It may be that I sunk my claws into her legs for better grip, or else she was just a shrieking kind of person, but she really made a lot of noise as I tore through the air. Fortunately for me, the sound of breaking china had caused people to step aside, leaving the way clear for my escape.

I flew through the laundry room, where Mum was loading cakes on to plates lined up on the worktop. Her hand stopped in mid-air as she heard the noise from next door and watched me dive through the cat flap. The worried frown on her face was the last thing I saw before the cat door closed behind me with a reassuring click. The racket from inside subsided to a distant hum and gentle darkness enveloped me. I trotted over to my favourite bush, dug a hasty hole and abandoned myself to the sheer bliss of emptying my bladder. It had all been worth it for this!

Afterwards I stayed in the garden. It was a bit cold and damp, but definitely preferable to a return through all those legs. Plus there was no knowing what state the lady was in, and that again would determine the welcome I could expect from Mum and Dad. Mishka's new dog kennel stood abandoned while she was indoors, ingratiating herself to our guests. I went in there and discovered that its cushioned lining was actually quite comfortable, if you discounted the undeniable dog pong. I settled down and snoozed until I heard people drive off. The party must have ended; it was safe to go back inside.

Mum and Dad were washing the dishes while Mishka licked the floor clean. I announced loudly that I was back and that I didn't like those kinds of parties. Dad just shook his head sadly – I suspected he hadn't enjoyed the party either – while Mum gave me one of her hard stares and some words of admonishment I didn't quite catch. I told them it was time to go to bed and retired upstairs to wait for them. It had been a nerve-racking evening and I was very tired.

Thank goodness I'm not given over to recklessness; I guess I owe that to my brother and his unfortunate accident. It would have been easy to become complacent once we had settled down to our new life: I had not enjoyed myself as much since we left America. There was so much freedom here and diversion from dawn to dusk. Nearly everything was perfect, from the abundant rodents around the house to the excitements of the forest nearby, and I was even able to enjoy it all without having to worry about the dogs, who were beginning to learn better manners from other dogs in the neighbourhood, snakes, of which there weren't any, or horses, whom we had left behind.

And yet I remained on my guard from long habit – and wisely so. Because once the warm, sunny weather had given way to frosty nights and shorter days, I became aware of strange goings-on in the neighbourhood. There was smoke in the air of an evening and the sound of many children laughing and shouting. It reminded me of our bonfire parties in Australia, and I was intrigued. Mishka was lying nearby, fast asleep in her favoured spot by the garden gate, oblivious of her surroundings. Why did that not surprise me? I would have to check things out by myself, as usual.

From the top of the garden fence I could make out a fire in the distance, sparks flying high up into the air. It was fun to watch from over here, but I didn't fancy being any closer. The flames were licking the air in long tongues of bright red and yellow; I could hear them crackling.

All of a sudden, I really missed our children. When would they finally come and join us, so we could have bonfires in our garden again, instead of me having to watch someone else's all by myself? We could cook sausages on sticks again, sing songs, get all sooty and smell of smoke for days after…

A loud bang scattered my melancholy reflections, followed by a bright fireball which zoomed through the sky to a high-pitched whistle before shattering noisily into a thousand multicoloured pieces that came tumbling down towards me. My legs were on their way to the back door before my brain had even had a chance to register what had happened. I crashed through the cat door and came to a halt in the dark kitchen, its walls lit up eerily by the multicoloured sparks still falling, falling outside. I looked for Mum or Dad, but the house was silent: they must have gone out. We were on our own with the nameless threat out there. I used all my will power to fight down a rising sense of panic and sat down under the kitchen table to think things through.

Mishka had also seen the lights now and began to howl to be let in. When nobody opened the door, she stuck her head through the cat door and howled into the house; it sounded scary. I told her I couldn't help her and suggested she should take shelter somewhere safe. A second, even louder bang must have convinced her of the wisdom of my advice. She retracted her head and ran off, howling and whining, in search of a hiding place. I myself retreated under Mum and Dad's big bed, where Tammy was already waiting for me. On my way upstairs, I caught a glimpse of Max, peacefully asleep in the sitting room and unaware of the emergency outside. He must be going deaf in his old age.

It was a long time before we heard Mum and Dad return. Carefully, we crept out from under the bed to meet them. All was quiet outside; the banging and bright lights had gone. Max went to the door to welcome Mum. I heard Dad call for Mishka in the garden, but there was no reply from her. It had started to rain. Damp, misty clouds hung low over the garden; a cold and miserable night to be outside. I felt a brief stab of sympathy for Mishka, but it was over by the time I had helped myself to a snack from my bowl. She would just have to look after herself.

Mum and Dad clearly didn't think so. They went out into the rain and mist to look for her and called for her many times. Only when they were thoroughly wet and cold did they give up. We all went to bed in a subdued mood, wondering what had happened to Mishka, and what our lives would be like without her. I reckoned Max's would be great.

It was not to be, though. When Mum gave Max his breakfast the next morning, we all heard a familiar howl. The sound of Max happily munching away by the back door had at last persuaded Mishka to give her hiding place away. The howl echoed wraithlike through the mist, impossible to locate even for me. Mum put on her wellies and took a large umbrella, then the two of us went outside on our quest to find Mishka. We stood in the wet grass and called her. When she replied, we tried to guess which direction the sound was coming from and followed her voice. It eventually led us behind the garden shed, where a jumble of undergrowth and rubbish discarded by previous inhabitants blocked our path and view. Mishka's howls seemed to be coming from right in there. Mum hitched up her dressing gown, abandoned the umbrella and climbed into the mess. I admired her for it, but decided someone had better stay with the umbrella. When she had almost disappeared in the jungley depths, I heard her call out in triumph: she had found Mishka. I heard her pull aside some bits of rotting wood and battle a bramble or two, then Mishka emerged from where she had been hiding, in between a rotten fence and the neighbour's garden shed. She was filthy and smelly, but otherwise fine and clearly looking forward to her breakfast. Mum and Dad set about the tricky business of cleaning her up with the help of the garden hose and several old towels, until she was fit to join us in the house. She was surprisingly keen to get inside. The garden seemed to have lost its shine for her, and she became an indoor dog again forthwith. Mum moved Max's bed into the library, where he was able to sleep in peace with the door firmly shut to keep Mishka out.

And the new kennel? You guessed it: it's mine and Tammy's now, for when we feel like spending time outdoors in bad weather.