Tigger (2 page)

In their different ways, each member of my family helped me settle down in my new home. The bad memories of my earlier life began to fade in their company, as gradually they filled the void my brother had left.

During the day, the children and I played chasing games in the garden. In the evenings I would lie on one of their beds during Story Time and afterwards let Mum or Dad share my armchair while we watched TV. When the children were at school, I went off exploring on my own. I always found something interesting: furry caterpillars crawling on the warm paving stones were grateful for a helping paw to speed them along; blossoms gave off rich, fruity scents on hot summer days; and up on the back garden wall, I was able to watch events unfold in four separate gardens. In our front garden I built myself a hiding place under some bushes from where I watched cars pass on the road and people walk by, without being seen myself. Whenever my family went out, I waited there for them. This enabled me to mysteriously appear at the front door to greet them when they returned home. It clearly puzzled them how I managed to do that – it took them months to find my hiding place and work it out.

I also began to do some hunting for my family to reward them for their faithful service. I usually managed to find something – a lizard from the patio, a bird from a nest or a rat from under the roof. The frogs were a real challenge because of their shrill squeaking when cornered; I always had to let them go because the noise hurt my ears. The craftier ones jumped in the pool to save themselves, and I certainly wasn't about to follow them in there! I had my own door at the back of the house and so was able to take my gifts inside to deliver them personally. Without fail, my family were excited by my presents and rushed off with them immediately – presumably to eat them while they were fresh. They never left me any, but I didn't mind. Sometimes there is enough pleasure in giving.

One particularly exciting day, I caught a bird and brought it into the house. Nobody was home, so I thought I might as well have a game with it while we were waiting for Mum's return from the shops. It was so much fun – the bird fluttered all over the place. I managed to chase it through the passageways right to the back of the house and into Mum and Dad's wardrobe. There, it disappeared between the clothes and I lost it. When Mum came home with the shopping, she was immediately impressed by the scene I had prepared. She put the shopping bags down to follow the trail of feathers through the house, muttering to herself as she discovered specks of blood on the walls. Finally, she found the bird in one of her dresses. It was dead, but still quite fresh; I thought she might have it for lunch. I was quite tired after my morning's excitement, so I went off to sleep on Emily's bed. I heard the vacuum cleaner going for quite some time, but fortunately Mum had shut the door to my room. She knows I hate that machine.

At night, much to my annoyance, my family locked my door, and try as I might I could not get out. That was frustrating, because everyone knows that the best time for hunting is in the dark. Sometimes humans can be extremely annoying. There was nothing for it but to curl up next to Emily and go to sleep.

Life took on a nice, regular pattern over the following months. I was happy with my family. Very rarely was I on my own, as Mum worked from her study in the house. I advised her on her writing from my favourite spot on the sofa beside her desk. When the children came home from school, the house became livelier, especially when they brought their friends back to play. I usually retired to the tin roof then, where they never found me. On rainy days, my hidey-hole was under Mum and Dad's bed, where they also never thought to check. This was without doubt the safest place in the house and still is my haven when times get a little rough.

Sometimes I came along in the car with Mum when she went to collect the children from school. I loved going in the car, because I was able to stand up with my front paws on the window and pull faces at the dogs that walked past. I could hiss at them and bare my teeth, safe behind the thick glass. It was great fun watching them get really annoyed. Once we had two or three dogs running after our car, and their owners running after
them
, but our car was faster.

When my family went on holiday, I stayed at the local cat hotel, where plenty of staff were available to entertain me and the other guests. I was able to unwind there without having to worry about my humans. It had nice, big apartments containing indoor and outdoor areas. The indoor area was cosy and dark, with a raised bed covered by my favourite soft blanket from home. Each outdoor area had its own climbing tree for a daily workout and views of a fish pond, where juicy goldfish darted about under the water lilies. They were a real treat to watch, though I would have preferred to get closer to the pond for a bit of fishing. Nevertheless, I always returned home refreshed and ready to face the demands of my family. Those were calm and pleasant times, but they were not to last.

Something strange was afoot by autumn. There was a sense of excitement in the house. My family talked a lot in the evenings and looked at pictures in brochures. Strangers came wandering through the house at weekends. Nowadays, I would recognize these signs immediately, but I was still a young and inexperienced cat then, so it took me ages to work out what was happening. In fact, it wasn't until the day when three big men came into the house and started carrying the furniture away that the awful truth dawned on me: we were
moving
! I hate moving. I am a creature of habit, and as far as I'm concerned, things should stay the same, always. It takes a long time to find sunny patches on the carpet for each particular time of day or year; to assess draught-free spots for naps; to locate food and drink bowls with ease when half asleep; to feel safe and comfortable with the sounds and smells of a house and garden; and to know where bolt-holes are in case of danger. So naturally I was alarmed. I made straight for the big double bed and stayed under there for the rest of the day, sulking. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to notice; they were far too busy rushing about.

The next morning, they started packing up the big double bed! I was just going to scratch the muscular forearm of one of the men as it reached under the bed when Mum and the children came in, picked me up and carried me out into the car. I was relieved to find that our car, at least, was still there just as before. I imagined we were going to the cat hotel, which was probably the best place for me to be until they had sorted themselves out. But no, this time we went to a different place. A
kind
of cat hotel, but much bigger than my usual one, and definitely not as good: I could hear dogs whining! I refused to leave the car and dug my claws into the seat cushion, but they prised me off and in we went, like it or not.

I stayed in that place for about the usual length of time and made the acquaintance of several other guests. Some of them had strange accents and talked of having lived in far-away places and of having flown to Australia just recently. I thought they must be soft in the head, because they clearly did not have wings, but decided not to argue with them. The dogs were kept away from us, thank goodness, though we could hear them yapping and whining in the distance, stupid creatures. Everyone in the cat wing agreed they would never stay in a mixed-species hotel again.

Then one morning one of our care takers came along, carrying a container with lots of holes in it. I had watched other cats arrive and leave in one of them, but this time they stopped in front of my compartment. I didn't like the look of the container, but went in without making a scene — it would never do to make a spectacle of myself in front of the other cats. They carried me to a van, which drove me to a very noisy place that smelled like our car service station, where I had spent many happy times annoying dogs in nearby cars as we waited for our humans to buy fuel. But this time I was driven across a big open space to a huge, roaring machine and lifted inside. Many other boxes were piled around my container, and I was sure I saw a dog in one of them before they moved it further down the narrow corridor. It was all very disturbing. I stood in a corner of my container with my hair on end, hoping that someone would soon get me out of there. But nobody did.

Instead, the men closed the big doors to the outside world, the noise level increased to a terrible pitch and I was being jolted about in my container while the machine bounced about and screeched until I felt quite light-headed and nauseous. It was a good job I had no food in my container, because I could not have eaten one bite. There was some water, but I didn't even want to touch that. I felt miserable! At long last, the noise settled down to a continuous hum and the screeching stopped. We were still moving though, I could feel little bumps every now and then, and it finally occurred to me that I must be flying! This was obviously what those other cats had been talking about. Did this mean that I was going to a far-away country where cats had funny accents? I curled up on my soft blanket and fell asleep wondering, and the journey continued for a very long time.

At one point, we landed with more bumping, screeching and noise, and my container was unloaded. I was taken to another cat hotel (cats only this time, I was glad to see) and a man in a white coat came to check me over. I told him I had a migraine and was off my food, but he just patted me on the head and said everything would be fine, not to worry. He didn't sound Australian at all. I had a few hours of rest in the hotel before it was time to get back in the container and off again. This time I knew what to expect, so the flight was slightly less frightening, but almost as long as before. Flying was definitely not something anyone would do for fun. I had hated the airport food, the cabin was cramped, and this time I was next door to a really fat cat who kept burping into my ear. If my family ever wanted me to fly again, it would have to be in greater comfort.

Finally, we landed again with an extra big burp from the cat next door. I was exhausted. The fat cat and I were loaded on to a trailer and taken into a building, and there, just the other side of a swinging door, was – Dad! I had never been so pleased to see him, and he seemed just as pleased to see
me
, so I completely forgot to be cross with him for bringing me to this strange place. Instead, we said fond hellos before he carried me out of that noisy, smelly place into a car – a different car from our usual one – and drove me home. Oh, how glad I was to be going home at last!

We arrived very late at night. Mum was still up, but the children were asleep. It wasn't our house and garden at all, but some new place with different smells and weird noises. Still, I was just glad to come out of my container, stretch my legs again (I felt quite wobbly and the ground swayed under my feet), and to have a snack and a drink from the bowls that had been prepared for me in the new kitchen. I was so tired! I collapsed on Mum and Dad's soft, warm, quiet bed, where Mum stroked me until the room stopped swaying around us and we all went to sleep together.

The next morning, the children gave me a boisterous welcome that left me quite exhausted. It was great to see them, but I was still very tired. It was a relief to find that there was a safe hiding place under Mum and Dad's bed in that house, too. I spent the rest of the day asleep there.

By the evening I felt better, but it was getting dark and they would not let me go outside to explore. I had no choice but to check out the inside of the new house instead. It was much smaller than our old one and smelt musty. The furniture was strange as well. Emily and Robin shared one room, and Caroline had a room with a big bed all to herself. I reckoned there would be space on there for me. There were a couple of armchairs and sofas in the lounge, but not nearly as comfortable as my old armchair. I wondered what had happened to it. The food was different and not very nice actually, but I didn't want to offend my family and ate it anyway. The water was really dreadful, though. It had an evil taste and left ugly brown stains in my bowl. I simply refused to drink it. They gave in pretty soon and served me milk instead – my favourite, so I was glad I had remained firm.

After a couple of days in the house, I was ready to investigate the great outdoors of this new mystery place. Mum wasn't keen to let me, but I slipped outside one day when someone opened the door. It was terribly hot and stuffy outside – in Australia it had been winter when we left and quite cool, but this place seemed to have its seasons quite mixed up. It was definitely summer here – I would have to moult all over again immediately, which was a nuisance. There was a small back garden with a shed containing old garden furniture and some tools. The door didn't shut properly, so that was soon explored. No pool unfortunately, but given the taste of the water in my bowl, that was probably no loss. There was a deck out the back with a reasonable view, and very high trees all around the garden. Some creatures in those trees gave off the strangest noises: a solitary rattling sound first, then others chimed in, until the whole garden seemed to vibrate with a sound that made my ears throb. Probably not a good place for outside naps; it sounded a bit spooky, too. It might be wise to stay away from those trees for a while.

From the deck, I could see several other houses quite close by. There were no fences anywhere, which was a worry in case of dogs. There was one now, ambling down the small brown dirt road as though it owned the place. Where had I ended up? There was a cat, too, a black one, sitting on the neighbouring deck. We eyed each other for a bit. It looked alright, but I was not really in the mood for socialising. I could also hear children's voices everywhere. They seemed to be as unrestrained as the dogs, and I didn't care for either. I decided this would do for my first outing and went back inside – Mum had thoughtfully left the door half-open for me.

Over the days that followed, I had several more outings and ventured a little further each time. It was an interesting place, if you took care to avoid the straying dogs and children. At twilight, little sparks of light went flying through the air, turning themselves on and off at will. They were impossible to catch, but I had some success with the rattling creatures in the trees — they turned out to be big crickets, quite harmless, and it was fun pouncing on them while they were rehearsing: silencing one caused all the others to lose their beat. We had a lot of stop-start concerts after I discovered that. The trees were very high indeed, of a kind I had never seen before, and difficult to climb as the lower branches were way up. I tried a couple, but couldn't make it.

As I was resting in the shade one day, recovering from my latest climb, the most peculiar creature ran across the grass right in front of me. It was about the size of a rat, but grey in colour with a very big, bushy tail. Strangest of all, it seemed not a bit scared of me, but set about collecting seeds from under a tree as though I didn't exist. For quite a while I was too stunned to move. Back home, I had developed a certain reputation among the creatures of our neighbourhood: they all knew better than to mess with me. There, bird guards had sounded the alarm as soon as I stepped outside for my morning walk. I had single-pawedly chased a whole colony of rats from their nests under our roof in a matter of days. Frogs had thought twice before leaping into our garden. And here was that bushy-tailed creature, ignoring me!

I collected my hind legs under me and shot forward to grab the intruder by the neck, but it sensed my approach and scampered up a tree unhurriedly and effortlessly, as though it was flat ground. Up I went in hot pursuit, really mad by now at the creature's cheek. I positively raced up the trunk in the same way as the creature had done and managed to climb up quite a bit further than on previous attempts, but still I was out of reach of the lowest branch. I had to stop for breath, which took away my momentum, and found myself stuck to the tree in mid-climb. I held on for as long as I could, but the bark was smooth, my claws gave way, and to my dismay I felt myself slithering back down the way I had come, landing on the ground with a thump. I was badly shaken. Bits of tree bark were wedged in between my claws so I could hardly retract them. I felt dizzy from my sudden descent and shook my head to clear it. When I looked up, there was the tree running creature sitting high up on a branch, laughing its head off and showering me with seed husks. Alerted by his hysterical giggles, other tree runners appeared from all directions, dancing deftly along branches and joining in the fun – at my expense. It was unbearable! Never in all my life – not even on my flight in the container – had I been so humiliated, and all by some scrawny rodent whose head I could have taken off with one bite, had I just been able to catch it. I held my tail high as I retreated towards the half-open back door of my house. As I slipped back inside the cool, dark interior I made the second big decision of my life: I would catch one of those creatures one day and get my own back, if it took me the rest of my life.

Mum must have been watching from the kitchen window, because she met me at the door and tried to comfort me with soft cooing noises, stroking my tail in the way I like. I rubbed myself against her legs and told her I was glad to be back. We went to sit on the sofa, where I cleaned my poor claws and licked the seed husks off my fur. Then I curled up next to her and we watched TV together. Just before I dozed off to sleep, I felt the sofa shake a little, and watching her through half-closed eyes, I saw her quietly laugh to herself. There must have been something funny on TV.