Copycat (10 page)

‘Fred!
Fred!
Here!’ bellowed the Alsatian’s owner, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Fred had bowled Pinkie over and into a patch of mud and was just about to seize her. The bedraggled Pinkie took advantage of the dog’s hesitation, scrambled to her feet and pelted away back to the field in a blind panic.

‘Fred! Come here! Bad boy!’ the man shouted. The dog pattered back obediently, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth. ‘All right,’ said its owner. ‘No harm done, thank goodness. At least the poor cat’s going in the right direction.’

Pinkie didn’t stop running until she had put the field behind her and could get on top of the high wall behind the row of houses. She was badly scared and, more than ever, yearned for her mate’s protection and sympathy. She forgot all about her appearance. All she wanted to do was to get to Sammy as quickly as possible.

Monty saw her first. Sammy wasn’t in the garden and, in fact, was at that moment with the Church Cat. She was showing him off as a sort of exhibit of her tuition in taste and decorum to some of the other cats.

‘You’re a stranger in our midst,’ Monty said to Pinkie. ‘My, you’re in a state, too. Where have you been and how did you get like that?’

Pinkie didn’t want to bandy words with any pet. ‘What does it matter to you?’ she replied sharply. ‘I was attacked by a dog, if that’s of any interest. Where’s Sammy?’

Monty could guess the tabby was in the vicarage garden but chose not to say so. ‘He doesn’t stay here
all
the time,’ he told Pinkie coyly, ‘though he’s become much more of a stick-in-the-mud recently. But are
you
all right? Would you like to rest here for a while?’

‘No – er – thank you,’ the bespattered white cat answered. ‘I must see Sammy. It’s important. For both of us. I’ll go and look for him.’

Monty foresaw trouble. ‘Don’t go just yet,’ he urged. ‘He may come back soon. Wait a bit; save yourself a search.’

Pinkie recalled the fright the young human had given her in this very garden. ‘No. I can’t wait here,’ she said. ‘I – I must go on. I’ll walk along the wall a bit. Maybe I’ll see him.’

Monty said no more. He was powerless to influence events and the affairs of Sammy’s mate were of no great consequence to him. He watched her go and then, feeling some curiosity after all, climbed the dividing fence to view the outcome.

Sammy was not in the vicarage garden. He and the Church Cat were next door, demonstrating to Spike and Ling how much Sammy had progressed. Sammy gave the Burmese and the ginger an example of his newly developed drawl, much to their amusement. He had achieved his aim of becoming indistinguishable from the most pampered pet and now he feared nothing. Domino, the black-and-white cat, was hunched behind a clump of daffodils observing the ridiculous spectacle. He nursed plans for revenge on the new Sammy who he felt must have duped him before.

Pinkie reached the spot and looked down unbelievingly. She recognized the haughty Persian and Sammy’s slavish copying of her. She was angry and jealous.

‘Sammy!’ she called sharply and dropped down into the garden.

Sammy turned, saw the muddy cat coming towards him, and didn’t immediately realize it was Pinkie.

‘Sammy, I need you,’ Pinkie pleaded desperately. She ran up, intending to nuzzle him, but Sammy hastily stepped aside.

‘Who is this?’ demanded the Church Cat, very much on her dignity.

Sammy didn’t reply at once, he was so aghast at Pinkie’s filthy appearance.

‘I’m his mate, if you must know,’ Pinkie hissed at Hermione.

‘His . . . mate!’ the Church Cat breathed, scarcely able to form the words. ‘Is this true?’ she appealed to Sammy.

‘She was,’ he muttered savagely, ‘but not any longer. No cat with such disregard for cleanliness and – and – elementary hygiene – as
this
’ – he spat the word – ‘could ever call herself a mate of mine.’ He was furious at being humiliated by Pinkie in this way in front of his mentor. He suddenly remembered his audience. ‘What are you two gawping at?’ he snarled at Ling and Spike, who made haste to leave. ‘Don’t come near me, soiling me with your grime,’ he warned Pinkie. ‘What sort of rubbish dump have
you
been living in to present yourself like this?’

‘A huge dog tossed me in the mud,’ she whimpered. ‘I was lucky to get away. I came straight here to find you. Sammy, I – I’m lonely and I’m scared.’

Sammy swallowed hard. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit late for that kind of talk now. You wouldn’t adopt my plan. You’ve done nothing to help yourself and now I can’t help you either. I’ve learnt how to behave like a pet again and I don’t mean to go back on it. It’s my only chance if I don’t want to be rounded up. You must take your chance too. You made your choice before and it’s no good complaining about it now.’

‘But – but – there are rabbits,’ Pinkie stammered, ‘and I can’t catch them by myself. I need help if I’m not to starve.’

‘Well, don’t look for it here,’ the Church Cat told her sourly. ‘We don’t mix with your kind.’

Sammy remembered this phrase. It wasn’t so long since it had been directed at him. How he had come on in the last few days!

Pinkie crept towards Hermione, her tail swishing ominously. ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ she growled, ‘you stuck-up, obese ball of fluff! You don’t know Sammy as well as I do. You might think you do, but I could tell you plenty. He may look more like a pet than a real one does, but he’s still a savage at heart. Sammy’ – she beseeched him one last time – ‘don’t reject me. Don’t sever yourself from me completely. You’ve forgotten the original point of it all – our escape, our . . . our . . . kittens.’

‘Don’t come any closer,’ Sammy muttered. ‘You’ll soil my fur. And, anyway, pets don’t eat rabbits.’ He turned his back on the dishevelled Pinkie. Her last resort – the mention of their kittens – had fallen on deaf ears. He moved away, with Hermione at his side. They looked like clockwork toys, they moved so exactly together.

Pinkie was heartbroken and desolate. She slunk away in a kind of fog of misery, not knowing what to do next. It would have been better to have tried things Sammy’s way, however hard that had seemed. What was left for her now? The thought of the decrepit fox as her only companion underlined the isolation of her position. She couldn’t bear to return to the cheerlessness of the river bank.

Domino had watched and listened with interest. To him it seemed that Sammy had become flabby and ineffectual. The Church Cat had put her spell on him. It would soon be time to oust the tabby from monopolizing Monty’s meat-bowl.

—13—

A savage at heart

Sammy’s vanity knew no bounds. Horrified as she was, Pinkie marvelled at his transformation. He no longer looked very much like her mate and now he even sounded different. She realized her only hope was to play some trick on him; to show him up for the sham he was in front of his snooty companion. If Sammy were to be rejected by the snobby Persian, he might come to his senses. But how to do it? Well, Pinkie thought grimly, she certainly had plenty of time to herself to devote to the problem.

She recalled Sammy’s comments. His words had stung. They had been cruel. She
was
very dirty, though, and she wondered how she was going to clean herself. She jumped from the high wall into some long grass which was soaked by the drizzle. By walking through it she wiped some of the mud from her fur.

She stayed half hidden in the grass. There were several people around on the towpath, but they posed no problem for Snowy, who was more than familiar with large groups of noisy humans. He came stepping purposefully along the edge of the path, his tail hoisted as a permanent flag of greeting to anyone who might show interest in him. He spied Pinkie and joined her.

‘I wasn’t sure if it was you,’ he fibbed. ‘You look more like a brown cat than a white one today.’

Pinkie gave him a sullen glance. She wasn’t going to explain her appearance for a third time. ‘If I lived as you do I could pass for a pub cat,’ she told him.

‘Oh? Do you have ambitions that way, then?’ Snowy asked guardedly.

‘Of course not. I told you before, I don’t like to be near humans.’

‘You get used to them, ‘he grunted. ‘This – er – mud is a sort of camouflage, is it?’

‘Very funny,’ Pinkie growled. Snowy smelt of cat food and Pinkie was reminded that she hadn’t eaten very much for some time. She could understand how the fox had felt when he had smelt Monty’s food on her breath. She didn’t want to be bothered by the Pub Cat just now, but he seemed to be enjoying her company.

‘Have you seen the tatty old fox again?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Because I’ve worked out a way to get at those tormenting lop-ears.’

‘Not bunnies again,’ Pinkie sighed. ‘Why don’t you forget them?
You
don’t need them.’

‘I can’t forget them,’ Snowy answered fiercely. ‘They’re always there, tantalizing me, out of reach and getting fatter and fatter . . . Oh, if only the fox were here now, we could get it over with.’

Pinkie had an idea. ‘Look, if you’re set on eating rabbit, I’ve a much better plan. Come with me and we’ll catch rabbits a-plenty.’

‘Wild ones, is it? No, they’re scrawny by comparison. You and me and the fox can all profit by those lop-ears. You see, it needs an animal who can dig underneath the cage. Only the old fox could do that.’

Pinkie yawned. Snowy’s obsession bored her. ‘He wouldn’t come,’ she said categorically. ‘So I shouldn’t get yourself in a lather about it.’

‘I can think of a way that would persuade him to come,’ the Pub Cat said.

Pinkie was uninterested. ‘Really?’ Her thoughts were still too full of Sammy and the Church Cat.

‘I’d bribe him,’ said Snowy. ‘Promise him some of my food. Oh, I bet he’s never tasted meat like
that
in all his long-suffering life. He’d do
anything
for it. Only he won’t get any until he’s done what –’

‘Yes, yes. I get the drift,’ Pinkie interrupted. ‘Go and fetch him then. I’ll leave you to it. I’m rather tired.’

‘Where did you last see him?’

‘In his den.’

‘Where’s that?’

Pinkie explained. ‘I can’t guarantee he’ll still be there,’ she added.

‘No. No, I understand that. I must hurry,’ Snowy said. ‘I have to go back to be the pub soon, so there’s not much time.’

Pinkie heaved a sigh of relief as he vanished. ‘They can do what they like, those two,’ she murmured as she lay down. ‘I must try to think of a way to get Sammy back.’

The mention of kittens had not been lost on Hermione. The existence of Sammy’s one-time mate, low-bred though she was, had come as an unpleasant surprise. The Church Cat nagged Sammy until she had all the facts.

‘Was that . . . creature part of your old life?’ she wanted to know. ‘When you roamed about?’

‘Yes, my old life,’ Sammy answered. ‘When I – you know – was rather wild.’

‘Then why is she here now?’

Sammy was flummoxed. ‘Well, she . . . she followed me,’ he replied unconvincingly. They had returned to the vicarage.

‘Where are the kittens?’

‘They were captured,’ Sammy told her, glad to be able to give a truthful answer. ‘In one of the round-ups. We – I mean
she
– couldn’t save them.’

The Church Cat had hoped for more information. She had never been mated, and she had been intrigued by the subject of kittens. ‘Poor little things,’ she murmured before she could stop herself. ‘Where were they taken?’

‘I don’t know. Where do those horrible patrols take any cat?’ Sammy began to tremble slightly. The memory of that horrific sequence of events in the park still had the power to disturb him. ‘Let’s . . . let’s not talk about it,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all in the past. I don’t like to think too much . . .’

‘I understand. But your mate. Your
ex
-mate. What a scruff! How could you –’

‘She wasn’t always like that,’ Sammy cut in quickly, on the defensive. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to her. She once was a very . . . pretty cat,’ he ended regretfully.

‘Was she indeed?’ the Church Cat returned, once again on her dignity. She didn’t want to listen to compliments, unless of course they were for her.

‘Oh, she never had your grace or style or composure,’ Sammy continued. ‘But when I first came across her, she was sort of
kittenish
herself.’

The Church Cat had heard all she wanted to hear and possibly more. She was ready to go indoors. From the vicarage window sill she turned proudly and said to Sammy, ‘So you’re still a savage at heart? Well, maybe I’ve been misled. We shall see.’

Sammy returned to Monty’s garden, a mixture of feelings welling in his heart. He knew the girl would have brought Monty’s meat but, strangely, he didn’t feel hungry. He heard Monty’s miaows raised in protest.

‘You’ve no right. No right at all. Oh, “When the cat’s away . . .” There never was an apter phrase. If Sammy was here, he –’

‘He what?’ It was Domino’s voice and his mouth was full. ‘He’s no more right to this than me. And he
isn’t
here, is he?’

‘Who’s that, then?’ Monty cried gleefully as he saw the tabby breast the fence.

Domino looked out from the house but continued to munch. ‘That? That’s a cat that’s turned soft. Softer than you. Soft as a cushion.’

Monty knew better but he said no more. He awaited results excitedly. Sammy walked straight up to the cat-flap, as bold as brass.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘What’s it look like?’ Domino growled.

‘Theft,’ came the reply. Sammy wasn’t using the Church Cat’s drawl now.

‘Theft, eh? How is it theft when I eat this if it isn’t theft when you do?’ Domino was looking a little uneasy. He wasn’t absolutely sure of his ground, despite his bravado.

‘Monty and I have an arrangement,’ Sammy replied reasonably. ‘And that arrangement is . . .’ In a split second a front paw lashed out and Sammy’s claws raked across Domino’s face.

The black-and-white cat let out a howl of pain. He hadn’t been on his guard and was taken completely by surprise. Monty gloated. But Sammy wasn’t finished. He leapt on Domino and dug all his claws deep into the other cat’s hide. ‘Seems you didn’t learn your lesson last time,’ he snarled. Domino struggled free and offered no retaliation. He couldn’t escape quickly enough. Sammy grinned. ‘I suppose I am still a savage at heart,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Pinkie was right. But as long as I don’t look like one, I’m safe.’ He glanced down. The meat-bowl was all but empty.