Copycat (13 page)

The Persian was basking on a warm flagstone in the garden. She rolled over playfully when she saw Sammy, but the tabby was in no mood for games. All that he had gained, all that he had learnt from the Church Cat’s manners and behaviour, was in jeopardy.

‘My, you
have
been eating well,’ she drawled admiringly. ‘You look so stout and – and smooth.’

‘Yes,’ Sammy agreed. ‘I feel I am.’ He fell at once into the Persian’s mode of speech. ‘But I fear the good times are over for me. My arrangement with Monty has –’ He stopped suddenly and listened hard. Was he mistaken? Tramp, tramp . . . Surely not? Yes . . . Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The Church Cat, unperturbed by the distant sound, watched in amazement as Sammy reacted. All sense seemed to have left him. He dashed one way and then back again, then off in another, without any sense of purpose. He was in a panic.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ the Persian called.

‘Can’t you hear it?’ Sammy cried. ‘It’s . . . oh, it’s . . . the patrols! They’re here again!’ He wasn’t speaking in her tones now. He was in a sort of frenzy. But, seeing the Church Cat’s complete lack of concern, he was puzzled enough to stop still for a moment. To the tramping feet was now added a roll of drums, and then music began to blare.

‘Patrols?’ Hermione repeated. ‘What patrols? What do you mean, Sammy?’

‘Oh, how can you possibly understand?’ he gasped. ‘You – the supreme pet; so safe, so assured. How could such a thing concern you?’ He was quaking, glancing around for somewhere safe to bury himself. And then, in the midst of his fear, came a sudden anguished thought. Pinkie! Where was she? Was she safe? All at once he was back with the little white cat, his mate, in the park, running, running . . . ‘I must find her! Warn her!’ he cried to the mystified Persian. And the Church Cat was forgotten in the urgency of the moment.

Sammy smothered his fear and thought hard. The riverside! That must be his best bet. Pinkie was likely to be somewhere near the water. Yet he hadn’t seen her for quite a time . . . Oh, why had he turned his back on her so completely? She was alone and defenceless. Already the veneer of pet behaviour that Sammy had assumed was peeling away. He left the Church Cat without another word and made for the high wall. The noise of the scout troop’s band and the marching feet thumped against his sensitive ears. Sammy tried desperately to blot it out.

He soon reached the riverside, where the noise wasn’t quite so penetrating. He began his search. First he went towards the pub. Of course he found no trace of her. Pinkie had been whisked away from that place. Then Sammy retraced his steps, calling regularly, and pressed on towards the bridge. When he saw no sign of her in that direction either he began to dread the worst. He reached the bridge and looked around nervously. This was new territory for Sammy. He called once or twice in a fairly hopeless way. Then he noticed a hole in the bank, and stepped up to it. A faint scuffling sound came briefly from inside. Sammy’s hopes were raised. Could it be? He thought he detected Pinkie’s scent, but there was a much stronger odour dominating.

‘Pinkie? Are you there?’

The old fox was in his den, trying to get comfortable. He limped to the opening and saw the tabby cat, who drew back in dismay.

‘Who are you?’ the dishevelled beast grunted.

‘I’m Sammy. I mean – I’m looking for my mate. I didn’t realize – I’m sorry to disturb you.’

‘Mate?’

‘Yes – a little white cat. You wouldn’t know, I suppose, anything . . . about her?’ Sammy asked haltingly.

‘Oh yes. I know her. Well, I
did
know her. We tried to catch rabbits together. With the other cat.’

‘The – other cat?’

‘Yes. The one who got killed by the dog. Ugh! It was messy.’

Sammy’s stomach lurched. ‘But . . . the little white cat . . . she’s still alive?’

‘The female? She was when I last saw her. But then she was taken away.’

‘No! The patrols?’ gasped Sammy, barely able to speak.

‘Patrols? What’s that?’

‘The . . . the humans who come –’

‘Oh, humans, yes,’ said the fox. ‘
They
took her all right. I was hiding. And then I got one of those fat rabbits. Ah, what a feast!’ The fox swallowed hard, closing his eyes at the delightful memory. ‘I’m still hopeful of finding the other one.’

Sammy wasn’t listening to him any more. Only the news he had dreaded had reached his ears. Pinkie taken! Then it was all up with her. And he had turned his back. Oh, why hadn’t she listened to him? Done as he had done? Looked after herself, made herself change . . . Now what was he to do? His pet days were over. There was nothing left for him here except loneliness and hardship . . . How lonely and hard Pinkie must have found the days! He had been entirely selfish. And now he would experience what she had. On his own, like her. Unless . . .

The fox still rambled on about rabbits and other things of no interest to Sammy, who turned from him and began to walk away. The noise of marching feet, the blare of bugles, had ceased. Was it too late? Too late for Sammy to be captured? That was all he wished now. To be taken where Pinkie had gone . . . to join her, perhaps for the last time . . .

‘Thank you, Fox,’ he muttered without glancing back. ‘I’m grateful to you. At least I know.’

The fox’s voice petered out and he watched the tabby propel himself into a sprint. He regretted the cat’s departure. He had been without any kind of company himself since the events in the pub garden. ‘Cats!’ he croaked. ‘They come and they go . . .’

Sammy steeled himself to go into harm’s way. He could hear human voices, many voices, and they were all around the church. He believed he was courting capture by the patrols. And that was what he wanted. It was
all
he wanted. But he had one last fear. It was that he would be ignored; overlooked as a well-kept, well-fed pet. What Sammy had aimed for all along could now cheat him out of finding Pinkie again.

By way of the churchyard he came across a throng of people in front of the church. Some, the younger ones, were in uniform. Sammy thought he recognized that uniform. It was a dark colour like the dark overalls of the men who had rounded up his kittens in the park. With a wildly beating heart, but thinking only of Pinkie, he got in amongst them. The boys didn’t pay him much attention. One or two bent down to give him a half-hearted stroke. Others warned their friends not to tread on his feet. Sammy mingled with them, trying to be noticed, to be snatched . . .

It was hopeless. He was too clean, too plump. He had the look of a cosseted pet. He was no more likely to be seized than the Church Cat. He should have rolled in some dirt, fallen in a puddle, anything that would have made him a target. Now the people were entering the church. Sammy sat against a wall. Soon he was alone. The van, he decided, must have already left, the van with Pinkie inside it . . .

‘I shall never see her again,’ he said to himself. ‘My vagabond mate.’ He remembered how he had crossed London to rejoin her after they had been separated once before. Then he had used his wits and, with help from other creatures, had found his way, bit by bit, back to her side. He jumped up. ‘And I can do it again!’ he mewed to the empty street. ‘I’ll go back to the fox. He must know more. He can guide me, perhaps. Don’t forget me, Pinkie. I’m not finished yet!’

—17—

Human care

Pinkie had certainly not forgotten Sammy. She had been languishing in a pen in the animal home for some days, loathing every moment of her captivity. Around her other animals paced their cages, ate or slept just as she did. She still couldn’t fully grasp what had happened; it had all been so sudden and unexpected. Yet here she was, accepting food and treatment from those human hands she had distrusted all her life. Friendly words, soothing caresses – she was becoming used to all of it. She wondered about Sammy and what would happen to him. She knew his new life could be only temporary. He had been foolish and unkind, but she knew his plan to act the pet had blinded him to all other considerations, including his mate.

Pinkie also thought about Snowy and his horrible end. The Alsatian had made her scared of all dogs. She knew there were dogs not far from her cage now. She heard them and smelt them. And, because she had no idea what was to become of her, she was afraid that she might not always be protected from them. This was a constant fear. However, there were many cats, too, some of whom she could talk to. They soon knew all there was to know about each other, and they talked endlessly of their fate. Some thought of escape, others said it was impossible. There were rumours that there was another place that, eventually, all of them would be taken to. But no one knew what or where that was. They only knew that sometimes one of them was taken away by a small group of humans, sometimes by an individual, but all with faces none of them had ever seen before.

Pinkie trusted the people who fed her and cared for her. She ate well and put on weight. Her wounds healed quickly. But her one desire was to be set free to take up again the only life she really understood – with Sammy or without him. Like the other animals she wondered if one day she would be taken away by strange humans to some other place. She had been brought to the home by strangers; not rounded up in the open by the frightening patrols, but gently and carefully carried from the pub, from
indoors
, by a different kind of people. It was all very confusing and puzzling for a cat who had never been used to humans of any sort and preferred to avoid them.

Her old life with Sammy and the kittens in the London park seemed distant indeed. So much had happened since they had been rescued by Buster and hidden in his owner’s car. And now she waited helplessly as the humans decided her future.

Meanwhile Sammy was hoping to get on her trail. He set off for the fox’s lair in better spirits. His new quest excited but at the same time daunted him. Already the period spent in Monty’s home was beginning to seem like a kind of dream. Sammy had returned to his old way of life now. And, although it had been forced on him, he was oddly content. Once again he had to depend on himself alone and, rather vainly, he thought that that was when he was at his best.

The fox was fast asleep and took some waking. ‘Oh, it’s you again,’ he mumbled once he had been brought round. ‘I’m still tired. My den’s so uncomfortable it takes me an age to get settled. I don’t seem to have slept at all. I suppose you want to know where the rabbits are?’

‘Rabbits?’ Sammy echoed. ‘No, no, that’s not why I’m here.’

The fox said, ‘Isn’t it? That’s what the white cat was after. And she did manage to catch one. She even left me some of the meat. Have you left anything for me? I need all the help I can get. And that’s very little usually.’

Sammy was exasperated. He wanted vital information about Pinkie and this ancient creature was chattering on endlessly about other things. ‘Listen, please,’ he interrupted. ‘Please, Fox. I need
your
help. You saw the little white cat taken. Where did it happen? And did you see which way the humans went?’

‘It happened at the pub. Where the rabbits were kept. She got injured and the humans took her inside. That was the last I saw of her.’

‘The pub! Where’s that?’

‘By the river. Where all the humans gather to make noise.’

‘You mean the place by the high wall? Oh, yes. I know it. I should do!’ Sammy recalled that it was the very spot where he and Pinkie had fled from the car. ‘You say she was injured?’ he prompted.

‘She got caught up in some wire. One of the humans rescued her. She wanted to look after her. You know how they are about your sort. Me, I’ve never been given any kind of consideration by them. I’ve been hurt, wounded, chased, but never looked after. I did know a fox once who had been hit by a car and was taken to some place by humans who cared for him until he recovered. Then they let him go. But never me. Still, I don’t complain. I prefer to –’

‘So it wasn’t a round-up!’ Sammy cried exultantly. ‘Oh, I’ve got to find her. She was my mate, you see. I don’t understand all this talk about rabbits. But if I see one, I’ll try to catch it for you. You’ve put me on the right track and I’m grateful.’

‘You’ll be back, then?’ the old fox asked eagerly.

‘Well, yes, probably.’ Sammy didn’t want to commit himself. ‘I can’t promise you that rabbit, but I’ll do what I can.’

All thought of rabbits instantly left Sammy’s head as he trotted along. He could think only of Pinkie, safe in some kind human’s care. He knew all about the kindlier side of humans, having been born the son of a pet cat himself. He didn’t think it would be difficult to find his mate. If people could go in and out of a pub, so could a cat!

‘How lucky,’ he said to himself light-heartedly, ‘that the patrol ignored me earlier.
I
could have been captured while Pinkie was safe all the time.’ Sammy still believed the dark-shirted scouts were a round-up team. ‘Well, I proved my theory. If you look like a pet, they don’t want to bother with you.’

But he had to accept that he was now effectively a stray again. Very soon he would have to resume providing food for himself. Then, gradually, the rough life would erase his smart new appearance and he would be vulnerable once more. At present, though, nothing could dampen his optimism. He was buoyed up by the unexpected good news and he reached the pub garden full of confidence.

The noise and bustle of the pub that Sunday lunchtime held no alarms for Sammy. He wasn’t afraid of humans of the ordinary, boisterous kind. He knew Pinkie was unlikely to be found outside the building, so that meant he’d have to get inside it. That was easy. Two doors stood ajar and he slipped through one entrance and squatted under a table. It didn’t take him long to realize that there was no white cat in the bar. Curiously, however, there were images of white cats all over the place. On the walls, behind the bar, pictures and photographs of white cats were used as decoration. None of these looked in the least like Pinkie.

Now Sammy was faced with a problem. Yes, it was easy to get inside one part of the building. But how to explore the rest of it? It was pointless to call for her here. The din in this room would drown any sound he could make. He withdrew slowly from the shelter of the table, taking care to avoid clumsy human feet.