Copycat (3 page)

‘We mustn’t make our next den on the ground,’ he blurted out without considering.

‘So you
do
think we’re still at risk,’ Pinkie accused him. ‘Oh, what are we going to do now?’

‘We’re going to climb, that’s what we’re going to do,’ Sammy answered, mustering all his self-confidence. ‘We’ve got to go high. There’s safety in height.’

‘I agree with you. But could we sleep in a tree?’

‘Might not have to be a tree,’ Sammy pointed out. ‘It could be anything. A roof of a – a – shed or something.’

‘There’d be no shelter on a roof.’

‘Perhaps not. We must look around.’

The cats kept to the long grass and weeds until the towpath was free of people. Then they used the path themselves, from where it was much easier to examine their surroundings. A long wall on their left separated the back gardens of a row of houses from the riverside, and at the end of the row there was a church.

‘We could start by getting on top of that wall,’ Pinkie suggested. ‘We could see a lot from there.’ She sighed. ‘If we could only jump that high.’

‘There’s a way up over there – look.’ Sammy hastened forward to where a clump of sallow with thin wavy branches grew close against the wall. He thought it just might bear their weight. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘I’m heavier than you, so if I can make it . . .’

With a bound he was up amongst the budding branches with their fluffy catkins. The willowy stems shook dangerously but, balancing himself with his tail, Sammy scrambled clear and climbed to the top of the wall. Pinkie followed immediately and the cats sat side by side surveying the scene in front of them.

‘Human dwellings,’ the little white cat summed up. ‘We can’t hope for anything there.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Sammy answered. ‘There could be all sorts of snug, secret little places in those gardens that would suit us very well.’

Pinkie, as usual, wasn’t keen to be anywhere near humans. ‘I don’t want to be within reach of their eager prying eyes,’ she said.

‘Oh, Pinkie!’ the tabby exclaimed. ‘Don’t be so awkward. There are many humans who are kindly towards animals.
All
animals,’ he added. ‘Trust me. You don’t have to see every one as your enemy.’

‘I don’t,’ she answered. ‘I just prefer to keep them at a distance.’

‘But they could be useful to us,’ Sammy reminded her. ‘How did we get here, after all? And, don’t you remember, when we first discovered each other, how you used to accept food from one of the kindly ones?’

‘Yes, yes. I know. We can use them in some ways. But only on our terms. I don’t want to be adopted.’

Sammy said no more just then. But in fact he had some very different ideas in his mind. The impression made on him by Buster was still vivid. Sammy had begun to develop his own theory about the benefits of behaving like a human’s pet.

In one garden he saw a shed completely covered by a climbing plant which had wrapped its mass of stems all over the sides and roof like a lot of green tentacles. ‘That seems like an ideal shelter for the two of us for now,’ he murmured. ‘We’d keep warm in there tonight. What d’you think, Pinkie?’

‘There doesn’t seem to be anything better,’ she replied without enthusiasm. ‘But we needn’t go there till dark, need we? We don’t want to be spotted.’

Sammy was amused. There they were, the two of them, perched on top of a high wall overlooking every house in the row. How much more visible could they get? ‘All right, Pinkie,’ he chuckled. ‘Whatever you say.’

For the rest of the daylight hours the cats returned to the riverside and kept out of sight in the long grass. The anxiety in the car during their longjourney earlier in the day had tired them and they were both eager to rest. At dusk Sammy led the way along the wall to the chosen retreat. They jumped down into the garden and stepped carefully across to the shed. It was easy to climb to the roof and then, under the matted strands of the plant, to find a space that was hidden, dry and comfortable. A cushion of dead leaves, trapped by the thick tendrils, made a safe place to lie on.

During the night the call of an owl and the snuffling of a roving hedgehog were the only sounds that reached their ears. True to their nature, the cats dozed and woke and dozed again. But towards daybreak they were rudely awakened. It began to rain heavily. Although they were fairly well protected from the worst of the weather, the drumming of the raindrops on the wooden roof couldn’t be ignored. Pinkie stirred.

‘Why move?’ Sammy checked her. ‘We’ll stay drier in here than almost anywhere else.’

‘It’ll be daylight soon. We
have
to move,’ was her answer.

‘Whatever for? No one knows we’re here, so no one will come searching for us.’

Pinkie simply wasn’t happy to remain in the vicinity of humans. She was restless and peered through the screen of greenery, looking nervously in each direction.

‘At least wait while this rain is so heavy,’ Sammy persuaded her. ‘You’d get soaked out there in no time.’ Pinkie certainly didn’t relish that prospect and tried to be still. Daylight came and the rain didn’t ease up. It began to penetrate the climbing plant’s protection. The cats felt cold and miserable.

‘There’s no advantage in this,’ Pinkie declared and started to pull herself free of the drenched vegetation. All at once she stopped. Though fully exposed to the lashing rain, suddenly she seemed unaware of it. She was listening to a tramp! tramp! of steps down the road.

‘It can’t be!’ Sammy hissed and tried to crawl even further into the jungle of stems.

Pinkie was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t decide whether to run or clamber back in with Sammy. ‘Pinkie! Pinkie! Hide yourself!’ Sammy begged. ‘Stay with me!’ She dived in by his side, trembling violently, unable to speak. Now new frightening noises were added to the beating raindrops and the tramping feet. The bell of the church at the end of the road began to toll and a band of bugles and drums struck up in time to the marching footsteps. The frantic pair of cats wondered what new terror was being unleashed against them and their kind. Unhappily they couldn’t know they were hearing the sounds of a scout troop’s Sunday church parade.

The noise blared and thumped for a while, then abruptly ceased. Only the church bell continued to chime, while the cruel rain slackened to a patter. It was an age before the cats even felt safe enough to talk.

‘We’re still . . . in the . . . city,’ Pinkie gasped. ‘We’ll never . . . get away.’ She shuddered.

‘We escaped the men last time,’ Sammy said. ‘We can do so again.’

‘And again and again?’ Pinkie said. ‘How many times before they catch us in the end?’

Sammy got up and shook himself. He looked at his mate. Her fur was saturated by the rain and stuck all over with rotting leaves and twigs. He could hardly glimpse a suggestion of white on her coat. She was filthy and he realized he must look much the same. ‘We have to change our habits,’ he said emphatically. ‘There’s only one way we can avoid capture indefinitely and that’s by fooling the patrols into thinking we’re pets.’ He had been coming to this conclusion in his own mind for a long while. Now he had finally accepted it, he felt much more optimistic.

‘How can we possibly . . .?’ Pinkie began.

‘Because we must,’ he answered. ‘We’re too vulnerable as we are. Look at me. How could I be mistaken for anything but a stray? We’re both dirty, unkempt and undernourished. We haven’t escaped from the city entirely, as we hoped. We’ve simply been brought to another, rather quieter part of it. So we have to revise our plans.’

Pinkie listened attentively. Sammy could be so clever. The rain stopped altogether and the sun broke through the massed clouds. A patch of sunlight in the garden attracted them. They needed to dry off.

‘Come on,’ Sammy said. ‘I’ll explain when we get there. We can lie against the fence. We shouldn’t be disturbed.’

They jumped from the shed roof. The morning was warming up. They made sure no people or other animals were nearby. Then they ran to the sunny patch and lay down gratefully where the sun’s rays could bathe them.

‘Now,’ Sammy began importantly, ‘the first thing we have to do is to improve our appearance. We must always look clean and beautifully groomed. We must be really meticulous about it. We want to look appealing to the human eye. Like Buster. We haven’t taken proper care of ourselves before. I
was
a pet once so I have some idea how to go about it. You never were so I shall have to teach you. We’ve been living rough and, as you’ve known nothing else, you’ve always been wild. I’ve become that way myself, but it’s going to be more difficult for you to change. And, Pinkie, you must, you know. Otherwise there’s a risk I’d be overlooked while you were taken.’

Pinkie began to tremble again as Sammy’s words sank in. The prospect of such a separation was disturbing. ‘I do clean myself,’ she protested. ‘But – but . . .’

‘But you couldn’t pass for a pet,’ Sammy finished for her. ‘So we have a lot to do. We have to look like pets and we have to behave like them too. First we must have a base. A proper one. No more sleeping in the open or amongst plants.’

‘You mean somewhere like the hut in Quartermile Field?’ Pinkie queried. She was referring to her old home in the country where she had first encountered Sammy.

‘Maybe, but a little grander, I think. Would a pet live in a broken-down, abandoned place like that? No. You see,’ said Sammy, ‘in order to look like a pet you have to live like one.’

Pinkie bridled at this. ‘Preposterous! I’ve never lived like a pet and wouldn’t know how to. And I’m too old to start now!’

‘It’s the only way, Pinkie, believe me,’ Sammy urged her. ‘I’ll help you all I can. I promise you we’ll remain quite independent. But we must be more particular. I’ll work it all out somehow. You just leave it to me.’

Pinkie was silent. She didn’t believe Sammy’s plan could be carried out. But there was no denying that her clever tabby mate had performed some extraordinary feats in the past. All she could do now was to wait and see if he was capable of adding to them.

—5—

You scratch my back

Sammy felt his fur warm and dry in the sunshine. He got up and shook himself energetically. Fragments of leaf and stalk showered to the ground. ‘Ugh! I can smell I’m dirty,’ he muttered, squatting again. Using his paws and especially his tongue he gave himself a thorough clean-up. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘How do I look?’

Pinkie had been watching his elaborate toilet with interest. ‘Like a show cat,’ she joked.

‘Hardly.’ He gave her a cat smile, closing his eyes. ‘Still, we can start as we mean to go on.’ He moved close to Pinkie and began to lick her face. Pinkie purred and nuzzled him. But when Sammy transferred his tongue to her back fur she jumped up.

‘You don’t need to groom me!’ she hissed. ‘I know how to keep clean.’

‘Just trying to help,’ he murmured and watched her as she went through her programme. ‘Your coat’s not as white as it used to be,’ he remarked afterwards.

‘That’s age. I’m not a youngster any more,’ Pinkie reminded him. ‘And don’t be so critical.’

‘But we have to be,’ he responded. ‘It’s only when we can look at each other with admiration that we’ll know we’re safe.’

Pinkie was hurt. ‘I hope you’re not going to take this plan of yours too far,’ she said. ‘I can only be what I am.’

‘Of course. It’s all right. There’s plenty of time to learn. I said I’d teach you.’

Pinkie wasn’t reassured. ‘I can’t learn to grow whiter fur,’ she objected. But Sammy wasn’t listening. He was looking away, his thoughts on something else.

‘I must explore,’ he was saying to himself. ‘We need proper food and shelter.’ He turned and looked at his companion. ‘We can make use of the humans. Just as you said, Pinkie. I expect it’ll be better if I go alone to begin with? I’ll have to go really close to the houses to find what we need, and I know how you feel about that. Will you stay around here?’

‘That depends,’ Pinkie answered. ‘It may not remain quiet.’

‘No. Well, you’ll know what to do if it doesn’t. I’ll leave you now. We won’t lose each other. You know my call.’

Pinkie watched Sammy climb the fence and drop into the neighbouring garden. In his absence she moved. She believed she was vulnerable and preferred to be nearer the long wall so as to be able to reach her escape route if necessary.

Sammy was thinking of Buster and his wonderful little private door. What a perfect arrangement for any cat: to have the freedom to come and go as you pleased, yet have all the benefits of good food, warmth and comfort provided for you into the bargain. Why was Buster so special? Or were there other pets as fortunate? And if so . . . were there any around here? He approached the nearest house with the utmost caution. In the daylight boldness had to be used sparingly.

‘Nothing of interest here,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ll go into the next garden.’ There was only a low wall to negotiate this time. Sammy thought he detected the scent of a dog and made a hasty scan of the outside of the house, then progressed to the neighbouring garden. ‘This is like my kitten days,’ he chuckled, ‘when I first started to discover the world beyond my birthplace. Ah now – here’s something. There’s definitely another cat around and it’s a male. His smell’s everywhere.’ He looked all over the garden. The cat was absent but the plants, a small tree and a patio at the back of the house all bore the strongest marks that it was another animal’s territory.

‘He must be roaming elsewhere,’ Sammy told himself, ‘otherwise he’d certainly suspect my presence.’ There was no cat-flap at the back of the house and Sammy didn’t have the confidence to go round to the front. That would bring him close to the very road where the march had taken place earlier. Any exploring on that side would have to wait until nightfall.

The next garden he went into had evidence of at least two cats and possibly more. One scent predominated. Fainter taints of other animsls became more marked as Sammy inched towards the house. There was not a sound from inside the building, human or otherwise.

‘A door! A private cat door!’ Sammy suddenly cried in excitement as he spied a cat-flap, almost exactly like Buster’s. It was set at ground level into a large glass door that ran the width of one room, in front of which was a paved area with garden furniture. Sammy felt sufficiently sure that the house was at present empty to go right up to the glass door and peer through. The slightest hint of a sound or movement inside would have sent him flying, but all was still and quiet. The room he looked into was a sitting-room. It seemed comfortable and inviting, with soft chairs and rugs begging to be curled up on and, just inside the glass door, an animal’s food-bowl containing some crumbs left over from a recent meal.