King of the Vagabonds (15 page)

‘Firstly,’ pronounced Brute, who was obliged to invent the requirements as he went on, ‘you must go without food for a considerable period, except for any carrion or scraps you can find. Catching live prey will not be allowed because the purpose is to accustom you to the prevailing conditions of a normal winter. Then when your strength is at its lowest ebb, you will have to turn hunter again, catch an adult rabbit, kill it and fight one of the other cats (whom I shall nominate) for its possession. If you are the victor you will still have to see off any other rivals for your catch. So you must take it to a place where none of them can reach you. That will be very difficult. But all this will certainly simulate the usual events in the life of a vagabond cat during the hardest part of the year.’

Sammy was stunned, unable to make any reply, let alone protest. His pet’s background made him innocent of the truth: that Brute was the sole author of this test imposed on him, and that it was nothing to do with the coming of winter. Pinkie, of course, knew better, but she kept silent. She savoured the prospect of Sammy’s triumph, and she had no doubt that Brute’s cunning would rebound on him. For she had no knowledge of Brute’s real motive: to frighten Sammy right away from the area by setting him an impossible task, driving him back to the old easy life under human care.

At last Sammy found his voice. ‘You ask a lot of me,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Brute. ‘We need to.’

‘When am I expected to start?’

‘Best to get it over with. You could use the rest of the day to prepare yourself.’

Sammy looked at Pinkie, then back at Brute. He wanted Pinkie for his mate. So did Brute. Sammy knew he had not a chance of keeping her if he should let this test defeat him. Pinkie’s eyes were telling him so. He had to win her. He turned away, wanting to be alone. Brindle was waiting nearby, but Sammy ignored him.

‘That’s the last we shall see of Sammy,’ Brute muttered to Pinkie. He was confident he had done what Stella had asked of him.

‘He won’t give up so easily’, Pinkie replied. ‘You’re overlooking something. Like father, like son. Isn’t that right, Beau?’

14

Sammy’s Choice

Sammy found some growths of weed where the foliage was still thick and hid himself away. He thought long and hard about what he had to do. A voice inside his head seemed to urge him to abandon his new life with all its difficulties and hardship; he was not made for it. But he fought down this impulse. He had thrown in his lot with the vagabond cats and must abide by the commitment. His newly won reputation was at stake. The most important thing to do now, he decided, was to eat well, before his ordeal commenced. This would give him a flying start. He went first in search of mice.

Since this was his last opportunity to hunt for some time, he exercised all his considerable patience and new-found skill. Eventually he had collected together four bank voles and a fieldmouse. He ate the fieldmouse and removed the voles to the place where he had done his thinking. He carefully hid these from sight. Then he turned fishing-cat.

On his way to the stream he saw Brownie and Mottle. They knew where he was going but did not attempt to accompany him. At the waterside Sammy was less lucky. It began to rain and the disturbed water made it impossible for him to see the fish. However, he did manage to hook one out early on. It was a minnow and he ate it immediately. As the rain fell more heavily he gave up the
fishing expedition and took up shelter under the nearby trees. Quite unexpectedly, his luck turned good again.

A wood-pigeon came to sip from a puddle at the edge of the tree-line, only a short distance from where Sammy sheltered. The cat was half-sitting, half-lying, his back pressed against the trunk of a holly tree. The pigeon had its back to him; its head bent to the puddle. It was a large, plump bird. Sammy had never tried to catch one before, but this was easy. He dashed out on his silent paws and pounced on the bird, killing it before it had time to struggle. Muddy water splashed all over Sammy but he took no notice. The pigeon did not make a sound, but many others of its kind went clattering through the branches in alarm, sending smaller birds darting amongst the tree-tops.

Sammy picked up his kill and looked for a place of concealment under the trees. He knew it was no good taking it back to the bomb site. The bird was too big to escape the notice of the other cats. But the ground here was too bare to hide anything. Grasping the pigeon firmly in his clenched jaws, Sammy climbed a little way up the holly tree and wedged this future meal in a joint between branch and trunk. As he descended again he thought of his first hesitant climbing of the apple tree in Mrs Lambert’s garden. How long ago that seemed. And how far away!

Now he lost no time in retracing his journey. The afternoon was well on and the allotment beckoned. Sammy was used to ignoring the wet weather. He cared nothing for wet fur. Vagabond cats had not the leisure nor the means to keep themselves dry. He was well ahead of the others and hoped the rain would not keep the rabbits at home. They did not always choose to feed where they knew danger lurked, wet weather or not.

When dusk began to steal over the landscape, Sammy
had been lying in wait for an hour or two. It rained intermittently. Sunny and Patch had spotted Sammy and he had seen them. None of the others appeared to be around. Darkness fell softly. Soon Sammy knew there were to be no rabbits that evening. But he still waited. He guessed Sunny and Patch had left. Presently there was a movement close by. Sammy turned his head. The dark body of the limping Scruff was approaching.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Scruff informed him.

‘There are other animals apart from rabbits that come here,’ Sammy told him.

‘Are there? What are they?’ Scruff sounded eager.

‘I’m not sure. I only hear them. Too dark to see. But if one should stray too close. . . .’

‘Hardly worth hanging around,’ Scruff said grumpily. ‘If they’re hedgehogs we couldn’t deal with them anyway.’

‘Why are you here, then?’

‘You know I always come searching for scraps.’

‘You won’t find any tonight.’

‘No. Won’t be the first time though. And I hear you’ll be doing the same thing from now on.’

‘
What
have you heard?’ Sammy queried.

‘Brute’s told us all of your survival test,’ Scruff explained. ‘You haven’t a chance.’

‘You’ve made out all right,’ Sammy countered. ‘Scraps keep you alive.’

‘Up till now. I can catch mice too,’ Scruff growled. ‘But what hope have I got if you’re competing with me?’

‘That’s your problem,’ Sammy responded unhelpfully. ‘I don’t mean to starve. And what about the winter?’

‘What d’you mean?’ Scruff sounded more sullen than usual.

‘According to Brute, carrion is the best any of us can hope for in the cold period.’

‘That depends. You have to take your opportunities as they come along. Sometimes you can beg a bit from humans.’

‘What? You go up to the houses?’

‘It’s been known,’ Scruff answered shortly. ‘I’ve never done very well at it. I usually get driven away. I suppose they don’t like my looks.’

Sammy felt a twinge of sympathy despite himself. ‘Well, look, Scruff,’ he said, ‘this test of mine doesn’t last for ever. Don’t be too despondent. I want you to survive too.’

‘You’re a strange animal,’ Scruff declared. ‘You seem to have two minds. What is it to you whether I survive or not? More food all round if I don’t.’

Sammy thought about that. He did not know himself why he cared one way or the other. Perhaps it was just that he did not want to feel he would be to blame for another’s death. ‘We’ll make out,’ he murmured. ‘Both of us.’

Scruff lapsed into silence. After a while Sammy no longer knew if he was around or not. He himself waited on. There was nothing else to do. He was hungry and he thought of the voles and the pigeon. He resisted the temptation to return to them. He did not know how long they might have to last him.

As the night drew on, however, he heard nothing more than the cry of an owl. He left the allotment and returned to his cache of voles. He ate one and then went on the prowl, hoping to disturb more small creatures to add to his stock. By morning he had collected together a couple of shrews and another fieldmouse.

Sammy looked at his little food dump. These tiny animals represented no more than two modest meals for him. The thought of the plump pigeon, safely stowed away elsewhere, was rather comforting to him. The rain
had ceased and he fell into a doze.

Brute was making a search of the waste ground and old allotments. He wanted to ascertain that Sammy had departed as he had predicted. Pinkie stepped daintily behind him, but kept well to the rear. She was equally interested. As they covered more and more ground and found no trace of him, Pinkie became increasingly despondent. Sammy had let her down. Brute, on the other hand, was jubilant.

‘Sammy’s got sense,’ he called behind him. ‘He’s back where he belongs.’

‘He belongs here,’ Pinkie muttered beneath her breath. ‘And to me. Oh Sammy. . . .’

The object of their search awoke, sure that he could hear Pinkie’s voice. He edged out of his hiding place warily. He did not want those mice to be noticed. Then he sat down in full view of any of the vagabonds who cared to look. Pinkie cared very much. She gave a mew of pleasure and ran up to him.

‘I knew you wouldn’t go!’ she exulted and rubbed herself affectionately against him, nuzzling him and seeming perfectly heedless that Brute was watching.

Sammy’s father was angry at the display but tried not to show it. He stalked forward very stiffly and growled, ‘You’re on your own from now on, Sammy. I’ll be keeping a constant look-out for you. You know the rules. No hunting. The other cats will report to me if they see the rules broken. It’ll be quite a while before you pull down a rabbit again, or even pounce on a mouse. I alone will decide when.’ Brute went on his way with the same stiff and purposeful gait.

‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck?’ Sammy cried to him cheekily. This was for Pinkie’s benefit. She was purring loudly.

Brute did not answer but he had heard all right. He
really was torn between anger and pride in his son. He disappeared, but Pinkie and Sammy were soon joined by Sunny.

‘Don’t try any cleverness,’ the ginger said unpleasantly. ‘If Brute isn’t watching you all the time, I shall be. I want to see you so hungry you’ll eat dirt.’

‘You’re a spiteful creature, aren’t you?’ Sammy returned. ‘No, I shan’t play any tricks, since you’re so concerned. But I may just have a surprise or two in store for you. I don’t intend to be beaten, nor humbled, for your amusement.’

‘Sunny’s jealous of you,’ Pinkie said to Sammy. Then she said to the ginger cat, ‘Sammy will survive to supersede you, never fear. Scruff has lived off scraps for years and here’s Sammy with four good legs.’

‘Accidents sometimes happen,’ the ginger cat sneered. He turned abruptly and left them, his fur in a bristle.

Sammy was not in the least perturbed by the veiled threat. He was strong, fast and resilient. And he had an admirer in Pinkie who made him more eager than ever to prove himself.

‘Listen, Sammy,’ Pinkie said in a low voice, now they were alone. ‘I’m going to help you. My appetite’s not very great. I can eat less. I can still hunt and what I don’t eat—’

‘You’re very generous, Pinkie,’ Sammy said warmly. ‘But I’d rather do this on my own. I’ll find food because I’ll have to. And when I do hunt again the next rabbit I catch will be the biggest you’ve ever seen. You and I will feast together on it as a celebration. I have a feeling Brute’s day is coming to an end. So I’m willing to be tried and tested. I’ll be the stronger for it, and more resourceful than ever.’

‘Brave cat,’ Pinkie whispered. Sammy’s response to her suggestion was all she could have wished. She knew in
her bones the time was not far off when Brute and Sammy would meet in that first – and last – great clash. And Sammy’s youth was on his side.

‘My rest was interrupted,’ Sammy said next. ‘I must sleep for long stretches now and save energy. You’d better return to Brute, at least for the present. We’ll see each other soon and—’ He broke off.