King of the Vagabonds (2 page)

Climbing

Sammy began to stray farther from his mother, and Stella made no attempt to stop him. In the middle of Mrs Lambert’s lawn was an ancient gnarled apple tree with broad spreading branches just begging to be climbed. Sammy could not resist its call. He hauled himself easily up the trunk, his claws digging deep into the crusty bark. He found that he could walk along a main branch and look out across the whole garden. He could see Stella and Josephine basking in the sun. He could see Mrs Lambert pottering about in her kitchen. And he could see farther – out over the neighbouring gardens to some open land beyond. He climbed higher for a better view. Now he could see more. The open land was dotted with the ruins of human habitations. There had been houses here but they had been destroyed in the war and no rebuilding had taken place since on the site. Beyond that, fields and trees stretched as far as the eye could reach. But what interested Sammy was certain movements amongst the tall weeds on the bomb site. There were animals there and he was sure they were cats. He wanted to find out. It seemed there was a lot more than just his mistress’s garden to explore.

The leaves of the apple tree rustled above his head. He saw Molly waddle underneath its boughs and heard her
whine. She was looking up at him with a worried expression on her grizzled old face.

‘I’m all right,’ Sammy called down to her reassuringly. ‘Climbing is easy.’

‘It may be,’ was Molly’s answer. ‘But what about coming down?’

Sammy had not thought much about that. ‘Oh, it won’t be any bother,’ he told her, but with rather less confidence. He turned round carefully on the branch. That was easy enough. Then he looked down to the larger branch he had first got on to. He was not quite certain how he was going to return to that. Should he go forwards or – or – backwards? This was not so simple after all. Perhaps he could jump from one branch to another. But supposing he should miss his footing? He looked down, trying to assess whether he could manage such a large leap. His body dipped up and down as he attempted to gauge the risk.

Molly could tell Sammy was in difficulty. She set off to fetch Stella. Sammy’s mother received the news with equanimity.

‘It’s natural for him to want to test his skills,’ she commented. ‘All youngsters are the same. He’ll manage. He must learn the hard way.’

Just then there came the sound of a crash. The leaves of the apple tree shook vigorously. Sammy had tried his jump.

He had been lucky. He had not landed well on the larger branch and had very nearly overbalanced. Only by sinking his claws really hard into the wood had he managed not to slip right over. But now, having heard the crash, Stella, Molly and Josephine came running.

‘He wanted to climb the tree. Now he can’t get down,’ wailed Josephine unhelpfully.

‘He
will
get down,’ Stella answered her firmly.

However, Sammy, who had reached the lower branch by a whisker, still faced the problem of descending the trunk. He saw his mother and sister watching him as well as Molly, and the temptation to beg Stella for help was almost overwhelming. But he felt he would be demeaning himself in the eyes of the onlookers if he did so. He began to inch his way forward slowly, head first.

‘You’re too high up to come down that way,’ his mother called. ‘Swing round and lower yourself by your back legs first.’

Sammy gulped. She sounded so far away. Oh, why had he climbed the wretched tree? It was so much more difficult than a fence.

‘Can’t you climb up and lead him down, Stella?’ Molly asked. ‘You could show him how.’

‘Of course I could,’ she replied. ‘But I’m not going to. That’s the easy way.’

‘Well, I wish I could help,’ Molly muttered. ‘
I
wouldn’t abandon him.’

‘I’m not abandoning him,’ Stella said crossly. ‘Sammy has to learn. I won’t always be around to rescue him.’

Josephine began to mew to her brother encouragingly, while Stella coolly repeated her directions to him. Somehow Sammy found the courage to swing himself round on the trunk, his claws grappling for a good grip. Then, miaowing nervously at intervals, he crept backwards down to the ground.

‘Now, Sammy. You’ll know another time,’ was all Stella said.

Molly wagged her tail furiously and licked the little tabby’s crossed-out face all over in her relief. Josephine rubbed herself against her brother gladly.

When Sammy had fully recovered himself, he started
to ask the older animals questions about what he had seen from the tree top.

‘Plenty of time for all that,’ Molly counselled. ‘One step at a time, you know.’

‘Quite right,’ said Stella. ‘There’s a lot you have to know. But not just yet.’

Sammy’s curiosity was whetted further by these mysterious remarks, but he knew he would have to try to be patient. His mother had begun to wash herself, and it was clear that he would get no more information from her for the moment.

With the climbing of the tree behind him, Sammy felt very pleased with himself. He was flushed with his success and decided he would soon be ready for new adventures.

Mrs Lambert’s neighbour kept chickens. Sammy had watched them scratching about in their wire enclosure from the fence top. His opinion of the hens was that they were rather silly creatures who always seemed to be making a song and dance over nothing in particular; but he had been impressed by one bird who was different from the others and who appeared to be in charge. Though he did not realize it, this was the cockerel – a very gaudy fellow. He strutted around, lording it over his companions. Sammy was a little in awe of him.

A few days after his first ascent of the apple tree, Sammy was sitting on top of the fence admiring the self-important cockerel. He stepped sedately up and down, pausing now and then to crow. Sammy took this to be some sort of challenge and jumped into the neighbour’s garden.

At once the hens began to run about, clucking nervously. But the cockerel behaved in a different way. He
turned his bright eyes on Sammy and made threatening noises. Sammy looked back at the fierce cockerel, but was not deterred. He began to climb up the wire netting of the hen run.

The cockerel made a quick dash towards him. ‘See what you’re doing!’ he cried. ‘Look at my hens! Oh, if you want to cause mischief—’ He left the remainder of the implied threat in the air.

Sammy paused. The cockerel looked to be ready for action and he did seem a bird not to be trifled with. The young cat climbed back down the netting, returning to the ground.

‘I’m not mischievous,’ he said to mollify the cockerel. ‘But I
can
climb!’ The knowledge of this was Sammy’s great pride.

‘Climb! But can you fly?’ retorted the cockerel, who had been deprived of this ability, and was therefore all the more impressed by it.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Sammy. ‘I’m a cat, not a bird.’

‘Well, when you can do something as clever as flying, you may come and tell me,’ was the cockerel’s answer. ‘Otherwise – don’t bother us.’

Sammy was deflated. He thought he
had
been clever. But the cockerel’s remark made him think. All cats climbed so what was so special about what he had done? The apple tree lost its significance. He started to wander away but the squawking of the hens had aroused their owner who now appeared in the garden to chase the intruder away. Sammy made a hasty exit. The man’s shouts frightened him and he was glad to scramble over the fence and rejoin his friends.

After this Sammy kept himself quiet for a while. He grew steadily and he did not forget what he had seen from the apple tree.

3

Learning

The trouble was, life was too quiet. Stella and Josephine were quite content to stay in their own garden. As Josephine got bigger, she became more and more like her mother, in looks and in temperament. She was docile, almost to the point of serenity. They spent most of their time together and resembled two sisters rather than mother and daughter. Sammy was not resentful of their preference for each other’s company. He enjoyed a feeling of freedom and, in any case, there was always Molly.

Sammy was very fond of Molly. She seemed to understand him and, although at her age she was not the most exciting of animals, she had a great fund of knowledge about all sorts of things. In her younger days she had accompanied her master far and wide in the area. She knew all about what went on at the bomb site; what creatures were there and how they lived. But she was always careful not to make the outside world sound attractive to Sammy. In fact she warned him of what life could be like for those who were less fortunate than themselves. She wanted to be sure the young cat did not harbour any ideas of trying out his father’s sort of existence, for she soon noticed he was very interested in him. He was always wondering what he looked like and if he would ever see him.

At night Sammy, Stella and Josephine usually slept in the shed which always remained open. It was warm and dry and they had it all to themselves, except for the occasional mouse. But, since they were so comfortable and well fed, none of them showed any interest in mice. Stella had never been known to catch one and so the two youngsters were equally indifferent.

One night Sammy lay awake while the other cats slept. He felt restless and was thinking of his father again. There was a pitter-patter of quick little feet across the shed floor. Bright moonlight penetrated the wooden building and Sammy looked around him listlessly. A mouse was running about in search of titbits. Sammy watched with no more than a flicker of interest.

The mouse stopped, sat on its hind legs and wrinkled its nose. Its forepaws hung limp as it tested the air. Some sixth sense had told the little animal it was noticed.

‘I know you’re watching me,’ the mouse squeaked. ‘I shall see you in a moment.’ It made no move to run away, perhaps because it was not sure which was the safest direction to run.

‘I
am
watching,’ Sammy confessed, ‘but for no special reason.’

The mouse dropped to all fours and his little black beady eyes focussed on the cat. When he was sure who had spoken he relaxed visibly.

‘Sammy,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said the cat. ‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve watched you grow up, you and your sister. I was born in the shed too.’ And the mouse squeaked with amusement.

‘I don’t know your name,’ Sammy said. He was wide awake now and becoming more interested.

‘Tiptoe.’

‘Very appropriate, I should think. Anyway, it’s good to
see a new face. Nothing ever happens around here.’

‘You’ve got to make it happen,’ the mouse told him. ‘I get into no end of scrapes. The other day I climbed up the shed door. Just as I got to the top a gust of wind caught it and blew it back against the wall. I just had time to jump down or I should have been squashed flat.’

‘That was a huge jump for a little creature like you,’ said Sammy.

‘An
enormous
jump,’ Tiptoe averred. ‘But cats aren’t the only animals who can jump. Of course, I was a bit shaken up for a while, so I went and found something to eat and then I soon felt better.’

‘Doesn’t the mistress feed you?’ Sammy asked naively.

‘The mistress? Oh, you mean – no, no, she doesn’t know about us mice. At least, I hope she doesn’t. Human beings don’t approve of us usually. Tee hee hee.’ He seemed to find it all very comical.

Sammy was delighted with his new friend. He seemed to have more life in his tiny body than Stella, Molly and Josephine rolled into one.

‘Ours is a very kind mistress,’ Sammy informed Tiptoe loyally.

‘So I understand,’ came the reply, ‘and she’s been kind to me more than once, only she doesn’t know it. Tee hee.’

‘How?’

‘Oh, I often find scraps you cats or the dog have dropped or left behind. And then there’s your mistress’s own scraps too. We mice never go short, you know.’

‘I can see that,’ Sammy remarked. ‘But, you know, you’re very welcome to some of my food. I always have more than enough. You don’t have to wait for the scraps.’

‘Well, that’s a new notion, certainly,’ the mouse replied. ‘I suppose I should be grateful although, to be
honest, I prefer my way of foraging around. That way, you never quite know what you may find. And then, a lot of what
you
eat doesn’t appeal to me at all.’