King of the Vagabonds (6 page)

Belinda looked at him strangely. ‘What – Saul’s paddock? No. It isn’t. And who’s been telling you about that?’

Sammy explained. It was only then that he recalled his original reason for going into the field. Where had his mother gone? He soon found that Belinda knew a thing or two.

‘You may still be too young to know much about a male animal’s call to the female. But that’s what you heard. And I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it wasn’t your father back on his rounds again.’

Beau! So that was why his mother. . . .

‘Oh! If only I had known,’ wailed Sammy.

‘Known? Why, what difference would that have made?’ asked Belinda.

‘I could have seen my father at last.’

The goat tossed her head. ‘I think perhaps it was as well you didn’t just then,’ she replied mysteriously.

Sammy did not entirely understand. But Belinda went on: ‘You will learn in time about such things; that there are times when youngsters should keep to themselves. So it was for the best.’

However, now that Sammy believed his father was in the neighbourhood, he was restless. He left the meadow and returned home, wondering if Stella had come back. Josephine soon told him there had been no sign of her. Sammy explained about the howls.

Josephine looked at him in dismay. ‘Will she come back now?’ she asked.

‘I hope they both come,’ said Sammy fervently.

‘
I
don’t,’ Josephine returned. ‘What do we want Beau here for? He’ll only upset everything.’ She did not want any interference in her carefree life.

Sammy said nothing. He knew that he and his sister held different opinions about their father.

The day wore on and Stella did not appear. Molly had heard the caterwauling and had realized it must be Beau. She wondered if she should offer some comfort to the two young cats, or whether it would be better to leave them to their own devices. After all, they were no longer tiny kittens and had to know how to fend for themselves. So Molly kept to herself.

In the evening Mrs Lambert provided four saucers of food as usual. When Stella did not put in an appearance she called for a while. Eventually she removed the untouched saucer in case Sammy or Josephine tried to be greedy.

Later the two cats settled themselves in the shed for the night. It was strange without their mother and Josephine was a little frightened. Sammy was not at all sympathetic and scoffed at her.

‘Don’t be kittenish,’ he taunted her. ‘You’re nearly full grown. Supposing Stella never comes back? You’ll have to get used to it.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Josephine pleaded. ‘I miss her.’

That night Sammy dreamt of his father. Josephine stayed awake for a long time, listening for Stella. At last she, too, slept.

Towards dawn the unmistakable sound of Stella’s call woke them both. Josephine rushed to meet her mother. But Stella seemed to have changed. She did not exactly rebuff her daughter, yet her manner was very aloof. It was as if she had other things on her mind.

Sammy gambolled around her, crying ‘Where’s Beau? Where’s Beau?’

Stella did not answer for a while. At last she said reluctantly, ‘He’s around.’

‘Around where? Can I see him?’

‘I suppose there’s nothing to stop you,’ said Stella in an offhand way. ‘But he’s probably hunting now.’

Hunting! A thrill of excitement went through Sammy. That unknown world. Hunting! If only he could find his father and join in,
that
would be something to tell Tiptoe about.

‘Would Beau allow me to hunt with him?’ he asked his mother. He was on tenterhooks.

Now Stella got cross. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sammy,’ she said. ‘What do you need to hunt for? You’re fed well every day. This is not some sort of game for your father. It’s a deadly serious business. He must hunt to survive, and if he fails he starves.’

The blunt words dashed Sammy’s hopes. But he was thoughtful enough to say, ‘I hope he never starves. He could have some of my food, rather than that.’

Stella was mollified by his unselfishness. ‘You’re a generous-hearted cat,’ she acknowledged, ‘and I think you really do care about your father’s welfare. He should be pleased to have a son with a genuine regard for him.’

Josephine felt chastened. She had never shown the slightest interest in Beau. Indeed she would not have welcomed him if he had walked into the shed that moment. But she could see that Stella was impressed with Sammy’s behaviour and she was jealous.

‘Why doesn’t he go and look for his precious father then,’ she muttered, ‘and leave us in peace?’

Stella saw how the land lay but was wise enough to make no comment. She only said, ‘He steers clear of gardens, Sammy. So it’s no good looking for him here.’

Sammy could hardly believe his ears. His mother had as good as directed him. He waited no longer, but went quietly out of the shed into the shadowy garden.

He made straight for Belinda’s meadow. He saw her ghostly shape in the blackness of the field and went directly to her.

‘Is Beau about? My mother says he’s hunting.’

‘Is he now? And what are you doing here at this hour?’

‘I’m going to join him,’ Sammy boasted.

‘Don’t show your foolishness, Sammy. If Beau is hunting, he’ll be away from these parts over towards Quarter-mile Field. And you won’t be going there, I think?’

Sammy looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, I – I didn’t realize,’ he murmured. But he was beginning to get the gist of things. Stella had known this and allowed him to be responsible for his own actions. He felt very grown up.

‘I’ll wait around for a while,’ he told Belinda. ‘Perhaps my father will come back after he—’ his voice tailed off.

‘Do as you like,’ said Belinda. She stepped daintily away. Presently Sammy saw her lie down in the lush grass.

Sammy was alone and a little scared. The vastness of the open field and the wide arc of sky made him feel as if he had been somehow swallowed up. But after a bit he began to enjoy it. He had never been so free and independent. He thought, with juvenile scorn, of Josephine’s clinging dependence on Stella. This night, Sammy was sure, marked a change in his personality. He believed he had come of age.

When the sky began to lighten, his new confidence urged him on. He went determinedly towards the hedge where Stella had kept her tryst with Beau, and then into the horse’s paddock. Sammy was relieved to see that Saul appeared to be sleeping. His great black shape leant motionless against a solitary sycamore. Sammy began to reconnoitre the hedgerow.

Under the thick greenery it was still very dark. Sammy’s pupils dilated hugely as he paced cautiously along, but he could see very little. Suddenly a sharp hiss of warning made him jump. A strange cat was spitting at him. Sammy’s
immediate fright soon gave way to excitement when he realized what this could mean.

‘Now then – where are you going?’ came a harsh voice.

‘I – I – I—’ spluttered Sammy, torn between two different emotions.

‘I – I – I,’ mocked the voice. The animal had soon made out it was dealing with a youngster. ‘I – I – I – what?’

‘I’m sort of – searching,’ Sammy explained in a small voice.

‘Searching are you? What for? Food?’

‘No, not food. For my father.’

‘For your father, eh? What’s your name?’

‘Sammy.’

‘Never heard of you. Come closer. Let’s have a look at you.’

Sammy edged slowly forward. The other cat was curled up under a bush.

‘Oh, quite an ugly creature, I see,’ it said next. ‘Not that I’m one to talk.’

Sammy peered into the gloom. His heart sank. He was looking, not at a tabby, but at a black cat – a very mangy, tattered black cat.

‘I’m known as Scruff,’ said the animal. ‘No need to guess why, eh? Now what’s this fuss about your father? Cats aren’t usually very interested in who sired them.’

‘Aren’t they?’ Sammy asked innocently. ‘I suppose I must be different. I feel a need for male company.’

‘Oh, there’s plenty of that to be had,’ chuckled the black cat. ‘What sort of company do you keep, then?’

‘All female,’ Sammy answered, ‘every one of them.’

‘All female?’ repeated the scruffy animal. ‘I’m surprised you grumble about it.’ His voice had a leer in it which was completely lost on Sammy.

‘There are my mother and sister and Molly the dog,’
Sammy explained naïvely. ‘We all belong to the same mistress.’

‘Guessed as much by the look of you,’ Scruff said, scornfully. ‘You’re someone’s little pet, with your smooth coat and sleek looks. And what, may I ask, happened to the father of this little family?’

‘Nothing. He was never part of it. He came – er – from outside.’

‘Oh, I get it,’ said the cat. ‘One of us. What’s his name?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Beau.’

‘Beau? I don’t know him, then, and I know a few, I can tell you.’

‘Do you? Where is your home?’

‘Home?’ Scruff seemed to find this very amusing and it was a while before he recovered himself. Then he said: ‘My
home
is nowhere in particular, but I spend most of my time back there – in the waste ground.’

‘Oh yes, I know,’ Sammy said eagerly. ‘I can see into that place from the apple tree. I’ve seen movement there. It might have been you.’

‘Might have been. Might not. There’s plenty of us around.’ A sly look stole over his face. He got up and stretched. ‘Perhaps you’d like to meet some of them?’ He saw there could be a bit of sport ahead with this naïve young animal.

‘Yes, I would,’ said Sammy. He was thinking that there might be another animal there who knew of his father. ‘But what about the road? I – I’m not used to—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ the black cat reassured him at once. ‘It’ll be as empty as this field at this time of day. Come on. Follow me.’

7

The Vagabonds

The black cat walked with a limp. He was a poor-looking beast: thin, dirty, with bald patches on his flanks. Sammy was bigger, stouter by far and had still not attained his full size. They crossed the road together, entering the bomb site through weeds and rubble. The daylight had hardened now and Sammy saw everything clearly.

‘This is a good hunting ground,’ Scruff told him. ‘Lots of cover, see? Little creatures need cover but when they leave it – bang! That’s when we pounce.’

Sammy was most impressed with this. Of course he knew nothing about hunting, but he had an idea he was going to find out. A tingle of excitement ran through his veins. He looked about keenly.

The waste ground was overgrown with a tangle of weeds and brambles. Elder-bushes, birch and sycamore saplings had colonized this plot amongst the relics of buildings, and birds flitted to and fro through the branches. Occasionally one would alight briefly on the ground and peck up an insect or seed, but would soon be off again. The ground around here, each bird knew, was rife with danger.

Sammy heard a slight rustle from a clump of growth close to his shoulder. He tensed. Then he became aware of the distinct scent of another cat. A very small white cat emerged. It stopped to sniff the air, closing its eyes
against the strengthening sunlight. It turned slowly and looked at Sammy. Their eyes met and held each other’s gaze unblinkingly. The white cat’s eyes were blue, the ears and nose pink beneath the white hair.

‘This is Pinkie,’ Scruff said. ‘Pretty, isn’t she? But already claimed. And no contest. She’s the leader’s.’

Sammy had not a clue what all this meant.

‘What’s wrong with your face?’ Pinkie asked him cheekily.

‘My face? Oh, the stripe. I’m stuck with it, I’m afraid,’ said Sammy. He was quite used to such remarks.

‘The rest of you’s all right.’ Pinkie was looking him up and down coolly. ‘Did you bring him here, Scruff?’

‘Sort of,’ was the gruff answer. ‘He’s got a home but he wants to see how
we
live.’

Something in the way he said this passed a message to the white cat.

‘We can show him a lot,’ she purred.

Their voices had brought others out of hiding, or roused them from sleep. A group began to assemble. There were tabbies, a ginger, a tortoiseshell and white and an old white cat with a prominent splash of black across his back. Sammy looked at each of them warily. He felt vulnerable. By comparison with Stella, Josephine and the cats he had seen before, these animals looked hard and mean. It was clear they led lives of toughness, even suffering. They were smaller than Sammy, bony and scarred; but the most noticeable thing about them was their eyes. In every animal’s eyes there was the same lacklustre gleam: the gleam of hunger. And they stared at Sammy, it seemed, with resentment. He became uneasy. His back fur prickled. He shifted his stance.