Paw Prints in the Moonlight (19 page)

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Authors: Denis O'Connor

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Shaking the last crumbs from the bag I suddenly felt a shiver run through me and when I looked I could see that Toby's fur was fully fluffed out in reaction to the cold. The quiet stillness of the dawn we had briefly witnessed was being swept away by a chill wind making wavelets on the lake and ruffling the feathers of the ducks. As the mist dispersed I could see the swans swimming away to the sheltered side of the lake in the lee of some pine trees. It was time to wish them and the ducks a ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year', and to go home. We hurried back to the comfort of the car, our good deed done and family tradition intact.
By the time we arrived back home it was full daylight but dull and cold so that we needed all the lights on in the house. The fire, which I'd banked with coal before leaving,
was a welcome red mass of heat and Toby Jug and I huddled round it to warm ourselves, me with my back to it and he staring straight into the burning coals. It was time for a festive drink. For Toby Jug it was a saucer of warm evaporated milk; for me it was a glass of hot mulled wine. I toasted his health and wished him a Happy Christmas and he reciprocated by jumping on my shoulder and licking my ear. Now it was time to open the presents that I'd placed under the Christmas tree.
Mine were an assortment of ties, socks and a shirt from my mother and sisters. Diane Forester, the colleague at work whose horse I had looked after during the summer months, had bought me a litre bottle of cognac from the French resort where she and the family had spent the summer holidays. It was especially welcome.
Toby Jug, full of curiosity as usual, playfully pounced and dived among the present wrappings and ribbons as if their sole purpose had been for his amusement. There were two presents for him. One was a deluxe cat basket which was built along the lines of an igloo. It had a fluffy, washable mat inside and outside, on the red-coloured fabric, in bold black letters it bore the name ‘Toby Jug'. After thoroughly inspecting it with his nose he climbed inside and lay down as if he'd decided that this was what was expected of him.
When I came to open his second present he was still inside, so I had to lift him out to present him with a brand
new red leather fur-lined cat collar complete with three bells and a new address disc. I'd added the bells to his collar because recently I'd seen him suspiciously eyeballing some of the songbirds, especially a robin redbreast, in the cottage garden. It would also keep me aware of his movements and stop me worrying when we went walking together and he wandered off to the side and flanked me through the woods.
The presents were a great success but the highlight of the day for Toby Jug was the Christmas lunch. He disgraced himself by demanding so many helpings of turkey, followed by a sizeable dish of fresh cream, that afterwards he could only just make it as far as the sitting room. He was quite incapable, as well as unwilling, to move from his place by the fire for the rest of the day. He surreptitiously opened only one eye as I left the cottage for an evening visit to church, but remained lying there stretched out in absolute contentment, the epitome of a relaxed cat. As I left the room, teasing him about his overfed state (to which he literally didn't even blink an eye), an age-old saying came to mind, ‘A greedy man's wagon is never full'.
 
Toby Jug's first Christmas and New Year were truly memorable for all sorts of reasons but especially for the friendliness and joy he brought into my life. I had never known a cat like him. On the one hand he was as extroverted and
friendly as a little dog but on the other hand he professed the independence and introverted self-containment of the proverbial cat. The unique way in which he had been reared by me had a lot to do with his personality, I'm sure, but there was also his Maine Coon inheritance. This was also an influential factor. Every living thing has singular qualities which make it different from others, even creatures of the same species and breed. Toby Jug, because of the conditions of his early environment, was most definitely a one-off.
As well the domestic life he had with me in the cottage and which he appeared to enjoy to the full, Toby Jug responded to the primitive call of the wild. Increasingly, he displayed the innermost urge to wander at will in the fields and woods near our home for longer periods of time. He was assuredly my pet cat but he was also his own cat. I had worried at times that because I had been so instrumental in his upbringing he might become something of a neurotic house cat, afraid of his own natural instincts and terrified to leave the safety of the cottage. I was very relieved to observe that, while his close attachment to me was indisputable, Toby Jug had enough of a wild streak to give him his natural rights and dignity as an animal.
In this respect I didn't scold him when just after New Year he brought me a present of a mouse which he'd killed and, some days later, a weasel; I praised him for the clever cat he was. To my knowledge he never did kill a bird. I believe that
he knew that somehow I wouldn't be happy with him if he did that. I had told him so and perhaps he understood me and respected my wishes but I sensed he didn't like birds at all, especially big birds. His hunt adventure and near death in the jaws of the foxhounds had taught him to be cannier in his wanderings. For all that, though, Toby Jug had a life and a mind of his own.
Sometimes when I was returning home whilst it was still daylight, I would stop the car on a hill, in a parking bay by the roadside, overlooking the countryside adjacent to the cottage. Then I would take out the binoculars I carried with me in the car and scan the fields and hedgerows for Toby Jug. He was quite distinctive with his white vest and white paws and I could literally see him a mile away.
On one particular occasion I spotted him investigating every ditch and tree stump along his way, happily unaware of the fact that I was watching his every move. I was proud to see him doing his own thing. Another time, in late October, I caught sight of him stalking rabbits in the stubble of a hayfield. All at once he stopped sniffing the grass in front of him and looked directly at me, his face so intent in my eyeglasses that it startled me. It was as if he could see me. But then I rationalized it by telling myself that it was probably something in the foreground which had caught his eye.
However, there are stories about cats that suggest they may have psychic powers and maybe, just maybe, Toby Jug
sensed that I was there. Uncanny as it might seem, on the day when I thought he'd become aware of me watching him through binoculars, he was there to greet me at the gate when I drove in. What this meant was that even if he'd taken his own shortcuts, he must have covered about a mile on foot whilst I drove in a round about way four miles along the twisting road. Cats are incredible creatures and there were many times that Toby Jug impressed me with just how incredible a cat he was.
Of course, I continued to worry about him. One incident which startled me happened when I was taking my habitual evening stroll through the garden, waiting to see the bats. Toby Jug was somewhere close about when a car braked hard and screeched to a stop in the roadway fronting the cottage and then hastily roared off. Almost at once a long-haired tortoiseshell cat streaked up my drive and suddenly dropped in her tracks. I hurried over to find a lovely cat in her death throes. Obviously, she had been hit by the car I had just heard. There wasn't anything I could do for her as she was bleeding badly from the mouth and had most certainly been ruptured inside. I knelt by her and tried to comfort her by gently stroking her head and within a short time she convulsed and died.
Just after this happened there came a sound from nearby which was so eerie it made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and sent a cold shudder right through me. It was
Toby Jug, a short distance away, staring at the dead cat and emitting a deep hollow sound which I'd never heard before nor since and which I can best describe as a cat howl. It was unearthly to hear and so blood-chilling that it filled me with fear. I went to him and gathered him up in my arms. His body was trembling. Pacifying him at length, I shut him in the cottage. I then gathered up the dead cat and laid it in a prominent place by the roadside, hoping its owner would find the body and at least know what had happened to it. The dead cat wore a collar but no address tag so I just had to leave it there.
In the morning I looked out for it but the body and the plastic bag on which I'd placed it had gone. Toby Jug was most upset that night and insisted on sleeping near me on the bed even though he'd become accustomed to sleeping in his new igloo in the bedroom. I concluded from these strange happenings that, although I know a lot about cats, there are still a lot of things that cats know that I do not.
Literature about the Maine Coon emphasises that this breed is remarkably intelligent. From my own experience with cats I can support this statement. I found Toby Jug to be extraordinarily clever, which was all the more surprising in view of his traumatic start in life. He proved to be the brightest of all the cats I have known. Not wishing to demean those other clever animals in any way, Toby Jug was superior. A great deal of what made Toby Jug so exceptional
was that, although I knew him well in so many ways, there were things about him that remained a mystery to me. This is what made our relationship fascinating. I had, in him, a piece of pure and profound cat nature.
 
Shortly after the turn of the year the weather changed for the worst in the Coquet Valley, as so often happens in these parts of Northumberland. A significant date was looming in my mind which at one time I hadn't dared even think about, let alone hope for. It was the date of the anniversary of finding Toby Jug. On 21 January, it would be one complete year from the time when I had set out in the snow to rescue his mother and found her kittens. I determined to make it a special occasion.
As I was driving back from work, it started to snow and by the time I reached the cottage it was falling heavily enough to lay a thick white carpet on the road. The weather closed in exactly as it had done the previous year. It snowed as if it would never stop. Roads were becoming blocked, while bushes, trees, fells and hills all around became lost in the snowscape.
Toby Jug was waiting for me under the protective umbrella of the giant fir tree and came bounding to greet me as I alighted from the car. He leapt on to my shoulder and began the welcome home routine that I now knew so well and looked forward to so much (even though the left
shoulder of all my jackets were beginning to have a somewhat worn look).
That evening, as a celebration, I cooked us both a tasty meal of fresh cod in a white creamy sauce. I had a glass of claret and Toby had a saucer of evaporated milk just for old time's sake. Afterwards, I built up the huge fire grate with some of the logs I'd cut in summer until there was enough heat from their blaze to chase away any of the cold memories left in my mind of that tragic night the previous year. For a while Toby Jug lay on my knees, all warm and fluffy, as he snuggled into my old sweater, which he had made a tattered remnant of its former glory. I looked him over as I stroked him. He had grown into a really fine-looking cat. He had a sturdy body and a healthy coat of silken fur. Moreover, he had a strong character and a loveable personality. Above all, Toby Jug was a real companion and I thought of him only in the dearest terms.
Casting my mind back to the beginning I considered it remarkable that one year ago tonight he had lain in an open barn, dying of starvation and hypothermia. Had it merely been chance or was it some other agent of serendipity that had lured me away from a cosy fireside to encounter a tragic drama that was to change my life for the better? When I thought deeply about it I couldn't decide who had been really rescued, Toby Jug or me. From a philosophical viewpoint I reckon it was mutual.
Later that evening I went to the back door from where I'd heard Toby Jug's mother screaming in pain on that night which seemed such a long time ago. There was no screaming this night, only deep powdery snowdrifts all around. For the moment the air was clear and the stars were out with a bright half-moon dominating the sky. The countryside was like an enchanting new country. Although I knew it well, that night it seemed wonderfully unfamiliar. The stars were brilliant against the black blanket of the sky, their light appearing to reflect on the snow and ice.
Toby Jug came to the door to see what I was doing. He looked out and decided to go for a prowl. At first he wasn't sure about this deep white stuff but I saw that he was analysing this experience of snow as yet another of nature's challenges. Possibly it was something that could be turned into a plaything like leaves blowing in the wind or the wavering tall grasses that were fun to charge. It was as if he couldn't quite work out why he kept slipping through the powdery surfaces. I chuckled at the sight of the puzzled expression on his face as he tried to work out how a seemingly solid surface could suddenly give way. He didn't like to see me laughing at him and he whined with the frustration of it all. As he became accustomed to the snow he romped through it with abandon. I watched him overcome his caution at this new experience and he
scooted exuberantly here and there. Even though I was growing cold and starting to shiver I stayed to watch his antics, unable to tear myself away from the sight of him enjoying himself.
Then I vividly recalled his mother and the paw tracks of her desperate flight in the moonlight to rejoin her kittens – paw tracks in the snow which I had followed and which led me to the sick kitten that was now a healthy, full-grown cat. Moving to my warm refuge in the sitting room, I watched him through the window making his own paw tracks in the moonlight. No parent could have been prouder. It was a singularly happy ending to the year for both of us.

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