Tigger (17 page)

Summer seemed to go on for ever and ever that year; we all grew tired of the heat and the drought. Even the big water tanks were empty most of the time. Don't get me wrong: I do like heat. There is nothing nicer than to stretch out among the shrubs in the full sun, wriggle your back into the hot earth and feel its warmth seep into your body as you relax into a beautiful dream. But this was no ordinary heat. It was a searing kind of heat that sapped everyone's energy. Even the birds stopped singing by breakfast time and clung pathetically to the branches of the big cedar trees. The heat made the air above the paddocks shimmer like flames, and the fierce, hot wind burnt everything it touched. Whenever I poked my nose out through the cat flap, it felt as though I was walking straight into Mum's hair dryer (which I would never do, because I hate the thing). Mum tried to save her roses from certain death by collecting everyone's umbrellas and tying them to trees in an attempt to provide shelter from the wind and sun, but they rarely stayed put. We became quite used to the sight of umbrellas flying through the air, pursued by Mum and Dad.

Eventually, there came a horrible day when it was too hot even to go out before breakfast. Mum put Brandy into the stable and told him he had to stay there, where the shady breeze made it just bearable for him to stand quietly. The sheep looked after themselves in the shade of the trees. Against the protest of the entire family, Mum brought her worm farm into the house as she feared they would fry outside. So we all huddled in the house, windows and doors shut tight, while the air conditioning hummed and battled against the ever-rising temperature. It was an uncomfortable day; we all felt tense and irritable.

After lunch we saw black clouds billowing above the hills and Dad kept listening to the radio. Things were not good out there, that much was clear – but what could we do about it?

By mid-afternoon, the wind turned. The trees were whirling about wildly for a while, then the wind started blowing from the bottom of the valley, bringing cooler air our way. Mum and Dad opened all the windows and doors and a beautiful, refreshing breeze filled the house at last, pushing out the stale, hot air. There was a strong smell of bonfires outside, and much of the sky was black. Dirty yellow clouds hid the sun as it set, veiling the valley in a murky light. We were all exhausted and went to sleep early, windows and doors wide open to the cool breeze. Any burglars were welcome to help themselves to our belongings; we needed air.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of both radio and TV. This was unusual; something bad must have happened. I joined Mum and Dad on the sofa in front of the TV, which was showing tall flames and black smoke of the kind we had seen from our windows the day before. There were sirens and people running and sparks flying. I was glad we had stayed home and not become involved in whatever they were doing on TV. Mum and Dad looked very worried. They talked for a long time. Then they started moving around the house, gathering up a lot of things and putting them into the cars. Pictures disappeared from the walls, photos were packed into boxes, and I thought I caught a glimpse of my travel container being loaded up. I told myself not to panic, but remained on alert all day, watching out for hands trying to grab me, fearing the worst.

But the day passed and we were still in our house, doing all the usual things. The weather was cooler, almost pleasant. Brandy was allowed into the garden again, where he was up to his usual tricks. The sheep had moved from the shade of one clump of trees to another. The wind had died down almost completely, and the smell of smoke gradually disappeared.

The cars remained packed for a good while longer, though, preventing me from relaxing. I slept fitfully, usually hidden away in some dark corner where I hoped not to be discovered by searching fingers. The weather remained hot and dry, but never quite as hot as on that horrible day, and everything seemed to be on hold, waiting for a sound we had almost forgotten: rain.

When we finally heard the pitter-patter of rain drops on the roof one very early morning, it was like music to our ears. I ran into Mum and Dad's room, jumped on their bed with a loud meow and sensed their relief. We lay down together, listening to the rain until it sent us back to sleep. This time, it was a deep, sound sleep accompanied by the drumming of rain on the roof and water gushing into the flowerbeds from overflowing gutters.

By breakfast time, it was still pouring, but I ventured out anyway to have a look around. The hard, dry ground hadn't managed to soak up all the water coming down. There were little rivulets running through our garden, and the road past our gate was one big stream. I'm not usually a friend of water, as everyone knows, but after the long dry and fierce heat even I didn't mind getting a little wet. I walked down to the stable to check on Brandy, who was having a little trot around his paddock, shaking the water from his mane in a silvery spray. The sheep were on the move as well, for the first time in ages. The rain didn't seem to penetrate their thick coats at all. The birds were singing, and a group of them were splashing about in a puddle. Everyone was happy that the drought had broken.

When I got back to the house, I saw Mum and Dad remove the last of the boxes from the cars. We were back to normal.

I knew when Robin finished school, even though he didn't wear a uniform: he put all his school books in a big pile and kicked them out of his room. I understood how he felt. I was a little sick of those books myself, having spent hours lying on them as we prepared for his exams. I had almost forgotten the feel of the smooth timber surface of his desk under my paws. Mum and Dad seemed happy as well; they had a bubbly drink in tall, thin glasses on the deck that evening. When Tammy tasted it, as she likes to taste anything that comes in a glass, it made her sneeze.

It felt strange not to have schoolchildren in the family. For as long as I could remember, the pattern of school terms interspersed by holidays had marked our time together, along with the seasons. What would we do now?

Robin didn't seem too worried. He kept himself busy with all kinds of activities, none of which involved books and studying, and the summer passed pleasantly enough. My family went away on holiday together while we stayed home with Jamie, Emily's friend who came to our house a lot. She had trained him in everything he needed to know to look after us, so there was very little for me to do except watch TV and play computer games with him.

With the end of summer, however, I registered ominous behaviours: Dad started tidying up the big shed and Mum sorted out her wardrobe. Those were not chores they did very often, and it did not bode well that they should start now. Then people came to look at our house. Finally – and most alarmingly – Mum packed two large suitcases and left after long good-byes and making a big fuss of us. I told her not to worry; we were all quite used to her trips abroad and she would be back soon enough.

I was wrong: she didn't come back. She left us with just Dad, Robin and very occasional visits from Emily and Caroline. The house grew really quiet. I did what I could to support Dad, who had a lot on his hands and was quite irritable at times. I'd never seen him wield the mop and the duster so often, and so fiercely. Tammy spent nearly all her time hiding in Emily's room, and even the dogs behaved themselves.

Autumn came and went, and with the beginning of the colder weather, Robin packed
his
bags and left us as well! Would we be home alone soon, without any human company – an animal farm? For a while, Dad soldiered on by himself, but I could tell he wasn't enjoying being the only human. I watched TV with him every evening and slept on his bed, just like Mum, but he still felt lonely. Eventually, Emily took pity on us and came home. We were so glad to see her! Tammy didn't stop purring for days. Emily brought her horse home with her, which had to be a good sign. Brandy was beside himself with joy and happily turned his back on our garden, the ball games and the bird bath – much to the relief of dogs and birds.

Still, there was no doubt in my mind by now that big changes were afoot, and that we would soon be leaving. The dogs, Tammy and I had already made several visits to the vet, who had taken blood from our legs, a procedure I knew only too well, but which scared Tammy almost to the point of collapse. I would have my paws full looking after her when the journey began.

It came as a very pleasant surprise indeed when Robin and Mum returned in mid-winter. Dad had been tidying up and cleaning the house with a spring in his step, so we knew something was up. All of a sudden, there they were, and we had such a joyful reunion! They both smelt a bit strange, but they sounded the same as ever, and after a few days, once I had given their legs a good rub, all was back to normal. Not long after, Caroline came home as well. She brought a friend with her who was introduced to us as John and was very polite to Tammy and me.

Suddenly, we were a big family again – even bigger than before: in addition to Caroline, Emily and Robin we also had Jamie and John. The house became lively once more. There were long dinners with lots of talking, laughter and noisy board games, just like before. Mum lit candles and nobody minded if I tasted the food on the kitchen worktop – in fact, nobody even noticed. They were busy having fun, and we were spoilt for laps to sit on. During the day I helped Emily in the stable again and showed John around our property, but as the weather was cold and the days short, we snuggled down inside most of the time, basking in the heat of the fire and the warmth of our family around us. It was a happy time; as far as I was concerned it could have gone on for ever and ever.

Sadly, it didn't: all too soon Caroline and John left, and shortly afterwards so did Mum. Just before she left, we sat next to each other on the big bed, and she talked to me for a long time in a very serious tone. She showed me some pictures of a green place with flowers and big trees, which made her excited and happy. I purred to let her know I understood. Then she mentioned Tammy and the dogs. As I had suspected, she was asking me to look after them (as though I hadn't been doing that already, for years!) because they weren't as clever as I was – which I had worked out also. I realized all three would need my guidance on the long journey ahead, and I knew Mum needed me to be brave one more time, just
one more time
for the last move ever. Of that, she made me a big promise. Then she kissed the top of my head and left.

I stayed on the bed for a while longer to be able to watch Mum and Dad drive out of the gate and down the road. I had sensed Mum's sadness at leaving us and the home where we had been happy for so long, but also her eagerness to show me that green country that meant so much to her and Dad. I could not pretend to understand why they wanted to uproot us all again, but I did see that it was pointless to object, and I knew Mum was right in asking me to lead our little group on the journey. There was much I could teach them, and goodness knew they needed help! I resolved to be brave, just one more time. The green country looked okay in the pictures. With any luck, we would be able to settle down there and be content. I would do my best.

And so, while Dad, Robin and Emily started packing up the house in earnest, I went outside to say good-bye to the place I had called home. I walked up to the frog pond, but the frogs had long gone and all was silent there. Either the drought had got the better of them, or the tiger snake had eaten them all. I liked to think they had found themselves a deeper pond somewhere across the hills. I climbed the cedar tree, just as I had done on my first evening, and looked across the road at the neighbour's paddock, where the kangaroos were still grazing on what little grass they could find. The big animals that used to live there had gone for lack of grass, but down the hill I saw the tiger snake swimming smoothly across the pond, his long, sinuous body dividing the water into two sets of gentle ripples on either side. He could have his realm back now; not that he had ever relinquished it, of course.

The next morning Dad brought our travel containers into the house and Emily put us inside. Together they carried us into the car and off we drove, with the dogs panting in the back. From where I sat, I could just glimpse the silver tin roof of our house and the big cedar trees as we turned out of the gate. I said a last, silent good-bye to our home. My heart was heavy; heavier than it had ever been before. I had spent most of my life in this house and in this garden surrounded by hills and trees. From my very first walk on the first day I had loved this place with its wide views, heady scents and unlimited possibilities, and we had had so many adventures here. It was hard to leave, and I just hoped my family knew what they were doing.

We were taken to a cat and dog hotel where everyone seemed to know Emily. Even though I did not cherish the thought of being in an establishment with dogs, we were given preferential treatment throughout our stay, which made up for a lot of inconvenience. Emily came to see us regularly and reassured us that all would be well. I hoped she was right. Tammy had withdrawn into herself already and talked to nobody except me. I never saw the dogs, but reckoned they could look after themselves for now.

We stayed at that place for quite a long time. Tammy and I shared our accommodation, which was comfortable enough, but it was frustrating not to be able to go outside and hunt and play, and of course I missed my family. When a man finally came to take us away, I was almost relieved. On our way to the airport I had a serious talk with the dogs and told them what to expect; I had already tried to prime Tammy, to little avail. The dogs listened attentively, but I could tell they didn't really believe me when I told them we were going to fly to another country.

At the airport, there were the usual checks and paperwork, then the dogs were put into big wooden crates made especially for them, while Tammy and I went back into our separate travel containers. I was sorry not to be able to share a container with Tammy; she looked so small and scared all on her own. But I also knew we would be more comfortable on the long journey in a place of our own. So I just told her to be brave and that all would be well, and we set off on our next adventure – but that is another story.