Tigger (5 page)

Dad got the travel bags out of the wardrobe – always a bad sign. With a sinking feeling I watched Mum pack for a ‘long weekend' away. Where would I go and would I have to fly again? I prepared myself for the worst.

The very next day, Mum took me to the local vet clinic, where a mean-looking woman who smelt of smoke carried me into a room full of cages. There were bigger ones at the bottom and smaller ones stacked on top, all along the walls, with just one small window at the end. The window was shut tight, and the air was rank with the smell of unhappy animals. There were cats in all the smaller cages, but in the big ones underneath, there were dogs! They howled and yapped and jumped about as the woman shoved me roughly into a cage. I yelled, hissed and scratched, but too late – she had already locked the door. I was given some food, water and a litter tray; that was it. No warm blanket, no space out the back to stretch my legs and play, no goldfish pond. Was this going to be my home for a whole long weekend? How could I survive here, without fresh air, without a run or a climb – without my family? And how long was a long weekend, anyway?

I spent the rest of the first day trying to get out of my cage and run back home, but it was no use. The door was firmly locked, and there was no other exit. I tried to bend the bars, but my paws and teeth weren't strong enough, and eventually my paws were so sore that I had to give up.

All day and most of the night the dogs continued their racket. When they jumped about, they rocked their cages, which made a loud rattling noise, so sleep or relaxation of any kind were out of the question. I could not eat a single bite and just drank a little now and then. The rest of the time I rolled myself up into a tight ball, suffered quietly somewhere deep inside and vowed never, ever to let my family leave me here again. I have never forgotten the unhappiness I felt during those long days. Even now I can recall that smell, that noise and the discomfort of that horrible room as though it happened yesterday. My biggest disappointment was that my family left me there. They had never done anything to hurt me, and I loved them for it. Why did they do this to me now?

By and by, I started looking around at the cats in nearby cages. There was a straggly tortoiseshell, who looked as though she hadn't had a brush in years, a very fat old cat who seemed not to notice what went on around him as long as his bowl was full, and a scrawny kitten that shared a crate with his haggard-looking mother. They were a pretty rough lot; as far as they knew, pets everywhere stayed in hovels such as this one. I felt sorry for them.

One night, when there was a semblance of peace from down below, I told them about the nice cat hotel where I had spent my holidays in Australia – the personal attention, the peace and quiet, the excellent food, the climbing tree out the back with a view of the fishpond. What a difference! The cats looked at me with concern and clearly thought I was having hallucinations. I assured them I wasn't mad, but it was obvious they didn't believe a word I was saying and started whispering among themselves, darting furtive glances at me from time to time. I gave up trying to talk to them after that. What good would it do, anyway? It occurred to me that if I stayed in that place long enough, I might start to look, talk and think just like them. I curled my long, silky tail tightly around myself to stop it straying into another cage, shut my eyes tight and kept as close to the centre of my cage as I could.

At one point, the mean-looking woman dragged in a particularly ferocious dog. It was straining on the lead she was holding, slobbering all over the floor and sniffing at our cages as it panted past. It must suddenly have realized what the smaller cages contained – us! – because all at once the room erupted into bedlam: the ferocious dog jumped up at our cages to get a closer look and in doing so, managed to dislodge the tortoiseshell's cage, which came crashing down to the floor, its occupant tossed about like a fur ball inside. It was awful to watch! The dog hurled itself onto the cage with a throaty growl, while the poor cat tried to squeeze herself into the far corner and screeched. All the other dogs in their cages, sensing battle, started to bark, howl and rattle their cages. This alerted the vet and several other staff members, and soon the room was a jumble of arms and legs, some belonging to humans, some to animals. Everyone shouted and shrieked in their own language.

It took them a while to bring the dog under control. Once they had caught it they had to put a muzzle on its nose to stop it snapping at everything and everyone. The poor tortoiseshell was hoisted back up to her old place. She looked terrible, her eyes huge, her fur even wilder than before, and continued shaking for the rest of the day. The dog was finally wrestled into a cage, where it continued to crash about and snarl viciously. It caused such a disturbance that all the other dogs remained restless and the cages below us kept shaking alarmingly. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, the humans came in again and took the dog away. None of us cared where they took it or what they did with it, just as long as it never came back.

More days and nights passed; they seemed like years. I was exhausted by the time the woman finally opened my door again, pulled me out and carried me to where Mum was waiting for me. The welcome smile died on her face when she saw me. I must have looked quite a sight after my ordeal, because she took me into her arms straight away and asked to see where I had been kept. They showed her; reluctantly, I thought. When she saw the conditions in which I had lived, she grew really angry: she yelled at the mean-looking woman, and when the vet came in she yelled at him as well. She even stamped her foot, and I would have stamped mine as well had I been able to. But I had to cling to Mum to make sure she took me with her. When she finally stomped out to the car with me, I dug my claws so deeply into her jumper that it probably hurt her quite a lot, but she never said a word. The whole way home I could not settle in the car and jumped around until there was hair all over the car and all over Mum. Mum said she was really, really sorry and that I would never have to go back to that awful place. She blamed herself for not having checked the room before she booked me in there and said that apparently, vets in this country could not be trusted.

When we got home, I ran straight away under Mum and Dad's bed, where I sat and listened to my heart pounding. Mum came to find me and sat down next to the bed. She talked to me soothingly until I felt myself relaxing, and then I was very, very tired. I crawled out from under the bed onto Mum's lap, and she laid me down in the middle of her soft bed, covered me with a warm blanket and stroked my head until I fell asleep. I slept and slept for ages; it stayed very quiet in the house the whole time. At one point I thought I heard the children come back from school, but I also heard an angry hiss from Mum, and they left me alone.

I felt much better when I eventually woke up, and when I came into the kitchen everyone was sitting around the big table waiting for me. I was so happy to see them again! I jumped up on the table and rubbed heads with everyone in turn. Then I had a big, delicious dinner and a whole bowlful of fresh milk as a special treat. Everyone was cross with the vet and promised I could stay home the next time they went away. I thought it had better be a long time before they left me again.

In late winter, my new friend the grey cat needed our help. I was just hanging the washing out with Mum when he came limping slowly and painfully across the lawn towards us. When Mum picked him up, we saw that he was bleeding from one of his front paws. It looked pretty bad to me. Mum carried him into the kitchen, where she sat him down on the table and went to make some camomile tea. He looked surprised, but pleased to be inside our house and sat patiently on the table, holding his injured paw up. I sat down next to him. When the tea was ready, Mum put it in a bowl and cooled it down. Then she told Emily, who wants to be a vet and always looks after me when I'm unwell, to dip the grey cat's paw into the tea and wash it carefully. Emily was very gentle and my friend didn't flinch; he just sat there with his paw in the tea and looked mournful. As Emily washed him, she discovered a thorny twig that had lodged itself between his toes. She pulled it out and we all had a good look at it. It was very sharp. I was glad it wasn't in
my
paw. Emily finished cleaning the wound, then put a bandage around it and told my friend he would be fine now.

I was pleased that we had been able to help him and expected him to leave now, but he had other ideas: he wanted to be shown around our house. I didn't like that much, but Mum and Emily told me to be nice to him since he was wounded, so off we went. I noticed his limp was already improving. He admired everything and said our furniture was much nicer than his family's. He sat in my armchair for a while and pronounced it very comfortable. He sniffed at my food and looked under the big bed. When I suggested he might like to go now, he looked mournful again and gave a sad little meow that had Emily come and check on him. She shot me a sharp look, then she asked my friend to rest for a while, until he felt better.

I squeezed onto the armchair next to him and we rested together. Emily also stayed with us; she named my friend ‘Piglet'. I think he liked his new name. He certainly purred loudly enough, rubbed his nose against her hands and stayed until Dad came home from work. As soon as Dad walked in, my friend decided to leave. He told me he didn't like men. I thought that was strange, but also quite convenient. It was good to see him run off with hardly a limp, and even better to have my house and family to myself again.

Spring arrived in a flurry of apple blossom and sweet, sweet scents. Previously dead trees pushed out tiny leaves practically overnight, and in no time at all the russet forest had turned bright green again. My camouflage was gone.

Birds twittered everywhere, busily building nests. I watched them lazily as I lay on my deck in the morning sun, soaking in the pleasant warmth, wondering whether one or two of the birds might build their nests in accessible places. In fact, a pair of finches had the cheek to build theirs in one of Mum's hanging baskets, right on the deck! I knew, of course, long before Mum discovered the little eggs while watering the flowers. From then on, both Mum and I watched the nest very carefully. We both knew I could easily jump up to the nest from the deck rail, and there seemed no way she could stop me. Or so I thought. But when the first egg cracked and I was just sharpening my claws in delicious anticipation, Mum and Dad appeared on the deck with a wooden board brimming with sharp, shiny nails and fastened it on to the deck rail just underneath the nest. It looked lethal and ran nearly all the length of the rail. No way was I going to get at the nest now; Mum was a spoil-sport. I gave her a hard, green stare and turned my attention back to the mice and moles that were back in force. Someone else could have the silly birds, for all I cared.

Grey cat Piglet and I hunted together for days among the fresh grass and flowers of the spring meadow next to our house. His bandage had long fallen off and his wound had healed. There were hundreds of butterflies and tiny lizards besides the usual rodents. Under the roots of a large tree we found a hole with young rabbits in it. I took one into the house for my family, but they put it straight back outside and locked me up for a whole day – well, no more presents for them!

Instead, another visitor began to turn up with annoying regularity as the weather improved: one of the neighbours had a goat. It was usually tethered to a tree by a long rope, but the spring weather seemed to have filled it with wanderlust and it regularly broke loose to come and visit us. The first time we saw the goat, it was following Robin up our driveway after school. I watched them from the safety of the deck. Robin didn't look too happy: he kept looking nervously over his shoulder and telling the goat to go home, but it wasn't listening. Fortunately, he knew better than to run, but I could tell he really wanted to.

Mum was taking the washing down when Robin and the goat rounded the corner of the house. Mum's hand froze in mid-air, clutching a peg. I didn't blame her. You don't get to meet a goat every day in your back garden. Robin, once he was within safe reach of Mum, ran and hid behind her, so she had to face the goat all on her own, armed with just the peg in one hand and a towel in the other. I was proud of her. She did really well at first, talking brightly to both the goat and Robin, but it wasn't long before the goat took a shine to the clean sheets on the line and started charging at them with its horns. Mum wasn't very happy about that and tried to push the goat off. That made it angry and it charged at Mum, head down and horns facing her. Robin, I'm sorry to say, abandoned her at that point and ran into the house. Mum, who clearly was in no mood to sacrifice her washing to the goat, threw the last of the sheets into the basket, picked it up and ran after Robin, using the basket as a shield against the goat, which was getting quite vicious by then. She just made it into the house and slammed the door shut as the goat's horns crashed into it.

I had wisely entered the house some time ago. Now the three of us stood by the closed door and listened to the goat bashing about outside. At one point it came around to the window, stood up on its hind legs and peered in at us. For an awful moment we thought it would break the glass, but then it trotted off and hung around the house until dark. When we turned on the lights, it came back and stared accusingly at us through the windows. Mum told us to turn all the lights off once more, so we sat in pitch darkness for a long time, whispering to each other and wondering where the goat was.

The banging of the kitchen door almost had us jump out of our skins. The goat had finally broken into our house! I was halfway out of my cat door to find myself a nice, safe tree when we heard Dad's voice from the kitchen, calling us. I had never been happier to hear his voice. We all ran to meet him. He laughed when he saw our stricken faces and asked what we were doing, sitting in a dark house. He had seen no sign of the goat.