Tigger (9 page)

After a couple of days in the tiny new house, I was more than ready to return to the great outdoors. I had not hunted in weeks; I had had to use horrible litter trays instead of lovely, brown soil; I had had no exercise and was feeling sluggish and unfit. Mum was not keen to let me out: our house stood right by a road. That didn't scare me, though. I knew all about roads, since we had lived on a busy one when I was a kitten. Besides, there was a small fenced garden outside the living room for me to explore. We battled for several days: each time a member of my family left the house, I was right there, waiting to slip out between their legs; each time, they caught me. It was infuriating.

I tried to entertain myself with what little excitement was available, but the best I could get was a large, empty cardboard box that stood in the middle of the living room. Robin had rescued it from the recycling bin and was using it as a cubby house. There were pillows, books and a camping light in there. He also insisted on having all his meals in the box, so I joined him and we snacked on bits of cheese and an assortment of crackers, hidden away from the strange new world outside. I think Robin missed our nice, big house and garden in America just as much as I did. Above all, he missed his little red Jeep, which he had had to leave behind as he was getting too big for it. According to Mum, Robin was now almost eight years old – his birthday was coming up. According to Robin himself, he was only five if you didn't count the holidays. Either way, the two of us sat in Robin's box, felt sorry for ourselves and waited for something interesting to happen.

It happened quite out of the blue, as these things often do, when Mum came back from the shops and proudly pulled what looked like a length of rope from her bag. She showed it to me and looked excited. How could you get excited over a bit of rope? On closer inspection, it turned out to be several bits of rope intricately knotted together. Still I couldn't imagine why she was showing them to me, but I feigned polite interest anyway, just to please her, by sniffing it appreciatively.

That was when Dad sneaked up on me from behind and picked me up. I was momentarily too surprised to struggle. At once, Mum pulled the string contraption over my head and around my front legs, effectively strapping me into it. Then she attached a lead to one of the strings, opened the glass doors to the garden and motioned me outside, a triumphant smile on her face. That's how, before I knew what was happening, I found myself being paraded around our front garden on a lead, for all the world to see, like a common dog!

I was stunned for a minute or two. Stunned, and totally humiliated. How dare she? The front garden had suddenly lost all its appeal. All I could think of was how to lose those strings. I threw myself on the grass and wriggled and wriggled until I sensed some freedom in one of my forelegs, then my neck, then the other foreleg – and I was free! Without missing a beat, I leapt over the small hedge separating our pocket-sized front garden from the next one and ran off. Mum was powerless to stop me, and she knew it. Her helpless yells were getting fainter as I cleared several more hedges and turned a corner, to find myself in a large car park. They would not find me there very easily: it was full of cars for me to hide under. I chose one that still felt a bit warm from having been recently driven and settled down underneath it.

It wasn't long before my entire family appeared in the car park and started looking for me on their hands and knees. Up and down the rows of cars they crawled, calling for me, waving treats and generally looking pretty conspicuous. Before long, they were joined in their search by other people, surprised to see two adults and three children crawling around a car park. It was an embarrassing spectacle, and I tried to look as though I didn't know them.

Of course they spotted me after a while. But really, all I had to do was move to another row and another car. It was too easy; we could go on doing this all day. Dinner time was still hours away. Until then, I would be quite happy in the car park.

My family must have reasoned along similar lines, because they gave up after a while and sat down on a low wall to discuss the situation. I could tell they were not happy. Mum was getting the blame for my escape, which wasn't entirely fair, because she had only been trying to help me, after all. I made a mental note to be cool towards the other four tonight, after I returned home. They sat there, arguing, for a long time, until Robin announced that he was hungry and wanted to go back in his box to have lunch. One by one, they reluctantly left the car park, until I was on my own with the cars and with the other shoppers, who soon lost interest in me, and I in them.

Finally, I was free to explore my surroundings. I did a quick circuit of the car park, walking on top of the low wall my family had sat on. There wasn't very much to see – just cars and a few small trees. I checked out the far side of the car park, where there were more little houses with tiny gardens, then I retraced my steps to our house via the neighbouring front gardens. They were all identical, small and very boring. Not even a bird's nest in any of them; not one mouse. Had I landed here a few years ago, I would have been desperate. Nowadays, I knew this could not possibly be our house for long: my armchair wasn't there, for one thing. So there was hope that we would move away before long, to a better house with a crystal-clear pool and a tin-roofed garden shed in a sheltered spot. For now, I had seen enough.

I leapt back into our front garden and strolled into the living room through the open glass door. My family were sitting around the dining table – all except Robin, who was in his box. I rubbed my side against Mum's leg in appreciation of her efforts, but ignored the others, before joining Robin for a bit of lunch.

Mum realized it was pointless trying to restrain me after my escape to the car park. She now left the glass doors to the garden open for me in the daytime and told me I was free to roam. Unfortunately, as I had discovered during my first walk, there was not very much out there to roam in; we were surrounded by houses and roads. Dogs walked past our front garden pretty much every day, and the cars on the road drove quite fast. I took to doing my business outside, which pleased Mum as she could dispense with the litter tray, and I snoozed on the paving stones when the sun was out. Once I visited the neighbours when their patio doors were open, only to find their house identical to ours and just as boring. I snoozed for a while on one of their beds, so as not to offend the lady who had shown me around, but really, there was nothing to be gained from our short acquaintance. I went back home and was almost as bored as before.

I started snacking to pass the time – something I had never done before – and craved more and more food. Mum tried to ration my dinner portions, but I complained so loudly that she usually gave in and added a bit more. Gradually, I noticed that jumping up on the beds required a little more effort than before, and once when Mum hadn't opened the glass door far enough, I almost got stuck. There was no denying it: I was putting on weight. But I told myself I would soon lose it again once we moved somewhere more interesting, and besides, I'd had a traumatic time in prison and deserved a little treat now and then.

Just as I had suspected, we didn't stay long in the tiny house. Within a few weeks, the bags were packed again and we were back on the road in our car. I sat with Caroline, Emily and Robin on the back seat; no more travel container for me! We were all very excited at the prospect of moving into a proper house with more rooms and a bigger garden. I was particularly looking forward to the crystal-clear pool and the hunting prospects.

We drove along endless roads lined by houses, houses and more houses. Melbourne certainly was a big place, but it looked pretty grey and uninspiring to me. I couldn't wait to see green fields and forests and was not disappointed, as we gradually left the greyness of the houses behind and headed towards colourful open country. I saw a park, a river and big trees, a small town that looked less forbidding than the city streets had done, and then our car climbed a steep hill and stopped right at the top. We all jumped out and looked around.

We were facing our new house. It looked inviting with its big windows and shiny front door; beyond it lay green, undulating hills. Dad unlocked the front door and we all filed in. There was a downstairs and an upstairs, with so many rooms that we lost each other frequently as we explored, but we kept meeting up at the crossroads, which was the kitchen. Though big, bright and glossily tiled, the kitchen lacked the vital bowls of food and water for me and was therefore disappointing. I also saw no sign of my armchair, normally positioned near a window for good light and views, or, come to think of it, any other useful items such as beds; just lots and lots of space everywhere. It was a bit eerie after the cramped house we had left behind.

The children didn't seem worried by the lack of furniture and happily took possession of their bedrooms. They were delighted to get one each, even if it only had a floor, walls, a window and a door. Meanwhile, Mum and Dad carried our things into the house. Even after everything was in, the house remained pretty much empty: all we had was a camping table and some hard chairs, some plates and, eventually, my bowls in the kitchen and a sleeping bag in each room, except in Mum and Dad's room, where there were two bags. It was almost as basic as my prison cell.

Fortunately, there was a basement room with a very high wooden corner table and some equally high stools. I didn't like them as they turned round and round when you sat on them, which made me dizzy, but they were useful for humans. There were lots of bottles on glass shelves behind the table, and a few glasses, making it look more lived-in than the rest of the house.

Once all our things had been brought in from the car, Dad announced that the sun had gone over the yard arm, and that we should have a drink in the basement room. I took a good look around the yard and found no sign of an arm, but we all congregated in the basement room anyway and Robin mixed us drinks: water for me, fruit juices for the children, and something from the bottles on the shelves for Mum and Dad. We talked about our new house and what we were going to do now we had arrived. It was all very exciting. There was a pretty picture of a golden crown surrounded by red roses on the wall above the table. Caroline told me the room was called the ‘Rose & Crown'. I liked that name, and I liked the room, which became our family meeting place in the afternoons.

From the ‘Rose & Crown', you could go straight out into the garden, which, being on a steep slope, consisted of several levels and was all fenced in as had been our garden in Perth. The views into the hills were lovely, but I could not find a pool anywhere. The children assured me we would build one soon. I could not imagine how we were going to dig such a big hole, particularly since we had none of Dad's tools, but decided not to worry about it until later. There were a couple of good climbing trees and, once I had scaled the garden fence, a welcome tin roof revealed itself on the other side that would do well for naps. I left the children to their games and tried my first snooze there, protected by the boughs of an old apple tree, with the smells of the outdoors all around me – at last.

That night, I discovered that sleeping bags on the floor are quite a lot of fun. Having everyone at ground level meant I could kiss the whole family goodnight, several times if I wanted to; I could walk over them easily and settle down in the warm folds of the bags of the quieter sleepers.

The children started school the very next day, leaving me with plenty of time to explore our garden and the neighbouring ones. Dad installed a new cat door for me in the patio door, so I was once again free to come and go as I pleased. Almost straight away, I encountered two scaly creatures on fat legs who lived in the shrubs under Emily's window. Their tails looked identical to their heads; only when they moved could you be sure which was which. They didn't seem too friendly; I pawed one of them, and it turned out that the head end was equipped with a good set of teeth. I saw no dogs and only one other cat, a long-haired female who assured me she didn't sleep on tin roofs, ever, preferring instead the softer surfaces in her house. She seemed to clean herself a lot and was not interested in hearing about my adventures overseas. In fact, she didn't seem to care whether there was a world beyond the houses and gardens of our neighbourhood. When it started drizzling a little, she looked alarmed and dashed off home. I thought of grey cat Piglet and the adventures we'd had together. Somehow, it seemed unlikely that this cat here could handle much excitement.

The other side of our garden bordered a public footpath, beyond which lay a field that looked as though it had hunting potential. Unfortunately, the footpath was quite busy: children used it on their way to and from school, and walkers passed quite regularly with their dogs. The field contained several big, long-legged animals with swishing tails; bad news indeed. I doubted whether the hunting opportunities outweighed the risks out there.

I confined myself to watching the goings-on from the safety of the fence, and to accompanying Mum on a couple of walks when the coast was clear. The path wound its way to the crest of the hill, from where we could see in all directions. We looked down on green, wooded hills. Houses and gardens nestled here and there amongst them. A long line of wires supported by big, grey towers led across the land from as far away as you could see, all the way up to our hill, back down again on the other side and off into the distance, where we could just make out the greyness of the city. The wires made a humming sound to accompany the twitter of birds perched on the tower just above us. Mum, being higher up, was able to see any danger approaching well before I could. Then she would tell me to run along, back to our fence and to the safety of our garden. When Mum was too busy to walk, I caught up on sleep and looked forward to mealtimes.

Before too long, a great big truck came puffing up our road and disgorged my armchair and all our other belongings. Now the house began to look and feel like our home at last.