Timba Comes Home (9 page)

He said no more, but held me in the place of light between his paws. We purred together, and I noticed his purr was spaced out, so different from mine. But I felt satisfied with my purr . . . it
was loud for a kitten and I already knew how to use it to comfort Angie and Graham. Had I purred for Leroy? I couldn’t remember. The time with him had been so full of fear and pain. Yet
Leroy, more than anyone, needed the comfort of a purring cat.

I slept blissfully, and when I awoke the sun was setting, and Angie’s car turned into the drive. I saw the red of it through the hedge. Whenever she arrived, the horses whinnied and the
chickens clucked hopefully. Usually she went round to see them before coming into the house, but this time she came straight in. Her face was bright with joy, and . . . she was carrying a cat
cage!

I ran to meet her with my tail up.

‘Hello, Timba darling,’ she said, and smiled in a mysterious way. I followed her inside. She shut the door and put the cat cage gently on the floor.

And then a miracle happened.

The best miracle ever.

Angie opened the cat cage, and out stepped an elegant black kitten with a white dot on his nose.

My brother Vati!

Angie had found Vati, and brought him home.

‘Oh not another one, Angie!’ said Graham when he saw Vati sharing my dish. ‘How many more waifs and strays are you going to bring home?’

Angie flared up immediately. ‘As long as there’s room in my heart, Graham. If the Universe sends me a gift, I wouldn’t DREAM of turning it down. I’m here to love, and
that includes you . . . you sexy hunk.’

She stood on tiptoe, wound her arms around Graham’s neck, and kissed him until his aura filled with light and blended with hers. He slid his arms around her waist and held her close,
murmuring words of love into her hair. Angie peeled off his jacket and flung it over a chair, then she loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, all the time with her eyes locked into his.

They hurried upstairs, with Angie giggling and Graham thundering after her on his big feet. The bedroom door slammed shut and the house rang with Angie’s laughter.

Vati and I went on eating.

It was a good time for him to arrive, I thought, with the house full of the energy of love. While we were eating, I had a good look at Vati. He was smaller than me, more streamlined in his coat
of satiny black fur. His tail had grown, and it had a kink at the tip. His eyes were turning lemon-green and were full of secrets. I knew he had much to teach me, and I sensed a nervousness in him.
He needed my leadership and courage, just as I needed his wisdom.

Vati was scared of being in a new house, so the first thing we did was wash each other. I enjoyed rubbing cheeks with Vati and licking his wistful face, and seeing him close his eyes so
trustingly as I did so. As he washed me back his eyes inspected the room and he seemed to be listening to the twilight sounds from outside, and the particular creaks, drips and hums from the house
itself. I wondered what he would do when he heard Graham ‘sing’.

I wanted to take Vati out through the cat flap, but he wouldn’t go. I wanted him to play with me, but he wouldn’t play. I raced around on my own and he crawled onto the sofa and sat
there watching me, and when I finally sat quietly with him, he seemed glad to have me there. I tuned into his mind and picked up sadness. Vati was sad. I asked him why.

‘Nobody wants a black cat,’ he said.

‘I’m black,’ I said, ‘and Leroy wanted me like mad, and so did Angie.’

‘But you’re fluffy. No one wanted me. I was in a cage for days and days on my own, and people kept looking in and saying they didn’t want me. Until Angie came, and I
don’t know her. I don’t feel I belong to her.’

I heard myself quoting the words of the Spirit Lion: ‘You are your own cat.’

Vati looked stressed and bewildered.

‘And why is she calling me Vati?’ he asked. ‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘We are named after the White Lions of Timbavati,’ I said. ‘Angie’s got a picture of them. Vati is a really important name.’

Vati didn’t look convinced. He sat there looking tired, his black whiskers drooping. He crept into the corner of the sofa and went to sleep. I was disappointed. Something was wrong with
Vati. He hadn’t eaten much, he wouldn’t go out, and he refused to play with me. I was bursting with energy, but I curled up beside him, and put my paw over his slim body. I purred, but
Vati was silent, his sweet face peaceful. In his sleep he stretched out an elegant paw and curled it around my neck. That made me so happy that I didn’t move and we slept blissfully entwined
as we had always done.

‘How sweet is that?’ exclaimed Angie when she discovered us there. ‘Will you look at these darling kittens, Graham?’

I opened one eye and saw her taking a photo of us on her mobile. ‘Poor little Vati . . . he’s exhausted,’ she said, and I remembered how I had slept for three days in the
vet’s place. I’d been physically, mentally and spiritually tired. Maybe it was the same for Vati.

In the morning he seemed OK. But after breakfast he went straight back to the corner of the sofa and sat with his paws bunched under himself. Angie had gone to work, and Graham strode past us on
his way to the music room. I braced myself for Vati getting a fright when the ‘singing’ started. Today it was particularly loud, and it made me shudder. Vati must have heard it, but it
didn’t seem to bother him. He seemed to be in a dream.

He wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t play.

Eventually he got down from the sofa and crept around the floor, his whiskers twitching as he went to and fro. It was odd behaviour, I thought. I coaxed him into the garden and he did exactly
the same thing . . . creeping over the lawn, but stopping now and again to sit staring at the ground and listening.

‘What ARE you doing?’ I asked, going up to him and putting my face close. To my utter astonishment, Vati hissed at me and batted me crossly. He didn’t want me! Unabashed, I
tried again, and got another swipe.

‘Leave me alone,’ he snarled. ‘You’re breaking my concentration. I need to do this.’

Miffed, I tried to demonstrate my progress with climbing the apple tree, made a mess of it and crashed to the ground, but Vati went on doing what he was doing.

As the shadow of the blue-grey wings hung over the lawn and the big bird again descended, I was desperate to warn Vati. A heron, Angie had called it. I fled to the doorstep thinking Vati would
follow, but he didn’t. The heron stood at the edge of the pond, his dagger-like beak poised in the air, his sharp eyes staring.

I couldn’t believe what Vati was doing.

‘Vati . . . NO!’ I sent him the thought, but he ignored me and continued padding towards the heron . . . WITH HIS TAIL UP.

You’ve got it all wrong, Vati, I thought. I’ve only just found my brother, now I’m going to lose him again. And I waited for the terrible yellow beak to snatch my brother and
fly off with him into the sky.

Vati was so cool. He sat down next to the heron, both of them keeping perfectly still for a long time. Just once I saw Vati look up at the heron, and he looked down at Vati. It was as if they
were smiling at each other. Then stillness again, until Vati leaned forward to look into the pond. At the same time the heron stabbed down with his long beak. A shower of water glittered in the
sunlight and the heron rose into the sky, a bright orange fish flickering in his beak. He flew away with it, on slow wings, water dripping from the fish.

Vati turned his sleek head and looked at me, pleased with what he had done.

In a burst of joy we trotted towards each other doing purr-meows, and at last Vati wanted to play. He arched his back and leaped sideways, and we chased each other all over the garden. Vati was
incredibly agile and beautiful. He could leap and twizzle round and make a face at the same time. He shot up the apple tree and impressed me by turning neatly and doing a flawless jump down to the
lawn. I was proud of him.

I’d never before had so much fun . . .

Tired from our wild game, we sat together on the sunbaked doorstep.

‘What were you doing creeping around like that, Vati?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you know?’ he said, and studied me with mystic eyes. ‘I was checking out what was happening under the ground.’

‘What do you mean?’

Vati gave me a pitying look. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and took me on a tour of the lawn, according to Vati. ‘Exactly here is a sleeping badger – I can feel his energy.
He’s deep down, and the entrance to his home is under that summerhouse . . . and he’s lonely. His mate was killed on the road, and he loved her . . . isn’t that sad?’

I was speechless. Vati was only a kitten like me, yet he had so much knowledge. My respect for him grew as I followed him around the lawn.

‘Here is an ants’ nest,’ he said next. ‘And the ants told me how frustrated they are because, every time they try to build a mound, a noisy lawnmower comes and chops it
off.’

We sat watching the ants scurrying around. One was carrying an egg. I’d never noticed them before.

‘Now here, very, very deep down . . . much deeper down than the badger’s home . . . is an underground stream . . . it makes the earth tingle,’ Vati continued. ‘But
don’t sit there. Underground streams are bad places for cats to be near.’

‘How do you know all this?’ I asked, amazed.

‘It’s my gift,’ said Vati. He looked deeply into my soul. ‘And you know it too. You have only to remember, Timba. You do know because when I was in the cage you sent me a
thought along one of the golden roads.’

Later that day Vati wanted to spend time on Angie’s lap. Ever so slightly jealous, I stormed out into the evening sunshine to have my usual mad half-hour on my own. I practised belting
across the lawn and diving into the bushes that grew along the foot of the wall. The thin bendy branches were good to play with and I did a lot of leaping, catching one between my paws and dragging
it down, letting it spring back into the air.

Then I tried again to climb the apple tree the way Vati had climbed it. Halfway up, I was concentrating on turning round safely, when I heard a scratchy whisper. ‘Hello, Timba!’

Startled, I dug my claws deeper into the bark and paused, peering round to see where the voice had come from. I meowed, and it came again. ‘Timba!’

I looked up, and Leroy was sitting astride the wall under the overhanging foliage. The whites of his eyes shone out from the dark leaves. His trainers were kicking at the stone; he had an open
bag in his hand.

‘I’ve come to get you, Timba,’ he said in a strange whisper. ‘You’re MY kitten.’

‘Always welcome him . . . with your tail up.’

The words of the Spirit Lion resounded in my head as Leroy and I stared at each other through a whirlpool of decision-making. Vati needed me. I wanted to stay here with Angie and Vati. But my
Spirit Lion wanted something else . . . and it was unreasonable. I didn’t . . . did NOT . . . want to be Leroy McArthur’s cat!

Something had changed in me. I was strong now. I could twist in the air like Vati, and run really fast. My back legs power-boated me across the lawn and through the cat flap with an impressive
slam. Eat, I thought, and paused in the kitchen to scoff the remains of Vati’s mashed chicken with gravy.

I tried to forget about Leroy, but I was trembling inside. I couldn’t forget.

Vati was still on Angie’s lap and he gave me a slitty-eyed, blissed-out stare. Angie was asleep with her head on a pink corduroy cushion, and one hand over Vati’s sleek back. They
looked cosy and peaceful, while I felt stormy and upset.

Leroy was in the garden. He had come for me. What should I do? I’d already done one wrong thing. Now I did something even worse. I was sick on the sofa.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Timba!’ Graham shook his newspaper at me. ‘Outside.’

Outside was not an option for me. Instead, I sat on the windowsill pretending to wash while Graham fussed around, huffing and sighing, with rolls of paper and disinfectant. The smell gave me a
headache. I sat still, hoping he would leave me alone, and he did.

While Angie and Vati went on sleeping, I had a good view of the back garden and the horse field. A small determined figure marched across the field towards a dappled grey pony who raised her
head and watched him with interest.

Leroy suddenly looked small and lonely amongst the horses. Angie’s horse, Poppy, stood tossing her chestnut head, her tail swishing. I sensed her anxiety as Leroy and the grey pony walked
towards each other.

On Saturday mornings I’d watched the children who came to help Angie and Laura with the horses. They spent ages talking to them, brushing them and making friends before riding, and nobody
ever rode the grey pony. She was wild, Angie said.

But Leroy didn’t know that. He stood close to the pony and got hold of her long mane. Then he vaulted onto her back. For a moment his smile lit up the field. He dug his trainers into the
pony’s flanks. Her ears went back. She shook herself as if trying to shake him off, then she took off at a gallop with Leroy clinging onto her neck. She headed for a patch of stinging nettles
and bucked furiously. Thrown into the air like a rag doll, Leroy crashed into the nettles and lay still.

The excitement fired up the rest of the horses and they joined in the galloping and bucking. The thunder of their hooves woke Angie. ‘What’s going on?’ She quickly put Vati
down on the chair and came to the window. ‘What’s the matter with those horses?’

She watched for a few minutes, but couldn’t have seen Leroy. He was lying almost hidden behind the clump of nettles. Only I knew he was there.

‘Oh they’re just having a gallop round.’ Angie sat down again and picked up a book.

I had bonded with Leroy. Now I sensed he was in danger. What should I do? I tried sending Angie a telepathic message. I tried meowing at her. I tried sending her an image of Leroy lying on the
ground. She didn’t get it.

But Vati did. He jumped up to sit beside me and we both attentively watched the field. Still Leroy didn’t move.