King of the Vagabonds

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 The New Kittens

  2 Climbing

  3 Learning

  4 Exploring

  5 Wondering

  6 Searching

  7 The Vagabonds

  8 Brute

  9 Exchanges

  10 A Feast for a Morsel

  11 New Ways

  12 Quartermile Field

  13 Beau

  14 Sammy’s Choice

  15 The Test Begins

  16 Survival of the Fittest

  17 The King Cat

  About the Author

  Copyright

  For my brother Christopher, with affection

  1

  The New Kittens

  It was quite a surprise for Mrs Lambert when her tortoiseshell cat Stella gave birth to a litter of six kittens, for Stella was far from being a young animal. She had recently taken to frequenting the shed at the bottom of the garden, but Mrs Lambert’s suspicions had not been aroused since Stella often slept in the shed during the summer when it was too hot in the garden. It was in the shed that Mrs Lambert found Stella and her six tiny kittens, comfortably nestling amongst some old rugs.

  ‘Well, Stella!’ cried her mistress in astonishment. ‘I thought your kittening days were long over.’ She did not know whether to be glad or sorry. However, there was no doubt about Stella’s feelings on the matter. She looked at Mrs Lambert with a blissful expression and purred proudly, feeling the fluffy little creatures pressed tight against her.

  The kittens appeared to be either tortoiseshells like their mother, or tabbies, which gave a clue to the other half of their parentage. They looked delightful, so tiny and helpless, huddling in their mother’s warmth. A shaft of sunlight slanted through the open doorway, lighting up the scene, and Stella blinked contentedly as she looked at her mistress. Mrs Lambert did not dare to disturb them to have a closer look and really she could not think of another cat in the neighbourhood who might be the father. She hurried off to fetch some clean bedding and some light nourishment for Stella. Drowsily Stella licked her kittens. She felt snug and lazy. ‘Keep close, keep close,’ she purred.

  Mrs Lambert lived alone except for Stella and another pet, an old mongrel bitch called Molly who looked something like a Labrador, but had a longer coat. Mr Lambert had died a few years earlier. In the past he had dealt with the disposal of Stella’s litters of kittens and so now his widow was faced with something of a problem – she knew that, when these latest ones grew bigger, she would not be able to afford to feed them all. An idea occurred to her.

  A neighbour’s boy sometimes came to do the heavier gardening jobs which Mrs Lambert could no longer manage. She was elderly and not very strong and so was very grateful for his help. She thought it would be a nice gesture to offer the boy first choice of the kittens to keep for himself. And there was always the chance that one or two of his schoolfriends might like a pet as well.

  After a couple of weeks the kittens’ eyes had opened, they moved around a little, though very unsteadily, and mewed a good deal. It soon became clear that some of them were more attractive than others. One of the tabbies, in particular, was really unattractive. He had a strange broad diagonal stripe running across his head that made his face look as if it had been somehow crossed out. Mrs Lambert had no hopes of his being chosen by anyone.

  Next time the boy came to do some digging, Mrs Lambert took him to the shed. The kittens by then were four weeks old.

  ‘Look, Edward, what do you think of them?’ Mrs Lambert asked him.

  Edward was entranced. He loved animals and spent a long time watching the kittens’ antics.

  ‘Would you like one?’ offered the old lady.

  The boy’s eyes shone. ‘Yes, please, Mrs Lambert. I’d love one!’ he replied, without hesitation.

  Mrs Lambert told him that as soon as the kittens could do without their mother, he could come and choose one to take home and, later, he could bring his friends if they were interested. He promised he would ask around at school and was obviously delighted with the whole arrangement.

  Poor Stella was very tired and seemed at times a little bewildered by the situation that had developed. The kittens’ demands were exhausting her, despite the extra nourishment her mistress was now providing. Mrs Lambert was relieved when the time at last arrived for Edward to make his selection. She told him that the tortoiseshells were all female and the tabbies all male and left him alone with them. He took quite a while to decide but, in the end, plumped for a tortoiseshell because, as he said, ‘I’d like mine to have some kittens one day.’

  About a week afterwards he brought three of his friends along. They all declared they wanted males but, when they saw how ugly one of the three tabby kittens was, it seemed that the only way out was for one child to have a female. There was a bit of difficulty but eventually everything was sorted out quite amicably and they all went away as pleased as Punch with their new pets. So Mrs Lambert was left with the ugly tabby and one tortoiseshell. She had already made up her mind to keep one kitten and, since she did not have the heart to dispose of the tabby in any unpleasant way, she was content to keep him as well. She called him Sammy and his sister Josephine.

  Stella soon recovered her strength and began to show her remaining youngsters around her mistress’s garden and cottage to familiarize them with their immediate surroundings. The old bitch Molly showed a great interest in the little animals and they were soon fast friends and all playing together.

  Sammy and Josephine loved to chase each other up and down the garden and they teased their mother and Molly unmercifully, pouncing on them from behind plants and seizing hold of their tails. The older animals were very tolerant of their games, but the kittens soon learnt just how far they could go with Stella. She was prepared to put up with just so much biting from sharp little teeth and no more.

  The kittens grew quickly and Mrs Lambert noticed that Sammy was inclined to be more adventurous and inquisitive than his sister. It was not long before he had climbed the fence round her garden, though he was not confident enough yet to venture outside it.

  The kittens loved Mrs Lambert, and she was very kind to them. She allowed them into the cottage whenever they wished, though they still looked upon the shed as their real home. They would follow her tall, grey-haired, rather bony figure from room to room. Indeed she had to be careful: she had rather an awkward gait, brought on by years of rheumatism, and they would sometimes get right under her feet. She was afraid of treading on them, especially Sammy who was the more lively and energetic of the two.

  Both the kittens soon learned to answer to their own names, and also to understand when their mistress was calling Stella or Molly instead. Their mother was always reminding them of how fortunate they all were.

  ‘We’re very lucky,’ she would say. ‘We have such a kind mistress who looks after us all so well.’

  They became accustomed to hearing such phrases and so an awareness formed in their minds of the little family of which they were a part and they felt very comfortable.

  Every morning Mrs Lambert let Molly out into the garden. The dog would waddle straight over to the shed, wagging her tail feebly as she went, to see if the kittens were there. If they were missing she would begin a search of the garden which usually resulted in her being pounced on from some corner unexpectedly. The gentle old animal would yelp in delight and, as the kittens raced off again, she would make vain attempts to catch them. Mrs Lambert chuckled a lot at these games.

  Eventually the youngsters would quieten down. Josephine returned to her mother whilst Sammy would rub himself round Molly, his little tail stuck up straight in the air as he purred
out his friendship.

  Molly’s first remark was always the same. ‘How you grow! You’ll soon be as big as your mother.’

  One day Sammy answered, ‘Perhaps I’ll be bigger–like my father.’ He had started to dream about his father since he had learnt there was such a creature. He imagined him to be strong and clever although, of course, he had never seen him and knew next to nothing about him. Stella had told him very little.

  Molly, who had been around for a long time, had a shrewd suspicion who was the father of the kittens.

  ‘Yes, you may grow to be like your father,’ she said. ‘But his sort of life is not for you. How lucky you are to have a proper home.’

  Sammy knew he was lucky because Stella was always telling him so. But Molly’s remarks only made him more curious about his father.

  2

  Climbing

  Sammy began to stray farther from his mother, and Stella made no attempt to stop him. In the middle of Mrs Lambert’s lawn was an ancient gnarled apple tree with broad spreading branches just begging to be climbed. Sammy could not resist its call. He hauled himself easily up the trunk, his claws digging deep into the crusty bark. He found that he could walk along a main branch and look out across the whole garden. He could see Stella and Josephine basking in the sun. He could see Mrs Lambert pottering about in her kitchen. And he could see farther – out over the neighbouring gardens to some open land beyond. He climbed higher for a better view. Now he could see more. The open land was dotted with the ruins of human habitations. There had been houses here but they had been destroyed in the war and no rebuilding had taken place since on the site. Beyond that, fields and trees stretched as far as the eye could reach. But what interested Sammy was certain movements amongst the tall weeds on the bomb site. There were animals there and he was sure they were cats. He wanted to find out. It seemed there was a lot more than just his mistress’s garden to explore.

  The leaves of the apple tree rustled above his head. He saw Molly waddle underneath its boughs and heard her whine. She was looking up at him with a worried expression on her grizzled old face.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Sammy called down to her reassuringly. ‘Climbing is easy.’

  ‘It may be,’ was Molly’s answer. ‘But what about coming down?’

  Sammy had not thought much about that. ‘Oh, it won’t be any bother,’ he told her, but with rather less confidence. He turned round carefully on the branch. That was easy enough. Then he looked down to the larger branch he had first got on to. He was not quite certain how he was going to return to that. Should he go forwards or – or – backwards? This was not so simple after all. Perhaps he could jump from one branch to another. But supposing he should miss his footing? He looked down, trying to assess whether he could manage such a large leap. His body dipped up and down as he attempted to gauge the risk.

  Molly could tell Sammy was in difficulty. She set off to fetch Stella. Sammy’s mother received the news with equanimity.

  ‘It’s natural for him to want to test his skills,’ she commented. ‘All youngsters are the same. He’ll manage. He must learn the hard way.’

  Just then there came the sound of a crash. The leaves of the apple tree shook vigorously. Sammy had tried his jump.

  He had been lucky. He had not landed well on the larger branch and had very nearly overbalanced. Only by sinking his claws really hard into the wood had he managed not to slip right over. But now, having heard the crash, Stella, Molly and Josephine came running.

  ‘He wanted to climb the tree. Now he can’t get down,’ wailed Josephine unhelpfully.

  ‘He will get down,’ Stella answered her firmly.

  However, Sammy, who had reached the lower branch by a whisker, still faced the problem of descending the trunk. He saw his mother and sister watching him as well as Molly, and the temptation to beg Stella for help was almost overwhelming. But he felt he would be demeaning himself in the eyes of the onlookers if he did so. He began to inch his way forward slowly, head first.

  ‘You’re too high up to come down that way,’ his mother called. ‘Swing round and lower yourself by your back legs first.’

  Sammy gulped. She sounded so far away. Oh, why had he climbed the wretched tree? It was so much more difficult than a fence.

  ‘Can’t you climb up and lead him down, Stella?’ Molly asked. ‘You could show him how.’

  ‘Of course I could,’ she replied. ‘But I’m not going to. That’s the easy way.’

  ‘Well, I wish I could help,’ Molly muttered. ‘I wouldn’t abandon him.’

  ‘I’m not abandoning him,’ Stella said crossly. ‘Sammy has to learn. I won’t always be around to rescue him.’

  Josephine began to mew to her brother encouragingly, while Stella coolly repeated her directions to him. Somehow Sammy found the courage to swing himself round on the trunk, his claws grappling for a good grip. Then, miaowing nervously at intervals, he crept backwards down to the ground.

  ‘Now, Sammy. You’ll know another time,’ was all Stella said.

  Molly wagged her tail furiously and licked the little tabby’s crossed-out face all over in her relief. Josephine rubbed herself against her brother gladly.

  When Sammy had fully recovered himself, he started to ask the older animals questions about what he had seen from the tree top.

  ‘Plenty of time for all that,’ Molly counselled. ‘One step at a time, you know.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Stella. ‘There’s a lot you have to know. But not just yet.’

  Sammy’s curiosity was whetted further by these mysterious remarks, but he knew he would have to try to be patient. His mother had begun to wash herself, and it was clear that he would get no more information from her for the moment.

  With the climbing of the tree behind him, Sammy felt very pleased with himself. He was flushed with his success and decided he would soon be ready for new adventures.

  Mrs Lambert’s neighbour kept chickens. Sammy had watched them scratching about in their wire enclosure from the fence top. His opinion of the hens was that they were rather silly creatures who always seemed to be making a song and dance over nothing in particular; but he had been impressed by one bird who was different from the others and who appeared to be in charge. Though he did not realize it, this was the cockerel – a very gaudy fellow. He strutted around, lording it over his companions. Sammy was a little in awe of him.

  A few days after his first ascent of the apple tree, Sammy was sitting on top of the fence admiring the self-important cockerel. He stepped sedately up and down, pausing now and then to crow. Sammy took this to be some sort of challenge and jumped into the neighbour’s garden.

  At once the hens began to run about, clucking nervously. But the cockerel behaved in a different way. He turned his bright eyes on Sammy and made threatening noises. Sammy looked back at the fierce cockerel, but was not deterred. He began to climb up the wire netting of the hen run.

  The cockerel made a quick dash towards him. ‘See what you’re doing!’ he cried. ‘Look at my hens! Oh, if you want to cause mischief—’ He left the remainder of the implied threat in the air.

  Sammy paused. The cockerel looked to be ready for action and he did seem a bird not to be trifled with. The young cat climbed back down the netting, returning to the ground.

  ‘I’m not mischievous,’ he said to mollify the cockerel. ‘But I can climb!’ The knowledge of this was Sammy’s great pride.

  ‘Climb! But can you fly?’ retorted the cockerel, who had been deprived of this ability, and was therefore all the more impressed by it.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Sammy. ‘I’m a cat, not a bird.’

  ‘Well, when you can do something as clever as flying, you may come and tell me,’ was the cockerel’s answer. ‘Otherwise – don’t bother us.’

  Sammy was deflated. He thought he had been clever. But the cockerel’s remark made him think. All cats climbed so what was so special about what he had done? The apple tree lost its significance.
He started to wander away but the squawking of the hens had aroused their owner who now appeared in the garden to chase the intruder away. Sammy made a hasty exit. The man’s shouts frightened him and he was glad to scramble over the fence and rejoin his friends.

  After this Sammy kept himself quiet for a while. He grew steadily and he did not forget what he had seen from the apple tree.

  3

  Learning

  The trouble was, life was too quiet. Stella and Josephine were quite content to stay in their own garden. As Josephine got bigger, she became more and more like her mother, in looks and in temperament. She was docile, almost to the point of serenity. They spent most of their time together and resembled two sisters rather than mother and daughter. Sammy was not resentful of their preference for each other’s company. He enjoyed a feeling of freedom and, in any case, there was always Molly.

  Sammy was very fond of Molly. She seemed to understand him and, although at her age she was not the most exciting of animals, she had a great fund of knowledge about all sorts of things. In her younger days she had accompanied her master far and wide in the area. She knew all about what went on at the bomb site; what creatures were there and how they lived. But she was always careful not to make the outside world sound attractive to Sammy. In fact she warned him of what life could be like for those who were less fortunate than themselves. She wanted to be sure the young cat did not harbour any ideas of trying out his father’s sort of existence, for she soon noticed he was very interested in him. He was always wondering what he looked like and if he would ever see him.

  At night Sammy, Stella and Josephine usually slept in the shed which always remained open. It was warm and dry and they had it all to themselves, except for the occasional mouse. But, since they were so comfortable and well fed, none of them showed any interest in mice. Stella had never been known to catch one and so the two youngsters were equally indifferent.