The City Cats Read online

  What he saw made him recoil involuntarily. It was all so strange: enormous buildings which dwarfed anything he had ever seen before. Rows of parked cars and other vehicles; pavements dotted with metal and concrete posts and signs of all sizes and descriptions; a wide street which, despite the early hour, already had more movement in it than he had ever witnessed in his home area; people walking quickly and purposefully by; huge moving vehicles, bigger even than the removal lorry, with two tiers of people inside.

  ‘What is it?’ mewed Pinkie.

  ‘I – don’t know,’ Sammy muttered. ‘It’s – it’s – wonderful.’

  And he didn’t know – and of course neither did Pinkie – that they had been carried from their old haunts and deposited in the heart of a great city. Sammy was fascinated by all that was new to him. Strangely enough, he wasn’t frightened. Keeping perfectly still, he stared at this panorama of a London thoroughfare which, with each minute, seemed to expand as its tempo quickened relentlessly.

  Pinkie inched forward to his side. ‘We – we can’t –’ she began but she didn’t finish. She was struck dumb. The gathering mass of movement of a London working day was breathtaking. She caught sight of a pair of sparrows chirruping on a low gutter. ‘We need to find food,’ she reminded Sammy.

  Sammy lost his look of absorption. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And there should be plenty of titbits for two hungry cats amongst all these people.’

  ‘Are you going to beg food?’

  ‘No, we’re going to nose it out. You’re so expert, you’re bound to find something. But this time, Pinkie, we’ll stay out in the open. No more straying inside human enclosures. Come on!’ Sammy slipped round the wall and into the street. He walked boldly along the pavement, past a row of shops. The smell of food was unmistakable. But he wasn’t going to venture inside those buildings. Oh no! He was searching for those scraps that careless humans often left behind.

  Pinkie was far more nervous of her surroundings. The blare of the city was frightening and the bigness of everything made her feel of no consequence. She didn’t realize that this was a positive advantage to herself and Sammy. For most of the hurrying pedestrians were far too preoccupied to notice two stray cats. One or two turned their heads to look at Pinkie who was small and pretty. Sammy, with his dark tabby coat, lean appearance and crossed-out face didn’t attract any glances.

  The tabby found a discarded burger carton outside a takeaway restaurant. There were some pieces of meat still inside. He and Pinkie stopped briefly to eat, taking the food at a gulp. They wanted more. Sammy sniffed around. Some cold chips, covered in sauce, were all he could find. This was a new food, but it was all grist to the mill of the cats’ hunger. They were quite used to accepting almost anything edible in their diet, even in Quartermile Field. Sammy, however, meant to explore the hunting possibilities of the area as soon as he could. Human food served its purpose but it could never be as good as freshly caught prey.

  The pavement was becoming increasingly congested with people and the cats slunk close to the shop fronts to avoid being trodden on. Across the street there was a gap visible in the buildings where they could see a patch of green – an oasis they had to reach. They both now wanted to get out of the mêlée. But how to cross that fearsome street?

  The parked vehicles on their side of the road offered the cats some protection. Sammy led the way. They threaded their way through the striding legs of the passers-by and dived under a car. It was quieter and secluded there but they flinched each time the traffic roared past. As long as they didn’t run out, they were quite safe. However, Sammy was looking for a way across the busy road. There were lulls in the traffic flow and he thought he and Pinkie should be able to make use of one of these.

  ‘We’ll have to dart over like a pair of hares,’ he advised Pinkie.

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ Pinkie warned. ‘We’ll be flattened!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Sammy. ‘The humans are crossing over all the time. You have to wait until the noise has died down, then race for it. Besides, we can’t stay here for ever.’

  Pinkie saw there was no alternative. There came a lull in the traffic and she saw Sammy tense his muscles.

  ‘Now!’ he hissed. They streaked out from the parked car, their eyes set on the green patch on the opposite side of the road. They didn’t stop running until they were across the other pavement and in through the park entrance. Pinkie was delighted with the calm that now encompassed them. They had left the rush and row of the street and found themselves in a wide expanse of green grass and trees as far as their eyes could see. At that hour the park was almost empty of people.

  ‘This looks like the sort of place we’re used to,’ said Pinkie. ‘Let’s explore.’

  ‘Take care,’ Sammy cautioned, ‘there may be other cats about.’

  They avoided the footpaths and trotted together over the short winter grass. They saw no cats but they did see some squirrels and, more especially, pigeons. Flocks of pigeons could be found wherever there was a suggestion of human leftovers: around litter bins or park benches where crusts and crumbs had been dropped. Sammy and Pinkie were quick to spot a likely source of food and the sight of the pigeons led them on to a tour of the nearest litter bins. Most of these had recently been emptied. Pinkie didn’t hesitate to jump on top of each one where she balanced precariously on the rim while sniffing out the contents. She saw only paper and plastic. The pigeons, of course, scattered at the cats’ approach, flapping nervously up to the nearest branches. Sammy was far more interested in the possibilities they offered his hunting prowess than in the contents of the bins.

  ‘There’s a regular source of food there,’ he commented as the birds wheeled about, alternately settling and rising again. ‘No problem to catch. They’re clumsy on the ground and a bit slow in their take-off.’ He was eager to test his abilities again.

  ‘Go on then, great hunter,’ drawled Pinkie, ‘catch us something to eat.’

  Sammy looked around, waiting for the birds to risk dropping to the ground again. He knew that if he and Pinkie kept quite still, the birds would think all was safe. Sure enough, the pigeons began, in twos and threes, to come down from the leafless boughs. Hunger was the prime driving force for them too. Sammy’s eyes narrowed as he watched each bird carefully. He soon picked out one that moved awkwardly over the grass. It appeared to have a damaged foot and tended to hobble. Keeping close to the ground he crept forward, stalking this bird expertly. He froze when the bird faced him, then moved again when it turned the other way. He had the instinctive technique of a lion hunting antelope in the African bush. The pigeon had very little chance. Sammy made a final rush when he guessed he was close enough and pounced on the bird at the very instant it realized it had left flight too late. The other pigeons were airborne as Sammy’s claws and teeth fastened on to his prey. He picked the pigeon up in his jaws and carried it proudly back to Pinkie.

  ‘Well done,’ said the little white cat. ‘You’ve made a good beginning for us. This is our first real meal in these strange parts. And we’ll need all the strength we can muster to get ourselves back to Quartermile Field.’

  3

  The park

  SAMMY HAD NO intention of going back to Quartermile Field, even if he had known how to set about it. He was excited by the speed of city life. Everything moved at a different pace, particularly the humans. They had none of the ambling dreaminess of people in the country. He thought of his old mistress, Mrs Lambert, and tried to picture her amongst the hurrying throngs on the city pavements. And then he began to wonder what the local population of cats would be like – born and bred amidst the buzz of the metropolis. He thought he would soon find out.

  He and Pinkie had found a sheltered area in the park to eat their catch. There were fenced enclosures and the two cats had slipped through the railings and crouched amongst the thick evergreen shrubs, confident they would he undisturbed. While they ate, Sammy mused.

  ‘You know, Pinkie,’ he said, lookin
g around at the thick cover provided by the profusion of plants, ‘we could make this our base. There’s plenty of cover and we’d be well screened when we sleep.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pinkie, ‘I suppose we should be cautious and stay put for the rest of the winter.’

  ‘Of course we must. And, we’ll soon get used to our new life.’

  Pinkie looked at her mate. Did she detect satisfaction, even excitement, in Sammy’s voice? She couldn’t be certain.

  A spell of very cold but dry weather prevailed for the next week. Sammy and Pinkie kept on the move during the dark hours. Most of the day they huddled together in the midst of a stand of ornamental bamboo which kept the frost at bay. There were thick dry leaves to nestle in and the two cats wrapped their tails around their noses as they slept. They saw few humans except for an occasional hearty walker taking exercise in the crisp invigorating air. The cats found a great lake which was frozen from shore to shore. Waterfowl of all sizes skittered across the ice, puzzled by the disappearance of the water. Inshore many more skulked in the vegetation, uttering their strident calls to one another. The birds were ravenous and flocked to each scrap of bread thrown by sympathetic humans. The competition for food was so fierce that fights were constantly breaking out. Pigeons and seagulls and sparrows strove for their share of the spoils amongst the ducks and geese, coots and moorhens. It was at these times that Sammy and Pinkie were most likely to catch the birds off guard. Sammy was becoming adept at hunting large birds and one day he caught a duck. He and Pinkie dragged it off into the bushes almost before it knew what had happened to it.

  The duck was sufficient food for them for two days. As long as the lake remained frozen the waterfowl became Sammy’s favourite targets. ‘We’ll never starve here,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand why others don’t make use of this glut of meat.’

  ‘Others?’ Pinkie queried. ‘What others?’ She sat looking at her mate with a self-satisfied cat-smile on her face. Sammy was the greatest hunter she had known. Even Brute, his father, had never caught prey like this. She licked her chops as she waited for Sammy’s answer.

  ‘I’m talking about other cats,’ he said. ‘Where are they all? We can’t be the only ones around here.’

  ‘Oh, of course there are pets,’ Pinkie said contemptuously. ‘With so many human dwellings in the area there are bound to be plenty of them. But they wouldn’t come here, would they?’

  ‘Why not? We all like to explore, whether we’re pets or – or –’

  ‘Or like us,’ Pinkie said sweetly, ‘predators.’

  Predators. Sammy liked that word. Yes, he and Pinkie were predators and, as far as they could tell, the only ones in this city park. They had seen dogs but, big and fierce-looking as these sometimes were, they were not predators. Their movements were restricted, they were at the beck and call of their owners. Sammy decided that he must be the fiercest animal in the whole area. It made him feel stronger and more fearless than ever. Birds panicked at his approach – except the swans who were too massive for him to kill. But all the others around the lake and through the park were wary of him.

  Despite all this Sammy was dissatisfied. What was the good of being the terror of the park, of having such a reputation if only Pinkie, squirrels and jittery birds knew about it. He wanted others to know. And that meant other cats.

  In between his hunting activities Sammy spent more and more time searching for signs of other cats. He didn’t care if they were pets, he wanted them to know about him. Pinkie let him wander on his own. She was expecting the birth of their kittens and was beginning to feel less active.

  One day Sammy was late returning to their lair. Dawn had broken and Pinkie busied herself with collecting as much comfortable bedding as she could find for the imminent event. Sammy had wandered to one end of the park as far as the canal. The sluggish water fascinated him and reminded him of that great river he had seen at home, although the canal, of course, had none of its power. While he was contemplating whether the two stretches of water might have a connection he heard a series of strange noises – animal noises. By the sound of them they couldn’t have been all that far distant. He heard whoops and howls, roars and shrieks, sounds such as he had never before experienced. What were these strange animals? Did they live in the park? And was this the reason he had seen no other cats? They sounded powerful beasts, these that gave voice as day was heralded. Sammy was alarmed and ran. He wasn’t quite ready for an encounter even though he had begun to believe himself all-powerful.

  As he ran, his mind was fully occupied with thoughts of great beasts, bigger than dogs, roaming the park while all the time he and Pinkie had been confident they had it to themselves. How foolish they had been and how fortunate not to have crossed their path. He must get back and warn Pinkie. Forgetting to look, he darted out across a track. The next thing he knew his left foreleg was caught up and wrenched agonisingly in a sort of whirling trap. Sammy screeched a long miaow of pain. He had blundered into a bicycle and his leg was tangled in the spokes of its wheel.

  The cyclist braked sharply and jumped off. Sammy struggled to free himself. The man found it difficult to quieten the cat sufficiently to tend him. Eventually Sammy wrenched his leg free and limped away. He had been badly frightened by the metal machine that had caused him so much pain and wanted nothing of the rueful cyclist’s attempts to soothe him.

  Sammy’s leg was not broken but the muscles and ligaments in his shoulder were badly torn. He couldn’t put any weight on his leg and the pain was excruciating. Howling in misery he finally collapsed on the frosty ground under a park bench. The cyclist watched him for a moment, then pedalled on, persuading himself that the cat would survive.

  Sammy rested awhile. The damaged leg caused him agony. Day broadened. A brilliant winter’s day was beginning. The frost melted. The sun was warm as it shone over the park. Sammy pulled himself into the sunlight, blinked in the fierce sparkling rays and again lay down. He thought of Pinkie. Now, in full daylight, there seemed no threat from wild animals. His head drooped. He fell asleep.

  Hours later, he awoke to a new surge of pain and to the sound of a gentle voice. A young woman who worked in a nearby office, had been taking a lunch-time stroll in the park. Luckily for Sammy, this young woman was very fond of cats, though she didn’t have one of her own. She had seen Sammy and Pinkie on other occasions and knew that they were semi-wild. At first, when she had stopped to look at the sleeping cat she hadn’t realized there was anything wrong with him. Tentatively, she had stretched out a hand to stroke him. Sammy woke as her hand touched his shoulder.

  ‘Oh dear, poor thing,’ said the girl as Sammy winced. ‘What’s wrong with you, are you hurt?’

  Sammy blinked at her. He had not entirely forgotten his domestic upbringing and he could still respond to words of kindness.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you,’ the girl whispered. She touched him here and there very gently and soon discovered where the problem lay. ‘You’ve been injured, haven’t you? Poor creature, poor creature. . . .’ She squatted by the tabby cat pondering her best course of action. She knew he needed attention but she wasn’t equipped just then to give him any help. She needed a bag or a basket to put him in. She meant to get him to a vet. She consulted her watch. If she was quick, she decided, she could get back to her office and fetch something suitable to carry him in, then return, before she was due to begin work again. But would the animal stay where he was? Well, she’d have to risk that. She reflected that he probably wasn’t capable of moving very far in his present state. She stood up slowly so as not to frighten Sammy and set off, walking very briskly, and sometimes breaking into a trot.

  At her office she found a colleague had a capacious shoulder bag which would suit her purpose perfectly. She begged the woman to lend it to her.

  ‘Oh, Lizzie, why go to all this bother for a stray?’ the woman remarked. ‘It’ll be just like a wild thing. It won’t let you come near it.’

  ‘It’s already done that, Penn
y,’ said the girl. ‘I’m sure it knows I want to help. Do let me try. You can put your things in my bag for the moment.’

  ‘Oh well – I suppose I can’t refuse.’ Penny smiled. ‘But then what? You can’t bring the cat back here!’

  ‘It’s just for the afternoon,’ said Lizzie. ‘It’ll sleep if it’s not well.’

  ‘You’d better keep it out of the boss’s sight then.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Searle’s as big a softie as I am when it comes to animals,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘He won’t object.’

  When the shoulder bag had been emptied she hurried back to the park. Sammy hadn’t moved. When he saw Lizzie approaching he miaowed a greeting.

  ‘I knew you’d be pleased to see me,’ she said affectionately. ‘Now then, I hope you’re going to let me lift you because I want to look after you.’ She bent down and gently, very gently, eased her hands under Sammy’s body. Sammy made no objection apart from a muffled squeal of pain. He understood the young woman had come to help. What he didn’t know, however, was that she planned to take him away from the park. He allowed himself to be raised and deposited in the shoulder bag.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Lizzie brightly, zipping up the bag so that there was just enough room for Sammy to put his head out. ‘We’ll soon have you more comfortable.’ And she set off once more for her office.

  The pain of his accident had driven all thought of strange fierce-sounding animals from Sammy’s head, but he hadn’t forgotten Pinkie and he soon realized that the young woman was not carrying him back to his mate but farther away from her. From the opening in the bag he watched the park receding into the distance and he began to protest. Lizzie, of course, ignored his miaows. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him as she strode along the street, ‘we’re nearly there. Then you can rest for the afternoon.’