Copycat (11 page)

When the towpath was quieter Pinkie ventured to the water’s edge to see if she could catch a fish. In the river shallows small fry were darting about. She dabbled a paw and tried to hook one out without success. She leant out farther. A larger fish cruised close. In her excitement Pinkie half jumped into the water, soaking herself but missing the fish. A boat chugged downriver, sending its wash rippling towards the bank. Pinkie, intent on her fishing, was almost submerged by the rapid wavelets which broke over her back. She retreated hastily and shook herself. Most of the mud was washed from her fur but she was cold and hungry. At that moment Snowy came tripping along from the direction of the railway bridge. Pinkie skulked in the riverside vegetation, hoping the Pub Cat would miss her. He seemed in a hurry. Some slight movement caught his eye.

‘Been swimming?’ he quipped. ‘You
are
in a state. But you look almost white again.’

‘Did you see the fox?’ Pinkie muttered resentfully.

‘I saw him, yes, in that smelly hole he calls his den. He said he’d come tonight if his legs don’t give out first. I knew the promise of meat would entice him. And you’ – Snowy looked Pinkie up and down – ‘you could use a good feed. You come too. At dusk.’

Pinkie was tempted. ‘I might and I might not,’ she said.

‘You will,’ Snowy answered confidently. ‘You can’t afford not to. You’re ravenous. Did you land a fish?’

‘How did you . . .? No,’ Pinkie growled.

‘Cats don’t readily take to water, do they?’ the Pub Cat said knowingly. ‘Slippery customers, fish. If you’re reduced to fishing to survive, you’ll come tonight.’ He ran on, calling behind him, ‘Don’t carp at my offer.’

Pinkie was far from amused. She was so uncomfortable she could only think of getting herself dry. The cloudy sky was broken by patches of blue. Gleams of fitful sunshine bathed the riverside here and there. Pinkie, with a cat’s unerring instinct, found the warmest and sunniest place against the high wall. She napped on and off, drowsing as she gradually dried off.

Unknown to Pinkie, another cat, a stranger to her, was seeking her. Domino, just like the Church Cat, had witnessed the scene between Sammy and his mate. After his latest humiliating brush with the tabby, his lust for revenge was greater than ever. Sammy had wounded him in more than one way and he was determined to get even. He saw Pinkie as the key to his chance of doing it. She too had suffered. Sammy had scorned and insulted her and she must be bitter against him. Domino paced through the gardens, looking everywhere for the little white cat with the soiled coat. Finally he climbed to the top of the wall and looked along it. Pinkie, a white blur against the brickwork, caught his eye. He miaowed to himself with satisfaction. ‘There’s my ally,’ he hissed.

—14—

After the bunnies

Pinkie awoke to find a plump vole looking for its own food within pouncing distance. No sooner had she seen it than she slew it and began to eat with tremendous gusto.

‘That’s what your mate’s selfishness has brought you to, isn’t it?’

Pinkie glanced up without interrupting her feeding. Directly above her on the high wall was Domino the black-and-white cat.

‘While he feasts you’re famished,’ he continued.

‘What’s it to you?’ Pinkie mumbled.

‘I thought you might like to even things up a bit.’

‘What are you talking about? Why are you so concerned?’ Pinkie demanded.

‘Because of this!’ Domino snapped, bending his head so that Pinkie could see what Sammy’s claws had done. There was dried blood on Domino’s face.

‘Oh, you’ve been in a fight,’ Pinkie purred. ‘Did Sammy do that to you?’ Despite everything, she still felt a strange pride in the tabby’s power. She swallowed the rest of her kill and waited for the other cat’s reply.

‘Well, I didn’t do it myself,’ Domino growled. He jumped down and now Pinkie saw other wounds along his back. ‘He’s gone too far this time,’ the black-and-white cat raged. ‘This was a peaceful neighbourhood before he swaggered in, upsetting everybody. Monty gives up his food to him. And your mate rewards him by taking over his home. He bullies all the other cats and drives you out so that he can hobnob with that supercilious Persian.’

Pinkie blinked and stared. There was a lot of truth in Domino’s words. It was obvious the black-and-white cat wanted rid of Sammy. ‘Sammy doesn’t belong where he is – you’re right,’ she said slowly. ‘I’d like him back with me, away from human dens and that blue fur-ball. But he’s under her influence.’

‘He doesn’t know how absurd he looks, aping every aspect of her priggish behaviour.’ And Domino gave an illustration by mincing along with the Church Cat’s dainty steps.

Pinkie didn’t know whether to be amused by the sight or annoyed that Sammy had become the butt of the other cat’s ridicule. ‘What do you propose?’ she asked.

‘That we get him caught by Monty’s provider.’

‘The – the human?’ Pinkie didn’t like the idea but she was curious.

‘Yes, the girl. If she discovers him in the house, that would change everything.’

‘It certainly would,’ Pinkie agreed enthusiastically. ‘How would we go about it?’

‘Simple. We both get into the house through Monty’s little door and then hang around until the next lot of food is brought. If
we’re
found there – especially you – the young human will be suspicious and search for other interlopers. Sammy will be driven away, along with us.’

Pinkie naturally recalled how she had been scared away by the girl on a previous occasion. ‘No, no, I can’t do it,’ she stammered. ‘It’s clever, but I can’t be part of it. I won’t go into that human’s den. I don’t trust humans.’

Domino saw she was fearful. ‘You’ve . . . always lived wild, have you?’

‘Always.’

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. Really. You wouldn’t get hurt.’

‘No. No, I won’t. I can’t.’ Pinkie was trembling. She started to walk away. ‘I – I’m not a pet. I’m not like you.’

‘You won’t help yourself then,’ Domino called after her irritably. ‘The Church Cat’s beaten you!’

Pinkie ran. She didn’t want to hear any more. To deliberately put herself in the path of a human! And one who had scared her before! Never! As for Domino, he knew he had no chance of getting into Monty’s house without Pinkie behind him. Sammy would see to that. So he was left to snarl his frustration to himself.

By dusk Pinkie had managed to catch two more mice. Her stomach wasn’t grumbling any more but she did hanker after some real meat. It was a warm, still spring evening. Without actually thinking about it, she sauntered along in the direction of the White Cat. She wasn’t interested in Snowy’s silly scheme for the lop-ears, but his offer of food certainly held an attraction.

Cheerful human voices could be heard coming from the pub. It was warm enough for all the windows and doors to be open for the first time that year. Pinkie sat under the pub sign with the portrait of Snowy and waited for the real Pub Cat to appear. She wasn’t going any further on her own.

Darkness fell. Pinkie listened nervously to the voices, which were growing steadily more boisterous. She was on the point of hurrying away when Snowy suddenly called from the side of the building.

‘I thought you’d be there. Come on, what are you waiting for?’

‘You, of course,’ Pinkie replied bluntly. She crept round to join him and saw he was on his own. ‘I told you the fox wouldn’t come,’ she said.

‘Well, you’re wrong. He’s already here, lurking in the garden. He came by a different route. He looks pretty desperate.’

‘That makes a change,’ Pinkie commented sarcastically, following the Pub Cat through the shadows. ‘Have you allowed him to eat?’

‘Not yet. I told you, he has to get at the –’

‘I know. I know. The precious bunnies.’

‘It’ll be a cinch. The ground’s soft and damp. Even a scarecrow of a fox like him will find digging easy.’

The cats threaded their way through the car park and reached the pub garden. ‘I’ll stay out of sight,’ said Pinkie. ‘I won’t be of any use here.’

‘Of course you will be,’ the Pub Cat answered quickly. ‘We’ll need you to help snare the bunnies. You don’t think they’ll just stand around while a fox tunnels under their cage? They’ll dart into their box immediately. So we have to haul them out of it.’

‘Oh no. You never told me any of this,’ Pinkie argued. ‘The noise will bring some of your nosy humans out.
I
don’t want to be involved.’

‘What are you here for, then?’ Snowy snapped.

‘Well, you made me an offer of food. And that’s all. No mention of –’

‘Earning it?’ the Pub Cat inteijected angrily.

Pinkie saw the fox lying, panting, in the darkest comer of the garden. He was swallowing constantly, driven half mad by the smell of the lop-ears and the lure of the good cat meat he had been promised. Pinkie was positive something would go wrong and the wretched beast would be disappointed. Once again she felt a wave of sympathy.

‘All right,’ she said to Snowy. ‘I’ll do what I can. But only as long as we’re not disturbed.’

‘
That’s
the spirit,’ the Pub Cat said eagerly. ‘Well, Fox! Let’s start.’

The fox slunk on his belly towards the cage. The rabbits froze, then shot into their sleeping quarters. The fox began to scrape at the ground on one side with his front paws. He had no strength and he paused frequently, taking great gulping breaths. Snowy and Pinkie hunched nearby. Snowy’s tail twitched constantly with impatience. ‘I could do a better job myself,’ he complained.

‘Why don’t you, then?’ Pinkie challenged him. ‘Is it fair to make the fox struggle like that?’

‘He’ll be rewarded eventually,’ the Pub Cat replied.

‘You should have rewarded him first,’ Pinkie countered. ‘The meat would have given him the energy to dig properly.’

The fox battled on. His breathing became more and more strained. In the end it was Pinkie, not Snowy, who went to assist. She edged forward and saw that the fox had made a shallow scrape under the wire of the rabbits’ run.

‘Rest yourself,’ she advised him. ‘I’m the smallest of us. I can probably get myself under there.’ She tugged away at some loose earth and, flattening her body, squeezed underneath the wire. The fox sank to the ground, utterly spent.

‘Catch them, Pinkie!’ the Pub Cat shrilled.

The panic-stricken lop-ears scratched and scrabbled at their box, trying in vain to get out. The fox couldn’t bear the suspense any more. He lifted up his head and yapped sharply. This was the worst thing he could have done.

The wild creature’s bark was picked up instantly inside the pub by a large dog who was lying by its owner’s seat, head on paws. It was the very Alsatian that had chased Pinkie in the copse. Now it jumped up in excitement and, before it could be prevented, dashed out of the open pub door, its hackles raised, and rushed towards the unsuspecting animals. Pinkie was trapped inside the rabbit run, the fox too exhausted to flee. Only Snowy was able to move. The Alsatian was almost on them by the time the Pub Cat started to run. Instinctively the dog chased him, ignoring the fox playing dead. It caught him in two bounds and seized him in its jaws, crushing him terribly. The fox somehow hauled himself to the safety of a hiding place. In any case the dog was too busy shaking its prize around, growling ferociously, to notice him. The terrified Pinkie tried to get inside the rabbits’ box, although in effect protected by the cage. At this point the dog’s owner, who had thought the previous encounter with a white cat had also been with Snowy, came running and shouting to his dog to let go. Other people clustered around.

‘Oh, Fred,’ the man moaned, ‘you horrible dog! You’ve really done for him this time!’

The Alsatian dropped the lifeless cat, who was bleeding from several deep gashes. It knew it had done wrong and now it cowered, its tail drooping between its legs and with ears laid back, obviously expecting a blow. There were horrified gasps and cries from the onlookers who knew the Pub Cat well. Accusations were raised against the careless owner of the Alsatian. Finally the landlord was fetched. The small crowd fell back as Snowy’s master picked up the cat’s body and cradled it tenderly. The man turned sad eyes on Fred’s owner.

‘Why did you let this happen?’ he whispered. ‘My cat was harmless. He was a bit wild when I found him but I gave him a good home and he responded to it. We were friends.’ He was quite overcome.

The other man, shamefaced, babbled hopeless apologies. People raised their voices again, saying such a fierce dog should never be allowed off the lead.

‘Is it . . . is it too late to call the vet?’ Fred’s owner stammered.

‘Look at him,’ the landlord answered, showing the limp white body in his arms. ‘Your dog nearly tore him in two. Don’t you ever bring it into my pub again.’ He turned his back and stepped sorrowfully back indoors. A hush descended on the crowd. The Alsatian was led away, yanked fiercely on a chokingly shortened chain, by a downcast owner. No one had noticed Pinkie.

Then, abruptly, a woman started to gesticulate, calling out wonderingly, ‘Look. Look at that, everyone. Another white cat. There, in that cage! How extraordinary. Whatever is it doing there? It looks like Snowy’s double!’

—15—

Stuck

A knot of people began to advance on the rabbits’ hutch. Pinkie was more frightened than ever. She ducked under the wire at the scrape but, in her desperation to escape, didn’t use sufficient care. The wire caught on her back and she let out a howl. A woman hastened to free her, which only made Pinkie wrench harder. She was almost clear when the woman swooped, gathering her up into her arms. Pinkie struggled but was held firmly.

‘Oh look, poor thing. It’s torn its back badly,’ the woman said. Pinkie was indeed bleeding freely.

‘What a strange business,’ a man said. ‘First Snowy and then another white cat injured. Who does this one belong to? And what’s been going on?’

No one was able to provide the answer. The woman who had rescued Pinkie said, ‘I don’t think this one belongs to anybody. It looks like a stray to me. It certainly hasn’t been cared for. I’ll take it indoors. It needs some attention.’