Copycat (14 page)

‘Hello, who’s this?’ cried a man sitting at the table, who bent down to give Sammy a stroke or two. ‘Haven’t seen you before. Oh! What’s the matter?’ Sammy had flinched as the man’s coarse hands brushed his sore sides. ‘Martha!’ the man called loudly to the landlady. ‘Here’s a funny thing. There seems to be another injured cat in your pub.’

‘Where?’ The woman came in front of the bar. ‘That tabby? He looks all right to me. Where’s he injured, then?’

‘He didn’t like being touched,’ the man replied. ‘Looked as though it pained him.’

The landlady bent down. Sammy sensed he was in no danger and stayed still. But he flinched again when she began to feel his body. ‘Must be bruised or something,’ she said. ‘Donald’s in the other bar. He might have a look at him.’ She carefully picked Sammy up and carried him through to the self-same room in which Pinkie had been installed. Then, leaving the door open, she went to fetch the vet. Sammy took the opportunity to run out of the room and up the stairs. He had distinctly smelt Pinkie’s scent in the room and was convinced he would soon find her. But, though he called persistently for her, there was no answering miaow and in all the rooms he was able to explore he found nothing.

He wasn’t permitted much time on his own. Martha soon located him and, half amused by Sammy’s cheek, but half scolding too, she carried him down to the vet.

‘I don’t think there’s much wrong,’ Donald said after giving Sammy a quick look-over. ‘Probably just a bruise or two as you thought. But I’ll be able to tell better if I can get him to the surgery. I could take him back with me if that’s all right?’

‘Do what you like, Donald. He’s not my cat,’ replied the landlady.

‘No. You don’t know where he comes from?’

‘Not anywhere down our road, anyway,’ she stated. ‘I know all the cats around here. It’s odd how these strange visitors keep turning up on my premises. I told you about the last one. She was definitely a stray. But this one is
someone’s
pet, I’ll be bound. He’s a fine specimen, isn’t he?’

‘He is indeed. His owners have been feeding him well.’

Sammy was carted off to the veterinary surgery where Monty was already a patient. The black cat had been put on a high-nutrition diet which the vet was sure would restore him to full health in a few days.

The tabby underwent a more through examination and was then bundled into a pen next to Monty. The vet made quite sure Sammy had everything he needed for the next few hours and then closed up the surgery.

Monty stared at Sammy resentfully. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he growled. ‘You seem to shadow me wherever I go.’

‘Don’t blame me,’ Sammy retorted. ‘I didn’t ask to come here and be caged up. What’s the point of it all?’

‘Presumably you’re in some kind of distress?’ Monty queried. ‘I’ve been here before with my owners, when I had an injured foot. The man did something to it which made it better, but I wasn’t kept in this place. The girl brought me here this time. I wish my owners would come and collect me.’

Sammy explained the circumstances which had led up to his confinement.

‘The man must have thought there was something wrong with you,’ Monty deduced. ‘You’ll be looked after until you’re better.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me and I don’t want to be looked after,’ Sammy asserted. ‘I must find my mate. She’s been taken off somewhere else by the humans and –’

‘Your mate? Huh!’ Monty scoffed. ‘Your interest in her has suddenly been reawakened now she’s disappeared! When she was around you didn’t want anything to do with her.’

‘I’ve been very much at fault,’ Sammy admitted remorsefully. ‘I don’t know what happened to me. I . . . I . . .’

‘I know all right,’ Monty stated emphatically. ‘You forgot everything else in your greed for my food. Well, you can’t get at it here! There’s no convenient little door this time for you to slip through and pinch it all.’

‘Oh, I don’t want your food,’ Sammy replied. ‘Look, I’ve got some of my own. I just want to get out of here and begin my search.’

‘How will you know where to go?’

‘I must first consult with the fox who told me about Pinkie’s capture. He mentioned one of his own kind that had been tended by humans. Maybe those humans are looking after Pinkie.’

‘Quite likely. She’s a stray – not dissimilar to a wild creature. They don’t have strays in here. Animals are always brought in by their owners. You’re the exception, of course! But does the fox know where you should go?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sammy replied glumly. ‘I can only ask. But I can’t do anything while I’m shut up here. And, though I hate to be called it, I
am
a stray.’

‘You
were
. Now you could pass for a pet like me. Any human would be fooled, including the man here. So even though there’s nothing wrong with you, you’ll be kept in this place. The man will expect you to be claimed by owners.’

—18—

A stray again

There was nothing Sammy could do about it. His mythical owners were awaited. Notices were displayed in the surgery waiting-room and in the bars of the White Cat concerning the identity of the unknown tabby but they didn’t produce any information. No one knew who he was. Two days after Sammy had been taken by the vet, the girl who fed Monty came to collect her charge. Monty was perfectly fit again and his owners would soon be home. The girl happened to notice Sammy.

‘Oh, you’ve got him here, have you? Is he unwell?’

‘No, he’s all right really. We’re trying to trace his owners. Do you know him, then?’

‘I found him in the Collins’s living-room,’ the girl explained. ‘He’s the cat who was probably stealing Monty’s food.’

‘Well! So he’s the culprit. Where does he come from?’

‘I don’t know,’ the girl replied. ‘And if no one else does, it begins to look as if he doesn’t have a home, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s not likely,’ was the vet’s opinion. ‘He’s too well cared for.’

‘He’s quite a handsome cat,’ the girl said. ‘I wouldn’t mind having him myself if nobody else comes forward.’

‘Really? Are you serious, Carol? It would help me out, you know. I can’t keep him here indefinitely.’

‘Then it’s settled, Mr Fairhurst. If no one’s claimed him by the time Mr and Mrs Collins are back to take care of Monty,
I’ll
give him a home.’

By the end of that week, Monty was reunited with his master and mistress. Carol told them what the vet had said and done for him and also about Sammy whom she was about to adopt. ‘I think he must have a big appetite,’ she joked. ‘He wanted to eat Monty’s meal as well as his own.’

‘But if no one’s missed him, maybe no one was feeding him,’ Mrs Collins said. ‘He was probably very hungry.’

Carol was excited by the prospect of her new pet. But Sammy, who had so well acted the part, had no wish to be one in reality. He waited for the first opportunity to escape. And it wasn’t long in coming.

Carol had no proper carrying basket of her own. She took a stout zip-up holdall to the vet’s to carry Sammy in. They got him in all right, zipped up the bag and left a small gap for Sammy’s head. Everything went to plan until the girl got to her front door and put the bag down to look for her key. Sammy’s strength had been sadly underestimated. A long period of the very best food had done wonders for him. He saw his chance and exerted himself to widen the gap and squeeze through. The zip was forced back and Sammy burst into the open, scrambled clear and was off down the road almost before Carol had realized what had happened.

At first Sammy wasn’t sure of the way to go. He soon discovered, however, that this road led to the church and then he recognized his surroundings. Before long he was back on the towpath, running towards the fox’s den.

There had been a lengthy wet period and the vegetation everywhere was saturated. The river had risen and driftwood littered the bank. The fox’s den, washed clean by the river water, held no trace of its fine-weather occupant. Sammy glanced about for the unfortunate animal. He wandered into the barren field where Pinkie had caught a rabbit. On a hummock of muddy matted grass lay the prone body of the ancient fox. Sammy approached nervously. There were no signs of life.

‘Fox! Can you hear me?’ Sammy whispered.

Abruptly the fox wriggled upright and stood on shaky legs. ‘Oh. It’s you. I was playing dead, just to be on the safe side.’

‘Very convincing too,’ Sammy commented.

‘Didn’t you bring a rabbit then?’ the fox asked with disappointment. ‘I thought, after all this time, you must have found one.’

‘Rabbit?’ Sammy queried. ‘No, I’m looking for a white cat.’ Then, all at once, he remembered. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I forgot all about your request. But I haven’t seen any rabbits anyway.’

‘I tried to catch one here,’ the fox said gloomily. ‘Of course it was far too quick for me. I only succeeded in exhausting myself. I’ve hardly enough strength to catch a worm.’

‘Perhaps I can do something about that,’ Sammy offered.

‘That’s not why you came all the way back here, is it?’ the fox said. ‘You want something from me.’

‘Yes. That’s true,’ Sammy admitted. ‘I need your guidance if you can give it me. It’s about the little white cat. We spoke before and . . . Goodness! What’s that?’

A train was approaching the bridge. It began to rumble across. Sammy cowered close to the muddy ground. The noise was unbearable, far worse than all the traffic noise he had ever heard in London. Eventually the train rattled away into the distance.

‘How often does that happen?’ Sammy gasped.

‘Now and again. You get used to it.’

Sammy shuddered. ‘I don’t think I’d live long enough,’ he said. ‘But now it’s quieter, let me ask you: the fox who was injured and made well by the humans. Where was he taken to?’

‘They have a place, it seems, where they care for animals like him.’

‘Yes, and I think my mate has been taken there!’

‘The white cat?’

‘Yes, Pinkie. But where
is
the place?’

The fox sighed. He was tired, wet and hungry as usual. He wasn’t up to Sammy’s eager questioning. ‘All I know is,’ he said wearily, ‘that it’s on the other side of the river. The fox could tell he was crossing the water.’

Sammy’s heart sank. It sounded hopeless and he didn’t want to accept the information. ‘How could he be sure?’ he demanded, almost accusingly.

‘He must have been in a boat,’ the fox answered patiently. ‘I suppose he was carried across in that way. I can’t tell you any more.’

‘All right,’ Sammy mumbled. ‘Thank you, anyway. So I’m beaten before I start. I hoped to find her. But now –’

‘There’s another way of crossing the river,’ the fox told him. ‘By that bridge. People walk over it, so why can’t you?’

‘What, there? Where that monstrous machine came? I couldn’t go there!’ Sammy cried. The idea alone terrified him.

‘You’d have to go by night, of course,’ the fox explained. ‘It’s always quiet then. But – well, it’s up to you, isn’t it?’ He began to limp away. He’d had more than enough of this discussion which was of no importance to
him
.

Sammy saw that he must face crossing the bridge if he were to have even the remotest chance of finding Pinkie. ‘I’ll do it!’ he vowed to himself. ‘As soon as it’s dark.’ But he wasn’t ready just yet to go it alone. He trotted after the fox. ‘I – I don’t suppose you’d care to accompany me?’

The fox turned and stared disbelievingly. ‘What a novel idea,’ he said. It was a long time since any creature had courted his company. ‘I appreciate the invitation. But, as you can see, I’d be a liability.’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ said Sammy. ‘Once we’ve eaten that rabbit together, you’ll be ready for anything.’

‘You mean you can catch one?’ The fox’s tired old eyes flickered briefly with life and his threadbare tail began to swish. ‘This isn’t a joke, is it?’

‘You watch me!’ Sammy cried.

‘I will, you can count on it. Go to that stream. That’s where you’re most likely to see them.’

Undisturbed by humans, who seldom passed such a bleak spot, Sammy turned hunter once more. In his younger days he had been a very successful rabbit hunter and, as he lay in wait by the stream, he recalled his early life with Pinkie in Quartermile Field. The old fox, well to the rear, licked his chops in anticipation. Death from starvation had stared him in the face more than once. Now the help he had so often longed for had been offered without his even asking for it.

Sammy’s skill hadn’t deserted him. Just as Pinkie had done, he found a rabbit on the open stretch of ground. The prey, for so long secure from predators, was too bold and Sammy didn’t need more than an even chance. He pounced and killed an old rabbit who had survived far longer than most of his kind in the wild. The fox was so ravenous he wanted to eat it at once.

‘Hadn’t we better take it to your den?’ Sammy suggested.

‘It’s cold and wet in there. I’ve been flooded out again.’

Sammy had spied a human figure on the other side of the bridge. ‘Better wet and cold than interrupted,’ he advised.

‘Oh, come on then,’ muttered the fox, who was drooling so much he could hardly talk.

Carefully, and with considerable effort, Sammy hauled the carcass to the hole in the bank. It was just as well he did so because the lone figure was the girl Carol who had been searching for him ever since he escaped from her bag.

‘Quickly, get in, Fox,’ he snapped at the stumbling animal in his anxiety.

The fox crept into his slimy lair and Sammy followed, pulling the rabbit in after him. They were only just in time. Footsteps crunched nearby on the gravelly towpath. The animals didn’t move a muscle. Then the fox could hold out no longer. He snatched at the kill and tore at its pelt. His stomach rumbled sympathetically. Sammy let the fox eat the lion’s share of the meat. He shivered in the dank, smelly earth. But he was hidden and he was free.

When the fox had eaten his fill, breathed a satisfied sigh and fallen asleep, Sammy thought about Pinkie. What would happen when she was well again? Would the humans release her as they had the injured fox? If so, he would never find her. Hunched against the cold Sammy murmured, ‘Pooh, Foxy, you’re not the best perfumed of friends.’ He waited impatiently for dusk.