Copycat (17 page)

—21—

At the sign of the White Cat

The fox was right about Pinkie in one respect. Now she had made a full recovery, there was no intention of keeping her any longer than it took to find her a home. The only way she would be released was into the care of some loving humans. However, it just so happened that there were some people who were interested in her.

The landlord of the White Cat and his wife Martha had lost not only their pet in Snowy, but their mascot as well. Snowy had been the living symbol of the pub and now they were without one. Martha had all along kept the picture of Pinkie in her mind. It had seemed such a strange coincidence that Pinkie had appeared on the scene requiring attention almost at the moment that their own dear white cat had been so shockingly killed. At the time the horror of Snowy’s death had been so great that Martha hadn’t recognized the full significance of the event. Now it appeared to her that Pinkie had somehow been sent as a replacement. The more she pondered it the more she was convinced that Pinkie was meant for the pub, and she spoke to her husband to see what he thought.

‘Where is the cat now?’ he asked.

‘Probably still at the animal home, Bernard. Unless someone else liked the look of her.’

Bernard pursed his lips. He was wiping the bar down in preparation for morning business. He looked meditatively at Snowy’s photos and the other pictures of white cats on the walls. Nothing had been changed since Snowy had gone. ‘Yes, it would be nice to have a cat again,’ he said. ‘Give some meaning to all this. But wasn’t she a stray, that one?’

‘Must have been,’ said Martha. ‘But that doesn’t matter. She’d soon settle down. She was all right with me when we had her here overnight. She seemed to like me.’

Bernard smiled. ‘You have a way with you,’ he acknowledged. ‘All right, my dear. Why don’t you give the people a ring to see if she’s still there?’

Sammy could hardly contain himself during the day. He dozed for a while but spent most of the time exploring the immediate area. There were shrews and mice to be had. He caught some quite easily and left them for the old fox. The taste of Monty’s meat was still too strong in his memory for Sammy to relish such skin and bone.

As the sun dipped Sammy set off for the animal home. The fox had woken and prepared to follow, but first he gulped down the rodents without bothering to give them an introduction to his few remaining teeth. The woodland pulled strongly at the fox. He wanted nothing better than to stay under its canopy and seek out a hole excavated by another creature which could serve him as a convenient den. But he knew he had to remain with Sammy until the tabby had been back inside the building. He shadowed Sammy, who for the moment had forgotten all about him.

As he neared the building Sammy increased his pace. Dusk was falling. The main entrance door was open and a car parked near it. Sammy wondered if he dare go through that door, rather than trust to the same open window as before. He could hear voices close to the entrance. A cat was miaowing nervously. Sammy recognized Pinkie’s call at once. Instinctively he miaowed back and began to run towards the open door. The fox saw him go and barked a warning as he slunk out of sight. Sammy was oblivious. All he could hear were Pinkie’s increasingly anxious calls. The next moment Martha, the pub landlady, walked briskly out of the door carrying a cat basket. The cat inside was Pinkie. She called constantly, ‘Sammy, follow me. Find the place we first came to.’

Martha got quickly into her car, placing Pinkie on the floor next to the driving seat. A member of staff from the animal home waved her off.

Sammy knew the kindly human from the pub straight away. She had tended him and fed him before the vet had carried him off. He knew exactly what he had to do. The fox joined him as soon as the humans had departed.

‘Things look bad,’ said the fox.

‘No. Actually they’re not,’ Sammy replied. He was quite excited. ‘Pinkie’s got out of this place and I know where she’s heading.’

‘A prophet, are you?’ the fox quipped.

Sammy explained about the woman. ‘Pinkie will be waiting for me,’ he said at last. ‘So I must leave you, Fox.’

‘I’ll come with you, Sammy – if you like . . .’

‘I would like,’ said Sammy. ‘But it’s not the best thing for you. Why should you make the long trek back again? There’s not much for you across the bridge. You wanted to make a new den. The woodland is the place for you. No river to wash your home away there . . .’

‘No. No river,’ the fox agreed. ‘And no friends,’ he murmured beneath his breath so that Sammy shouldn’t hear.

‘I shall know where to find you,’ the tabby said brightly. ‘One day I’ll bring Pinkie with me. We won’t lose each other.’

‘No. Not us,’ the fox vowed. But he looked glum.

‘Well, I’d better make a start,’ said Sammy. ‘I need to travel by night.’

‘Good luck,’ said the fox. ‘Go carefully.’

‘I will. And you also.’

Without the fox to slow him down, Sammy made good progress, and the next morning he was once more on the towpath. Above his head the sign of the White Cat swung slightly in a spring breeze. So far there had been no sign of Pinkie, however.

‘Are they keeping her locked up?’ Sammy mused. ‘In case she wanders off?’ It was to be some time before he found out.

Around noon about a week later the pub was as usual beginning to bustle. It was a warm day. The doors were open and, now fully trusted, Pinkie strolled into the garden. She stood looking at the scene of her earlier capture. The rabbit hutch was empty. The lop-ears had not been replaced as Snowy had been replaced. Pinkie expected Sammy to put in an appearance soon. She knew he had heard her calls at the animal home and would be seeking her. Thus the opportunity to teach him a lesson had at last – and unexpectedly – arrived. The tables had been turned. Now she was the pet and Sammy the stray. It would be easy now to treat him as he had treated her; when Monty’s meat and the Church Cat’s charm had been of more importance to him than his own mate.

‘I’ll make him fret,’ she purred. She savoured the prospect of his discomfort. ‘Oh Sammy, how I’ve longed for such a chance!’

Sammy came into the pub garden cautiously. ‘Pinkie!’ he called. ‘Quickly. Let’s go.’

Pinkie sat perfectly still, yawned and looked away.

Sammy called again. ‘Pinkie! It’s me – Sammy!’

‘I can see that,’ she said without interest.

Sammy came close. ‘You – you look well,’ he said awkwardly. ‘And your coat! It’s spotless.’

Pinkie eyed him searchingly. ‘The same can’t be said of you,’ she said. ‘What
have
you been doing to yourself? I thought you had such high standards now?’

‘But – but I told you, Pinkie. I’m not a pet any more. I’m the same Sammy you knew before. I haven’t changed.’

‘Oh, but you
have
,’ she said, taking on the Church Cat’s cultured tones. ‘You were so clean, so polished, so
selfish
. . .’ She fixed him with her clear blue eyes.

‘Oh, I get it,’ Sammy muttered. ‘All right. I admit I was awful to you. Please forgive me. I don’t know how it happened. The new life . . . It sort of took me over. Er – Pinkie . . .’ Sammy was evidently embarrassed. ‘Is there food here?’

‘Of
course
there’s food. I have to live. The woman’s very good to me. The most succulent meat, the most –’

‘Yes, all right!’ Sammy cried. He licked his chops. ‘Could you . . . you know, spare a little?’

‘Sorry. I ate every bit,’ Pinkie replied. She was really enjoying herself. ‘There’s only enough for one, you see.’

‘Yes, I suppose there is,’ Sammy said dully. ‘Well, shall we go and catch a rabbit? I mean, shall
I
catch a rabbit and – and – we could share it?’

‘Oh no,’ said Pinkie. ‘I can’t do that. I live here now.’ She remembered Snowy’s words and repeated them. ‘You see, I’m the Pub Cat.’

Sammy was dumbfounded. For a moment he couldn’t find his voice. Then he mumbled, ‘But you surely don’t intend to stay? We’re not cut out to be pets, you and I. Not really. Not permanently . . .’ His voice tailed off. ‘Are we?’ he finished lamely.

‘I don’t know about you,’ Pinkie replied. ‘But, as far as I’m concerned – yes, I can see the advantages. Humans aren’t so bad, are they? Not all of them, anyway. The ones here are kind and decent. Why should I leave? I’m fed, cared for and petted. It’s a new experience for me and I’m relishing it. Being completely free – as you are now,’ she said archly, ‘has its advantages too. But I’ve suffered too much as a stray to want to go back to that kind of life again now I don’t have to. You’ll be fine, Sammy. I know you will. You always make out somehow. And – well, we can still meet if you want to, from time to time. Hereabouts.’

Sammy couldn’t believe he was hearing this. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said unhappily. ‘When I wanted you to give up your freedom to make yourself safe from the patrols you refused.’

‘There
are
no patrols,’ Pinkie answered. ‘No roundups. Not in these parts. I’ve found out all about it.’

‘But I – we –
heard
the tramping, the –’

‘We thought we did,’ Pinkie interrupted. ‘But it was something else. There’s no danger here. Pet or vagabond cat, what you will, there are no alarms for us any more. And – yes, I did refuse to join you at first in Monty’s house. Well, Sammy’ – Pinkie looked at him pointedly – ‘we should all learn from our mistakes. I certainly have.’ She turned and casually, but quite deliberately, walked away from him and in through the open pub door.

Sammy started after her disconsolately. He felt thoroughly miserable. Pinkie peeped round the door frame and watched him. Eventually he left and made his slow way to the riverside. She really felt for him. She knew only too well how miserable he would be feeling. With a sore heart but with determination none the less she said to herself, ‘Sammy will soon learn. I won’t punish him for ever.’

—22—

A lesson learnt

For a couple of days Sammy skulked around the towpath. He didn’t go anywhere near the White Cat, nor did he enter any of the gardens of the neighbourhood houses. He didn’t wish to risk being spotted by Carol. He tried not to think about Pinkie. She had hurt his pride and he was sulking, but gradually his sulks gave way to indignation. How dare Pinkie treat him like this? He knew he had been at fault in the past, but he had never refused her a share of his food as she had done him.

‘Pinkie needs reminding of that,’ he growled to himself. And he returned to the pub garden.

Fortunately for Sammy the weather had stayed warm and dry, so he had not suffered much discomfort except in so far as his stomach was concerned. After the plentiful food he had been used to, he found it all the more difficult to adjust to his new meagre diet. And that was what was causing him the most aggravation.

‘Look here, Pinkie,’ he said as soon as he saw her, ‘you’re not behaving at all fairly. When I was in Monty’s house I offered you a share of my food. Yet you don’t –’

‘Don’t you mean Monty’s food?’ Pinkie corrected him.

‘Oh, all right, Monty’s. What’s the difference?’ Sammy grumbled. ‘The offer was there anyway. And you should do the same for me. I won’t be treated like this!’

‘But I can’t do the same for you,’ Pinkie replied sweetly. ‘I don’t have any of Monty’s food to share with you.’

Sammy glared at her. ‘So this is the way you’re going to be, is it? Very well. I don’t beg from
anyone
, even though I’m half starved.’

‘Oh, I don’t think you’re starving,’ Pinkie remarked lightly. ‘You look healthy enough to me.’

Sammy turned away from her and stalked off. He was furious.

Of course it was no good being angry. That didn’t get him anywhere. Over the next few days he came to realize just how neglected Pinkie had been whilst he was enjoying the comforts of a warm house and a full food-bowl. How lonely she must have been. He himself, without even the fox for company, felt deserted.

‘I deserve all I get,’ he told himself ruefully. ‘What I did was shameful.’ He lay against the high wall, basking in the strong sunshine and partially hidden by the long grass. A black cat sat on top of the wall, staring down at him.

‘Reality caught up with you, I see,’ said Monty, for it was indeed he.

The tabby glanced upwards. ‘Once a vagabond always a vagabond,’ he replied fatalistically. ‘And who steals your food these days? The black-and-white cat?’

‘Domino? Oh, no. He keeps away. My owners are back. There’s no opportunity for any stranger to thieve now. And you? You don’t look so plump and presentable any more. I doubt if the Church Cat would acknowledge your existence now.’

‘That’s no worry to me,’ Sammy retorted. ‘I don’t want any pet to take notice of me. I’ve learnt to do without all that. What I want is for a certain little white cat to be my companion again.’

‘Then you should go and tell her so,’ said Monty.

‘Pinkie! Pinkie! Won’t you talk to me?’ Sammy sat in the middle of the pub garden. It was late evening. The little white cat sat under a garden table, carefully washing her coat. She knew Sammy was there but pretended to ignore him.

‘Pinkie! I only want to talk. The way we used to. I need your company even if it’s just . . . just for a while. Won’t you talk to me?’

Pinkie looked up. ‘Just for a while, then. I’m going indoors shortly to be fed.’

Sammy swallowed but made no mention of his hunger. ‘Of course. I won’t interfere, I only wanted to tell you how very much I regret the way I was before. Selfish, greedy, cruel . . . I was all of them. And I’d do anything for you now to make up for it. Anything. You see, I’ve learnt the hard way about what you must have suffered and I’m so miserable to think of it. I can’t bear to know you were hurt because of me.’

Pinkie began to purr quietly. But she didn’t go any closer. ‘That’s all over now,’ she said. ‘We won’t talk about it. You can come and visit me whenever you want. But be careful. Don’t lose your freedom again. You understand me?’

‘Yes. Yes, I understand. I’ll take care.’