Copycat (5 page)

Sammy, with Pinkie dancing around him, came to claim his due. ‘You see?’ he said to Monty. ‘Nothing easier, when you’re determined.’ He looked at the food. ‘Have you finished here?’

‘Er – yes.’

‘Go on, Pinkie. There’s plenty. Take what you want,’ Sammy offered.

Pinkie, having already eaten the fish, ate sparingly, leaving the lion’s share for the tabby. Sammy gulped it down greedily, keeping an eye on the garden in case another competitor should appear. None did. Monty hovered, unsure what was required of him. He soon found out.

‘Will the girl be back?’ Sammy demanded.

‘Not till tomorrow.’

‘Good. Show us where we can sleep.’

Pinkie started to intervene, but Sammy checked her. ‘Be quiet, Pinkie. We have to know where to go so that we won’t be disturbed.’

Monty was at a loss for suggestions. What did these two strays expect? A basket? A chair? What exactly?

‘Where do you sleep?’ Sammy asked, trying to chivvy him up. ‘In here?’

‘No. My bed’s in the kitchen. But you can’t –’

‘Can’t sleep in there?’ Sammy finished for him. ‘We don’t want to. This room is quite comfortable enough for us. The floor will suit us fine – in fact, by comparison with what we’re used to, it’s the finest luxury for Pinkie and me.’

‘No. Not Pinkie,’ said his mate.

Sammy turned to look at her. ‘What? What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’m not sleeping in here.’

‘Oh. What do you propose then? Somewhere even softer?’ Sammy asked jocularly.

‘Not at all. I’ll take my chances in the open as I always have. You’ll never get me to lie in one of these human “dens” like a mouse in a trap.’

‘A trap? There’s no trap. You have an escape route where you came in,’ Sammy argued. ‘What about our plan? I had it all worked out.’

‘
Your
plan,’ Pinkie corrected him. ‘I appreciate the food.’ She looked at Monty. ‘Thank you, stranger. It’ll make a big difference. As for a bed, I’ll find my own. Somewhere secluded and as dry as I can make it. But
not
enclosed within a place built for humans and ringed round with their . . . their trappings.’

Sammy was aghast. He’d never heard Pinkie in this mood before. ‘Are you going to leave me, then?’ he gasped. ‘Go off on your own?’

‘Well, that’s what it amounts to, doesn’t it, if you’re so set on sleeping indoors?’ Pinkie answered coolly.

‘But where will you go?’

‘Can’t say at present. I’ll find somewhere.’

Sammy became irritated. ‘Oh well, if that’s your attitude . . . I’ve done my best for you, and all you do is turn your nose up.’

Monty looked from one cat to the other, wondering where all this was going to lead. He felt like a bystander in his own home. Sammy was annoyed and offended. He turned his back on Pinkie and deliberately walked away towards the far end of the room. He began to wash himself. Pinkie was quite still for a moment. However, her determination matched Sammy’s and, with some reluctance, she stepped to the cat-flap.

‘Tell him I shan’t go far,’ she murmured to Monty. ‘He’ll be able to find me easily.’ She pushed herself through the little door and was gone without a backward glance. She was confident Sammy would soon come after her.

But Pinkie had miscalculated. Sammy was stubborn and, when Monty repeated the message, he said, ‘It doesn’t matter how far she goes. I shan’t be looking for her.’ The two cats were set on separate paths and neither was going to give way.

—7—

The Pub Cat

The black-and-white cat Sammy had chased away knew all the other cats in the road as well as several others who lived further afield and sometimes crossed his path.

His name was Domino. He was bigger than most, including Monty, and his size had made him respected amongst the pets. He had regularly taken food from Monty’s bowl because, although he was fed adequately by his owners, he was greedy. He had never encountered an animal like Sammy before and had been immediately cowed by his fierce appearance. He decided to warn his acquaintances about the big tabby who had suddenly appeared on the scene. Two of these had been on the point of approaching Monty’s garden when the sounds of the fight between Sammy and Domino made them turn tail. When the black-and-white cat made his escape he ran into them. One was a grey Burmese called Ling and the other a ginger called Spike. Both were rather docile creatures with mild manners who would always avoid a confrontation. They feared Domino even though he never attacked them because they accepted his supremacy so easily, so he had to make it clear he was in a friendly mood in order to prevent their scattering.

‘Wait! I’ve got some news for you,’ he called reassuringly. ‘It’ll be in your interests to listen.’

Ling and Spike, who were friends, hesitated. Was it something to do with the fight?

‘There’s a new cat around,’ Domino told them. ‘A real bruiser. He’s after the food at Monty’s and he’s hanging around his garden. I didn’t get a look in. He gave me quite a fright. Attacked me for no reason. I’d advise you to keep away from there for a while.’

Ling, who had a fat puckered sort of face, said, ‘We heard the row. What’s this cat look like?’

‘A lean, hard tabby with an ugly mug. He looks as if he’s been around.’

‘Where did he come from?’ Spike asked.

Domino snorted. ‘I didn’t stay to ask. If I see any of the others I’m going to warn them too. You do the same. He really looks as though he could be an unpleasant customer.’

Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was trying to sleep and finding it very difficult. As the evening shadows spread across Monty’s garden Sammy, warm and well fed, dozed and started. He imagined every other moment that Pinkie was creeping through the cat-flap to join him. Yet each time his eyes blinked open and he looked towards the glass door, there was no one there. Monty had retired to his basket, unsure how to cope with the stranger who had so suddenly changed his life.

‘Perhaps I’ll find him gone in the morning,’ Monty said to himself. ‘He’ll want to look for his mate.’ But even as he thought it, he knew Sammy would demand the next lot of meat. The way he had dealt with Domino meant he had kept his side of the bargain. And if Domino couldn’t stand up to him, none of the other visitors to the garden would either. So Sammy had already proved he was as good as his word. The rivalry for his – Monty’s – food-bowl had been ended in one fell swoop. And that was something gained, anyway. ‘But I hope the girl doesn’t find him here,’ Monty muttered. ‘That would make a real problem.’

Of course Sammy, the vagabond, had more sense than to wait about once he heard evidence of a human’s approach. He snaked through the cat-flap next morning and hid under a hydrangea bush. The young girl neighbour who was looking after Monty arrived, suspecting nothing. Monty greeted her, tail aloft, in the kitchen. They made a fuss of each other. The girl opened another tin of meat and went to fetch Monty’s bowl. In the sitting-room she paused. There was a strange smell there she didn’t recognize. She looked all round for a clue to it, but found none.

‘I’d better let some air in,’ she said to Monty, who had followed her. She had the key to the patio door and so she unlocked it and slid it open. The fresh scents of the garden flooded into the room. Sammy watched everything tensely, ready to bolt. The girl seemed content to stand on the threshold and look out. The tabby was perfectly camouflaged against the thick dry stalks of the bush. The girl bent, picked up Monty’s bowl and went back to the kitchen. Sammy remained motionless.

A whisper of a rustle behind him made him give a low growl. He was expecting more competition, but didn’t turn his head. The next thing he knew Pinkie was beside him. She wasn’t purring and made no attempt to nuzzle him.

‘Human in the house,’ he hissed sharply. ‘She’ll see you!’ Sammy was only too aware that Pinkie’s colouring could be picked out from a long way off.

His mate scuttled away to another part of the garden, but not before the girl in the kitchen had spied her. Suspecting immediately that the white cat was the cause of the unfamiliar scent indoors, the girl ran round to the open door, clapping her hands and calling, ‘Shoo! Go away! Shoo! Shoo!’ The terrified Pinkie vanished. Sammy, badly frightened himself, slunk deeper into the bush, only just managing to stave off an instinctive desire to flee. The girl, satisfied that she had rid the area of the intruder, returned indoors and closed the patio door. Minutes later she left the house and the coast was clear. Sammy had survived.

Not until he was positive that there was no risk did he stir and begin to call Pinkie. Monty came into the garden.

‘There’s plenty left,’ said the black cat. ‘Enough for two. The girl must think I’m a glutton.’

Sammy called Pinkie more urgently. She didn’t answer his calls and he grew more and more fretful. Then hunger gripped him and took command. The food-bowl beckoned. Before he could stop himself Sammy had licked it clean. He looked at the empty bowl ruefully. ‘Well, she couldn’t have been hungry or she would have come,’ he muttered to himself by way of an excuse. But he felt guilty and a cheat. ‘I’ll let her have all
my
share next time,’ he decided. ‘That’ll make it all right.’

But it wasn’t all right. Pinkie had made a decision herself. And that was to rely on her own hunting skills and steer clear of anything to do with humans.

She recovered quickly from her fright once she was on the other side of the high wall again. The gently flowing river and the quietness of the towpath in the early morning soothed her spirits. She roamed far along the bank, content with her own company. Sammy’s ideas and hers seemed so far apart that she almost felt able to put him out of her mind. She believed now that the best way to avoid detection by the dreaded patrols was to use the wit and cunning of the wild creature she really was. It simply wasn’t possible for her to try to ape a pampered pet as Sammy had planned to do. Maybe he could succeed in that way. His kitten days had been spent in domesticity. But she knew she could never make a success of pretending to be a fireside pussy cat.

As Pinkie sought her prey the thought of Monty’s meat – its smell, its taste – lingered in her mind. It wouldn’t be easy to blot that out. A skinny mouse or two was a poor substitute. She hoped for something more sustaining.

A harsh voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. ‘Looking for grub?’

Pinkie swung round. Another white cat, hardly bigger than herself, was climbing up the bank from the river. It was as if she were looking at her double.

‘I’ve just been having a drink,’ the cat explained. ‘Have you caught anything?’

‘Er – not yet. Who are you?’ Pinkie enquired.

‘I could almost be your twin,’ came the reply. ‘Except I see you’re older than I am.’

‘I’m not that old,’ Pinkie protested.

‘No? Well, I’m the Pub Cat. They call me Snowy.’

‘How original.’

‘And you?’

‘Pinkie.’

‘Pinkie? Funny name for a white cat!’

‘I’m pink underneath.’

‘Very droll,’ said Snowy. ‘Look, that’s where I live. Where my picture hangs over the path.’

Pinkie recognized the very spot where she and Sammy had escaped from the car. The building had a sign bracketed to the wall on the river side with a white cat painted on it. The sign swung slightly in the breeze. Pinkie didn’t know anything about pictures or pubs but she could see the image well enough.

‘Why is that – that cat up there?’ Pinkie faltered.

‘That’s me. I
am
the pub,’ Snowy boasted. He really believed it. ‘I mean, we’re called the same.’

‘Whatever are you saying? How can a human place be called Snowy?’

‘No, no. Not Snowy,’ he answered. ‘“The White Cat.”’

‘Oh.’ Pinkie didn’t understand at all.

‘You look hungry,’ said Snowy.

‘I am.’

‘Come with me, then.’

‘No, I prefer to keep away from people. I don’t trust humans.’

‘Who said anything about humans? Though they’re all right. Really.’

‘Look,’ said Pinkie. ‘I have to catch something to eat. I can’t waste any more time.’

‘It’s a hard life, scavenging, isn’t it? I had to do a bit of it myself once. But since my pub days I –’

‘I’m going,’ Pinkie butted in. ‘I can’t just stand around here.’

‘Have you ever tasted rabbit?’

Pinkie checked herself. ‘Rabbit? Oh, yes.’ Her mouth began to run water. She licked her chops. ‘Not for ages, though.’

‘OK. Now’s your chance. Follow me.’

Snowy ran round the side of the building to the pub car park, which at that hour was empty. Across it was the pub garden and on the grass stood a large rabbit hutch. Two brown lop-eared rabbits were inside. Pinkie, having first made quite sure that no humans were around to bellow at her, trotted after Snowy.

‘They’re not rabbits,’ she said.

‘Certainly they are. Can’t you smell them? And look at the meat on ’em!’

By now Pinkie had indeed recognized rabbit scent. ‘They look different,’ she murmured. ‘But, yes . . .’

‘Can you catch them?’ Snowy cried. ‘I’ve been trying for so long!’

Pinkie looked at him in bewilderment. ‘You can’t catch something in a cage,’ she said.

‘Can’t you? I thought a wild, clever cat like you would find a way. You know – somehow get at them.’

Pinkie sauntered all around the hutch. The rabbits skittered nervously into their sleeping quarters. ‘No. There’s no way in there,’ she announced. ‘A dog might push this over, or dig underneath. And then . . .’

‘A dog, yes,’ said Snowy excitedly. ‘Or a fox? I know a fox.’

‘I wouldn’t want any dealings with foxes. Such sly beasts. You couldn’t trust a fox. And how do
you
know one?’

‘Before I was the Pub Cat I was wild like you. I came across all kinds of creatures when I was hunting. The fox and I respected each other. We didn’t interfere with each other’s needs and co-operated to our mutual benefit. I still see him around sometimes on my wanderings, but he doesn’t like to come close to humans.’

‘I know the feeling,’ Pinkie said. She was thinking hard. ‘Where did you use to hunt?’ she asked.