Copycat (8 page)

‘You’re making a fool of yourself,’ was Pinkie’s last retort. ‘And you don’t realize it!’

‘Go away,’ Sammy hissed. ‘And don’t come back again while you smell like that.’

‘Oh, I
have
to go away,’ crooned Pinkie, sarcastically aping Sammy’s idol, which made him even more furious, so that he almost chased her from the garden. But Pinkie wasn’t frightened of her mate and had the last laugh. From the top of the high wall she taunted him.

‘I
have
to go away. He doesn’t like my smell. I
have
to go away.’

—10—

Past and present

Monty witnessed the cats’ quarrel from the fence-top. He could tell there was some trouble but, naturally, didn’t understand the cause.

‘She’ll see,’ Sammy vowed bitterly. ‘She’ll find out the hard way.’ He slunk to the shade of a tall plant and flung himself down. Pinkie’s words had upset him more than he cared to admit.

And Pinkie, too, was far from happy. When she jumped from the wall she realized she had put a barrier between herself and Sammy. The upshot of their disagreement was that she couldn’t return to the house to feed again. Moreover she was jealous. The Church Cat, Sammy’s ideal, had become more important to him than his mate.

‘I thought he had more sense,’ she muttered to herself. ‘He’s blinded. Neither of us can ever be like her.’ She sauntered along, then stopped suddenly. Where was she going? She didn’t know any more. ‘Oh, now what do I do?’ she wailed. ‘I don’t have a den and I don’t have a mate any longer. Sammy has a base but I don’t have anything. Where would I hide from the patrols?’

The more she thought about her predicament the more Pinkie realized that there was only one creature who knew a sufficiently wide area to be able to help her. And that was the fox. The poor toothless, decrepit creature had once been a clever, resourceful hunter with all the skills and knowledge necessary to thrive. He would still be familiar with the safest places and he could surely give her guidance.

‘Where would he have gone and will he have survived?’ Pinkie asked herself. ‘I must find him quickly.’ She ran to the churchyard and was about to leap the low stone wall into the field with the gravestones when the presence of another cat, a beautiful blue Persian sitting further along the wall, made her hesitate. At first the Church Cat pretended not to notice Pinkie although she was looking directly across. She yawned and stretched thoroughly, then gave Pinkie a kind of dismissive glance as if to convey her complete lack of interest and stepped daintily along the wall, turning her back on the white cat. Pinkie concluded at once who the animal was and she felt bitter. Here was the creature Sammy wished her to emulate; a proud, vain-looking beast who hadn’t even the courtesy to acknowledge her presence.

‘I’d rather be the ruffian I am,’ Pinkie swore as she jumped hastily over the wall.

The fox wasn’t in the field. This time Pinkie went beyond the fringe of trees and entered a small copse. It wasn’t long before she detected the fox’s scent.

‘He must be here somewhere,’ she told herself. ‘He was too weak to travel further.’

She found the fox under a hawthorn tree. He was lying on his back, his body slightly twisted and completely still. Pinkie was quite sure she was too late and miaowed her frustration and disappointment. Amazingly the fox stirred, righted himself with a wriggle and sat up.

‘I – I thought . . .’ Pinkie stammered.

‘I was playing dead. Not a difficult act for me!’ the fox said. ‘A man brought a big dog in here and I didn’t have a den to escape to. It was all I could think of when the great brute came bounding up.’

‘What happened?’

‘It sniffed at me and ran on past. I’m not of much interest to anybody.’

‘You are to me,’ Pinkie told him.

The fox grinned. ‘Are you still thinking of those rabbits?’

‘No. I’m not hungry right now. But I want your help in another way.’

‘Yes, there’s the smell of good meat on your breath,’ the fox commented. He gave a croak of amusement. ‘I suppose that’s the closest I’ll get to tasting it. Unless you can tell me where to find some?’

Pinkie had to put him off this track pretty swiftly. ‘Er – no. It wouldn’t be possible for you. It was pet food. But look, have you eaten anything since that mouse I found you?’

‘A few beetles and slugs. Not much meat on any of ’em.’

‘The Pub Cat used to hunt with you, didn’t he? Long ago? I could take his place. I’m fast. I can catch things. Perhaps I can be of benefit to you? But I need a proper den. Somewhere secure. You can help
me
there.’

‘Look at me. Do you really think so?’ the fox said ironically. ‘You’re kidding yourself. And what’s the Pub Cat?’

‘The white cat – Snowy. He knows you from way back, doesn’t he?’

‘Maybe. I don’t remember much. My wits have gone.’

‘Nonsense. You still know what’s what,’ Pinkie said. ‘Don’t you have a den?’

‘Not a proper one. Best I can do is a hollow under a rock.’

‘It doesn’t sound very comfortable.’

‘It isn’t. It gets flooded when the river’s high,’ the fox replied. ‘But no other creature uses it or knows of it.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Pinkie said bluntly. ‘Then it’s on the river bank?’

‘Beyond the bridge. That’s where the rabbits are.’

Pinkie’s ears pricked up. This would be useful for the future. ‘When you’re ready to move,’ she said, ‘I’ll come with you. Maybe I’ll find a place to make my own den on the way.’

‘I’m too tired to move,’ the fox said. ‘I’ll be all right here. I don’t ask for much, or expect it these days.’ He lay down and wrapped his scanty brush around his nose. ‘If you spy an earwig or a moth anywhere,’ he muttered sardonically, ‘let me know. I might just be able to catch it.’

Pinkie saw that the emaciated beast was ready for sleep. She left the fox where he lay and began to prowl around the copse. Under a pine tree a pigeon fledgeling flapped helplessly, having fallen from its nest. Pinkie pounced and carried its lifeless body, dangling in her jaws, to the slumbering fox.

‘Have that on me when you wake,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps it’ll give you the strength to take me where I want to go.’

The rest of the copse yielded nothing. Pinkie found a warm tree-stump in the full rays of the sun and settled herself on it for a snooze. She contemplated the scarcity of food for a fox who could no longer hunt and wondered how he had survived the winter. ‘Beetles, berries and a flooded den,’ she mused. ‘What a life! Is that what I’m heading for?’

Not far away, in Monty’s garden, Sammy was basking lazily. He had scarcely given a thought to Pinkie except to wonder what she would do. He had been grilling Monty about the Church Cat. He wanted to know everything about her. Monty was able to tell him very little and Sammy was all the more in awe of Hermione because of her mystery.

‘Why are you so interested?’ Monty asked him. As a house cat himself, the distinction between his and the Church Cat’s way of life was negligible. There was no contrast as there was with Sammy’s.

‘She’s the perfect pet,’ the tabby answered him. ‘She thinks I’m a tramp but I can learn.’

‘Learn what?’ Monty enquired in a puzzled voice.

‘To do as you do. Look!’ Sammy cried, jumping up and stalking in front of the black cat. ‘Don’t you think my fur is glossier? I’m being much more careful about it. And my walk’s not so stiff, is it? I don’t look so much like the typical old tom when I move. I sway more, I’m more – er – nonchalant.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see,’ Monty responded awkwardly. ‘Very good. You’re softening up, you mean?’

Sammy’s attitude changed at once. ‘No, I’m not softening up,’ he growled, pushing his face close to Monty’s. ‘Don’t you believe it. Any cat who thinks so is in for a surprise! I’m learning tricks, that’s what I’m doing. Tricks to trick the humans with.’

Monty backed away. The tiger in Sammy still lurked just beneath the surface. The black cat didn’t understand this strange animal and bemoaned the absence of his owners and the existence of his little cat-door that had brought Sammy so abruptly and disturbingly into his life.

After the evening feed, which Sammy had no qualms about finishing, the tabby set off to add to his education. Monty, because of Sammy’s looming presence, was eating far less than he should and was beginning to lose weight. Sammy, of course, didn’t notice.
He
had never been so well fed and didn’t stop to think about fair shares.

A gentle drizzle was falling as he headed in the direction of the vicarage, practising his new walk as he went. On the way he saw no other cats. Perhaps the rain was keeping them indoors. Sammy, used to all kinds of weather, relished the freshness of the evening and all the scents that were heightened by the cool atmosphere. At the vicarage the Church Cat was sitting by an open window on the inside sill, watching the rain with a passive expression.

Sammy sat on his haunches and looked at her. Would she come out or would the dampness prevent her? Did pets shun wet weather? Should he have stayed indoors? ‘
She’ll
know the right thing to do, anyway,’ Sammy thought to himself. ‘I can learn from this.’

A drop of rain splashed one of Hermione’s paws as she sat looking out of the window. She lifted the paw daintily and gave it a little shake as if to rid herself of the unpleasant feeling. Sammy, who by this time was wet all over, absorbed this piece of fussiness greedily. He lifted up a front paw, gave it a shake, then did the same with the other. Then he stood up and repeated the process with his hind feet. Finally he gave his entire coat a vigorous shake, calculating that had Hermione been as wet as he was she would have done the same.

Still the Church Cat was content to sit. Sammy grew a little bored. ‘Are you coming out?’ he called. ‘Or – or – isn’t that done?’

The Persian’s eyes sought the source of the voice. Sammy walked forward. ‘Here I am,’ he said. ‘It’s me again.’

‘So I see,’ the Church Cat remarked without pleasure. ‘What are you doing in my garden?’

‘Waiting for you,’ Sammy replied hopefully.

‘Then you’ll have a long wait. I don’t mix with your sort.’

Sammy was chastened. He realized he didn’t yet reach the required standard. Then he thought of something. ‘You came to see
me
,’ he reminded the haughty creature.

‘I heard tales,’ she answered, ‘and took a look for myself. Seeing is one thing; mixing with, quite another.’

‘Well,’ Sammy prompted eagerly, ‘what did you think of me?’

‘I saw what I thought I would see,’ the Church Cat answered lazily. ‘A tough street fighter.’

Sammy wasn’t sure whether to be flattered by this image of himself. ‘I’m not that much of a fighter,’ he told her. ‘I was just guarding my interests.’

‘
Your
interests?’ the Church Cat drawled. ‘In another cat’s garden?’

‘My garden, too, now,’ Sammy assured her stiffly. ‘I’ve won the right to be there.’

The Persian was becoming more attentive, despite herself. ‘But you don’t come from round here?’ she murmured. ‘You seem to have arrived suddenly?’

Sammy didn’t reply at once. Here was a chance for him to raise himself in the Church Cat’s estimation. His vagabond days in the park were in the past. No need to refer to them at all. He could be any cat he chose to be in this new way of life. No one would ever know, except Pinkie, and she was unlikely to put in an appearance.

‘I lost my mistress,’ he said. ‘She died. So there was nobody to look after me. I became homeless and uncared for. I had to feed myself. I joined a group of – um – other homeless creatures and learnt how to hunt. I became the best hunter; better than any of them. I was the King Cat.’ He paused to see if the title impressed Hermione. She was standing now, half in and half out of the window. She seemed to have forgotten the drizzle.

Sammy continued, ‘But I always longed for those comforts again. I moved around, rambling here and there, hoping for a kind word, a loving hand, real food, warmth and comfort. I couldn’t seem to find any of those things.’

‘What a sad story,’ the Church Cat whispered. ‘I’d no idea.’

Sammy warmed to his theme. ‘The more I had to roam, the wilder I must have appeared. Small wonder I couldn’t attract human compassion. So you can understand how thankful I was to accept Monty’s offer.’

‘His – offer?’ the Church Cat murmured.

‘Yes. Food and shelter in return for keeping intruders away. At last I have some of the home comforts back again. I feel a new animal and I try, with each day, to become like the happy house pet I used to be with my dear mistress.’

Hermione jumped into the garden and came towards him. ‘You said you needed me,’ she said archly, ‘that time you followed me home. I didn’t understand before. You meant I could help you to – to become civilized again?’

‘That’s it exactly,’ Sammy concurred enthusiastically. ‘You set me the most perfect example. Of course I could never hope to acquire your elegance.’

The Persian actually began to purr. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘the King Cat hasn’t forgotten how to pass a compliment. Perhaps it won’t be so difficult to help rid him of a few rough edges.’

—11—

Rabbit search

When the fox awoke in the copse he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was no sign of Pinkie so he didn’t connect the pigeon fledgeling with her in any way. This carrion was pure bounty for him. His few remaining teeth were soon tearing off the flimsy feathers. There wasn’t a lot of meat, but for the old fox it was a feast. He smacked his lips over it.

Pinkie returned and feigned surprise. ‘Has it revived you?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ the fox wheezed. ‘For a few moments longer!’

‘Perhaps your luck’s changed,’ said Pinkie. ‘How do you feel about hunting rabbit?’

‘Embittered,’ the fox replied. ‘You keep talking of it and you know I’m incapable.’

‘
Show
me the rabbits,’ Pinkie pleaded. ‘Give me a chance.’

‘I’ll show you, I’ll show you,’ the fox declared. ‘And then will you stop goading?’

‘I never meant to be –’