The Last Free Cat (4 page)

“They wouldn't just make it all up,” I said.

“Do
you
know anyone who's died of cat flu?” asked Kris.

“No …” I began, “but that's because cats are controlled.”

“Jade,” said Kris. “You're not going to die.”

This I
did
want to believe, and Kris said it with such certainty the heat in my forehead seemed to ebb away a little.

“But the doctor wanted me tested,” I said.

Kris's face dropped. “You went to the doctor?” he gasped.

“I was scared!” I protested.

“What did you tell him?” asked Kris.

“I just said I was feeling sick,” I began. “I thought he'd give me a blood test … then he saw these.” I showed Kris the scratches on my hand. “Feela did it this morning,” I explained.

“Did you tell him that?” asked Kris.

“Course I didn't!” I protested. “But I think he guessed.”

“Jade, you idiot!” barked Kris.

“Don't call me that!” I snapped.

“It's notifiable!” cried Kris.

“Yes, I know that!” I replied.

Kris slapped a hand to his forehead. “Why didn't you just ask me first?” he railed.

I saw red. “Who do you think you are?” I cried. “I don't answer to you! You don't own me! And I'll tell you this—if it had been up to me, you wouldn't have a key to my house in a million years!”

I stormed off in a fit of anger and confusion. I was angry at Kris for his arrogance, but I was more angry at myself for my stupidity. All the more so when I arrived home, opened the front door, and saw Feela happily running down the stairs.

“Panic over,” said Mum. “Must have just been an upset tummy.”

I dropped into the nearest chair. The adrenaline drained away like water down a plughole, and suddenly I felt utterly exhausted. What a fool I'd been!

After a while, Feela joined me. She leapt silently on to my lap and stood on my leg, facing away, like a miniature lion. I stroked her supple little back and, as was her habit, she turned her head, blinking, expecting more affection. I don't know how long we stayed there, me stroking, her purring, but it really was as if we had become part of one another. I know she was only an animal, acting on instinct, but she had come to know me, and our relationship was real. Even if she didn't consciously intend to give me happiness, I felt such peace in her company that it made me yearn for all life to be like this.

Chapter Seven

I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. The next thing I knew, there was a thunderous crash which ripped me awake with a thudding heart.

Men. There were men in the house.

Too late to act. The door to the front room smashed open, and they were in there with me—terrifying helmeted figures, lots of them, stun-stems in their hands. A single shout of “There!” and one yanked me off the sofa while the others tore it away from the wall. Then they started on the rest of the furniture.

In the midst of this nightmare Mum appeared. Immediately her hand went to her heart. I saw her dropping, the men holding her up, some violent swearing, someone jabbering into a wristphone. Then I was pinned by a vice of massive arms, face to the wall, unable to see. They held me there for what seemed ages, while boots thundered around the house, up the stairs, through the upstairs rooms, accompanied by deafening crashes and yells. Throughout it all I wouldn't stop struggling and I couldn't stop screaming. Eventually sheer exhaustion got the better of me, and I finally sank into passivity, like prey about to die. By now the immobilizer was on me and they could turn me to face them. The room was a wreck and Mum was sat dead still on the sofa, her face ashen. One of the compers had his helmet off. He had the pencil beard and moustache so beloved of the security forces. On his jacket were the words TOWARDS A SAFER CITY.

“Where's the cat, love?” he barked.

“Haven't got a cat,” I replied, voice warbling with emotion.

“Want to see your mum in jail?” asked another.

I exchanged glances with Mum, who was in a state somewhere between shock and mortal terror.

“No,” I replied.

“Tell us where the cat is, love,” said the first officer, obviously the chief.

The truth was, I didn't know the answer to this question. Either she'd found a brilliant place to hide or somehow she'd got outside—but compers were combing the garden at this very moment and somehow, miraculously, they still hadn't found her.

That left me with a terrible dilemma. If I admitted Feela existed, they'd be back again until they found her, and that would be the end of her. Mum would still be prosecuted and I'd get a tag for sure. On the other hand, if I lied, and then they found her, the sentence would be many times worse, maybe something Mum could not survive.

I took the gamble. “You can see there's no cat,” I said.

“Why's your voice shaking?” asked the chief.

“Why do you think?” I asked.

“Guilt,” said the chief.

“
Your
voice would shake if someone did this to you!” I cried, near hysterical. “Look what you've done to my mum! Look what you've done to our house! Now please
get out
!”

The compers came in from the garden. “Nothing,” they said.

“Taken samples?” asked the chief.

A comper held up two plastic bags.

The first officer took stock for a moment, then jabbed a finger towards me. “We know you're guilty,” he said. “And one way or another, we'll get you.”

It was a horrible warning, and there was no doubt he meant it. What made it worse was it seemed so personal, like I'd got one over him and, just like a playground bully, he would pick on me till he got his satisfaction. What a vile man, I thought. I watched with pure seething hatred as he turned his back and made his way out, followed by the others, the last removing the immobilizer.

I went to the window to see half the street gathered below. As usual, they watched sullenly. A lot of them hated Comprot, others went to them all the time, like going to teacher to tell on your classmates. But all of them needed entertainment, anything to break up the boredom of their lives. There were a few jeers as the van moved off, then all eyes turned to me at the window. As you may have noticed, I am a private kind of person, and last thing I wanted was to be the center of attention. I knew they thought I was stuck up, and I knew some of them would be relishing this moment—seeing the posh people from the marina on the wrong side of the law, brought down to earth, getting what they got all the time. Well, they could think what they liked.

I closed the blinds and went to Mum. She looked dreadful.

“I'm sorry, Mum,” was all I could say.

Mum could barely speak, but patted me on the shoulder as if to say “It's OK.” I hugged her, gently at first, then tight. We'd come through a lot together, but nothing like this.

“I'm going to lie down,” she said, eventually. Even then it took her several minutes to summon up the strength to rise, and then on unsteady feet. I put my arm around her shoulder, guided her out, then watched as she climbed the stairs with painstaking steps.

Now I had to find Feela. I checked every one of her hiding places—her places of safety when the Comprot copter came over or firecrackers went off in the street. She wasn't in any of them. I checked the garden, but our garden was small, with no exits, even for cats. I looked behind every item of furniture, inside every cupboard, and beneath every bed except Mum's bed, which was too low for a cat. Was it possible she'd run out the front door? But the compers were everywhere—they were bound to have seen her.

The shock of the raid gave way to a new panic. I'd lost her. Somehow, inexplicably, I'd lost her. With nowhere else to turn, I went out into the garden, out of Mum's earshot, and rang Kris.

“Kris,” I began, shakily.

“Jade?” he replied.

“They raided us,” I gulped.

“Comprot?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “They smashed everything! They were just so violent!”

“Welcome to the real world,” replied Kris.

“They never got Feela,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” said Kris.

“But I can't find her, Kris!” I gabbled. “I can't find her anywhere!”

“Don't worry,” replied Kris. “I've got her.”

“
You've
got her?” I gasped. “How come?”

“I took her late last night,” said Kris.

“What?” I cried. “You just let yourself in—”

“Don't complain, Jade,” interrupted Kris. “She's alive.”

I tried to take this in. “You mean,” I said, “you knew they were going to raid us?”

“Didn't know,” said Kris. “Guessed.”

“Then why didn't you wake us and warn us?” I railed.

Kris made no reply.

“Is she all right?” I asked.

“Fine,” said Kris.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In the den,” replied Kris.

“Den?” I said. “What den?”

“I'm not talking over the phone,” said Kris. “I'll come and see you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What about Feela?”

“She'll be all right here for now.”

The phone went dead. I started to ring him again, but thought better of it. Kris wouldn't answer. Exhausted and nerve-wracked, I went to my room and lay down, but there was no chance I'd sleep. For hour after hour I tossed and turned, replaying the horrible events I'd witnessed, worrying about Feela, rehearsing arguments with Kris, fantasizing about revenge on that vile comper.

I was relieved that Mum had managed to sleep after all that had gone on. Mum had never slept well since Dad had died, and often I'd hear her get up in the night to make a cup of tea. It was very rare she'd still be asleep when the sun came up.

As the light began to fill my room, I thought I'd better check on her.

I tiptoed down the landing and knocked softly on her door.

“Mum?”

There was no reply.

My heart began to thud. “Mum?”

Still no reply.

Anxiously, I pushed open the door. In the dim light I could just make out her shape on the bed and her shoes on the floor. Then, with mounting terror, I realized she was outside the duvet and still wearing her clothes.

I pulled open the curtain and gazed with horrified eyes upon my greatest fear.

Chapter Eight

Mum was a cautious, wise person in everything, and had prepared well for this dreadful occasion. She had an account with Bereavement Solutions, and had instructed me many times what to do in the event of her death. Those conversations came back vividly—Mum patiently explaining, me never wanting to listen, telling her she wasn't going to die, trying to change the subject from one I simply couldn't face.

Now, however, I had to face it whether I liked it or not, and like a robot I began carrying out my allotted tasks. First I rang the medical center, and waited what seemed an age before a doctor arrived, examined the body, and pronounced her dead. By now, of course, I knew this, but hearing the word from the doctor somehow made it final. I broke down in front of him, convulsed in sobs, while he reassured me in a practiced, official way, then contacted the coroner to arrange the post mortem. As he left I pulled myself back together, returned to robot mode, and rang Bereavement Solutions. Someone answered in a strange accent, probably on the other side of the world. I learned that Mum's account was silver standard, which meant there would be no dressing up of the body and, providing the post mortem was in order, the cremation would take place next day without a service. However, they would provide flowers, install a small memorial, and contact everyone on Mum's list of friends and relatives.

Numbly, I agreed to everything they said. The coroner came around at noon and did his business, recording the cause of death as heart failure. I explained everything that had happened, about the raid, the brutality, the noise, the shock. Shouldn't there be some kind of inquiry, I asked, like when you have a murder inquiry because, sure as anything, Community Protection had killed her.

The coroner told me I had the right to take the matter to court if I wished, but he advised against it. Mum wouldn't be able to be cremated, the costs would be enormous, and the chances of winning virtually zero. Since Mum had died of natural causes, it would be impossible to prove a link between her death and the Comprot raid, especially as no one had laid a finger on her.

I didn't push it. I was still in shock and barely had the strength to stand, let alone take a case to court. As the coroner left I rang Bereavement Solutions, and less than an hour later two men came, put Mum's body in a bag, and began carrying her out of the house. At the sight of this I lost it completely. I don't even know what I was doing or saying, but I was doing and saying it long after they'd gone, and loud enough for the whole street to hear. Eventually the shock took over again and I sank on to the sofa, staring at Mum's empty chair opposite. I was utterly lost, alone, the only person on a barren planet. But worse than the loneliness was the guilt. No matter how many times Mum had said we had both chosen to keep Feela, I still felt I'd brought this upon her.

The thought of Feela was my only comfort. Suddenly she seemed like the last strand connecting me to the world. I longed to bury myself in her fur and feel the reassurance of that rich, warm purr.

Returning to life, I grabbed my phone and urgently pressed Kris's number. I'd never been happier to hear his voice.

“Kris,” I said. “Where are you?”

“Chapel Street,” he said. This was the street Kris used to live on, the next street down from ours.

“Where's Feela?” I said.

“Don't worry,” he replied. “She's all right.”

“I need to see you now,” I said.