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Authors: Sheila Jeffries

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BOOK: Timba Comes Home
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We rubbed cheeks and licked each other’s faces. We slept curled into each other, our limbs entwined. I could feel my brother’s rapid heartbeat, and he could feel mine. The thoughts
we had flowed together as if we were one. What if nobody wanted a black cat? We had each other, and in those weeks of babyhood we grew ever closer. To be separated would be unthinkable. Together
for ever. Two black kittens against the world.

Days later our family was cruelly torn apart. We three kittens ended up abandoned in a hedge at the side of a country lane, closely observed by a bunch of chirping sparrows, a blackbird and two
hungry crows. At dusk an owl glided low over the grass. On silent wings it swept up and down, turning its predatory face to look directly at me as I peeped from our hiding place.

We survived without our mother for a few days and nights. It was me who found a nest of dry grass to keep us warm, me who encouraged my brother and sister to lap water from puddles and taste
whatever we could find to eat. I was the leader, and proud of it.

Fear is powerful. It can turn moments into eternity, and strength into panic, and panic into fury.

The dog was a hefty Labrador, her coat glistening black. I hissed and spat at her, but she took no notice. I could only watch in helpless rage as she picked up my beautiful tabby-and-white
sister and bounded off with her dangling from her mouth. My brother and I huddled together, trembling as the kitten’s piteous cries got fainter and fainter.

Those cries haunted me, for we’d heard our mum-cat crying when we were snatched away from her. Loud and echoing, as if Jessica wanted to fill the skies with the injustice of having her
mother-love cut down so ruthlessly. The man, Joe, who bundled us into the cat cage and dumped us, had once held me in his hands and gently stroked me with a big rough finger. He wasn’t cruel,
just desperate and drunk.

My dad, Solomon, had explained to me how humans live such complicated lives. They don’t forgive each other like cats do, so their mistakes grow into huge destructive energies which roll on
across the years, hurting everyone, even tiny kittens who are full of love and joy.

I kissed my brother on his nose, and licked his sleek head to reassure him. Our sister had gone, but we had each other. I told him we’d find a way to survive, but he didn’t believe
me. We were still tiny. Our claws were delicate, our fur so fine that it hardly kept us warm, our tails were optimistic little triangles, our legs wobbly and soft, inadequate for the hardship we
now faced.

Pressed together we listened in horror to the sound of the dog returning, her rough paws scratching the tarmac. She hadn’t brought our sister back. Obviously she had killed her with one
crunch of those eager teeth. Before we had a chance to escape, the dog came crashing into our hiding place.

My paws turned into steel, and my mouth into the mouth of a dragon. Spitting and screaming I launched myself at the dog’s face. With my claws embedded in her soft, bristly muzzle, I kicked
furiously with my back legs. The dog just shoved me aside as if I was nothing. She picked up my beloved brother by the scruff, and the last I saw of him was his wild and desperate eyes looking into
mine as he was carried off down the lane.

His cries faded away, and the silence was a new kind of silence. Prickly, like a thorn bush. Entangled in its pain, I felt the loneliness curl around me. To face so much so young seemed
overpowering. Grief. Abandonment. Hunger. Danger.

Small as I was, I didn’t intend to let that dog take me. The trot-trot of her paws as she came back down the lane sent me crawling deeper into the hedge, my mind working frantically to
find a solution. A hole! That’s what I needed. A hole so tight that her head wouldn’t fit in there.

Under the hedge the ground was crisp with old leaves and twigs, clumps of tangled plants and sprays of tough grass, impossible for an inexperienced kitten to negotiate. I stumbled along, banging
my nose until it stung. Instinct told me hiding involved keeping quiet, but my distress was so intense that I couldn’t help meowing.

From under a fern, I listened, and the dog stopped too, listening for me, wondering where I was. I knew she would track me, and I heard the snuff-snuffle of her nose, a whine of excitement as
she picked up my scent. I crawled on, in and out of knobbly roots and branches, my heart beating crazily. There was a splintering sound of twigs breaking and the dog pushed into the hedge, shaking
it right to the top, sending sparrows fleeing in a burr of wings, and the blackbird shrieking his alarm call.

I felt her determination. She was going to have me.

Well, I could fight! I was the son of Solomon and Jessica, two amazing cats. Surely their legacy of wisdom and courage would help me now.

In a hollow under the hedge was a pile of rubble. Broken glass, blue plastic and jagged lumps of concrete. I clambered over it, cutting my paw on the glass. Sticking out of the rubble was a
pipe. Old and dirty, but perfect! I crept inside, down, down into the dark, just in time. The dog’s hot breath gusted after me. She barked, and the sound jolted the pipe and vibrated through
my fur. Trembling and weak with exhaustion, I struggled to turn round in the narrow space. It hurt, but I managed it, and crouched there, glaring out at her.

She stuck her nose into the pipe, and I saw a twitch of whiskers and a gleam of red in her brown eyes. But I was safe. She couldn’t reach me. Frustrated, she began to dig furiously,
thumping with heavy paws. Idiot, I thought. Wasting energy tearing up the earth. From that moment I despised the entire dog population of the Planet. Wait until I’m big, I thought. No dog is
ever going to frighten me again, and I visualised the magnificent fluffy tomcat I would become. Golden-eyed and glossy, and gorgeous.

Inspired, I dared to advance up the pipe and aimed a mini-slash at her nose where I knew it would hurt. A blood-curdling yowl emerged from my mouth and my fur sprang to attention, making me look
twice as big and spiky.

The dog’s yelps of pain were music to my baby ears. She backed off and sat there staring and huffing. The stench of her breath made me even angrier. I sent her a telepathic message.
‘Leave me alone, or I’ll come and beat you up when I’m big.’

She whined, and seemed to be trying to explain something to me, but I refused to listen. Traumatised and alone, I focused on an awesome thought that shone into me like a beam of light. My life
was worth fighting for, and I was here in this world for a reason.

I remained in the pipe for a long time after the dog had gone. The warm afternoon sunshine and the hum of bees in the clover flowers made me drowsy. When I awoke from a snooze,
my guts ached with hunger. I longed for the sweet taste of Jessica’s milk, and wanted her to be there, washing me and purring.

I tried to meow, but no sound would come. I tried to go out and search for food, but my legs were weak. My strength had gone. I was hungry, lost and all alone.

My baby teeth weren’t strong enough to eat ladybirds and slugs. As twilight came, I watched a moth crawl out of the grass and figured it might be something soft for me to eat. It glanced
at me with contemptuous orange eyes and flew away on wings that purred like a cat.

The moon was rising, changing from a rosy pink to a sharp white gold. Now very weak, I just lay there watching the night sky. My body was pretty useless, but in my mind something was happening,
a light brighter than the moon was waking me up, making me remember.

Solomon had told me cats had lived on Earth for thousands of years. He had told me about an invisible power called love.

So I listened. I gazed at the moon and let it soak into my lonely soul. I saw a light, greater and brighter than the moon, and with energy fizzling around it. I sat up, my hunger forgotten, my
loneliness unimportant now as I waited, spellbound, for something to happen.

But what came padding towards me out of the light was a complete surprise.

It was a lion.

A White Lion with a mane that rippled like water. The luminous fur seemed charged with electricity, and barbs of dazzling light pulsed around its edges. The moths and creatures of the night
vanished into the stillness. No twigs crackled, no grass rustled, no owls hooted, no rain pattered. Even the wind in the corn was silent, becalmed by this phantom creature from the spirit
world.

I thought I was going to die. Or was I dreaming?

When the Lion’s eyes found me, I was hypnotised by their power. I managed to stand up. I walked towards him with my tail up, and lay down in the cocoon of light between his mighty paws,
and he was SERIOUSLY SOFT.

We purred together, a tiny kitten who might have been dying, and a White Lion who had come from the spirit world – for ME!

I didn’t know what would happen next, or what I would do when morning came. I gave the last sparks of my energy to listening. Intense listening.

The eyes of the great White Lion burned with a secret he would tell me, if only I had the patience and faith to listen. A long time passed, and at last the words came, drifting out of him like
magic seeds from a dandelion clock.

Words I would remember for ever.

Chapter Two
LEROY MCARTHUR’S CAT

An abandoned kitten doesn’t have rights. Humans can make terrible decisions about where and with whom it will live.

There’d been a row between the young teacher, Angie, and Leroy’s mum, Janine.

‘Findings are not keepings, Leroy.’

Angie was small for a human, and she reminded me of a squirrel as she stood there all bushy with anger.

‘They are for the likes of us,’ Janine hissed. ‘We don’t have money in the bank. I have to watch every penny. Leroy can’t have nothing he wants . . .
nothing.’

‘So how can you afford to feed a cat?’ demanded Angie.

‘Cats don’t need much,’ declared Janine. ‘We had cats when I was a child and they lived on scraps.’

SCRAPS! I didn’t like the sound of that. It didn’t fit with my plan to grow into the biggest, fattest, most independent cat.

‘This is a very young kitten,’ Angie said. ‘He’s lost his mother and his home, and he’s weak. He needs feeding up with proper kitty milk . . . you get it in a tin
from the pet shop, and mix it up. . . it’s specially formulated for weaning kittens.’

Janine snorted. ‘Well, I can’t afford fancy stuff like that . . . good old cow’s milk will have to do.’

‘I’ll be happy to get you a tin of kitty milk . . . as a gift,’ Angie said. ‘And I’ll get you some sachets of proper kitten food. You can have it on me.’

Janine puffed herself up. ‘No thanks. We don’t need charity.’

‘It’s not charity. I’m just concerned for this little kitten’s well-being.’

‘And I’m not, I suppose? I don’t want no bloody handouts from the likes of you. You don’t know NOTHING about how we have to live.’ Janine edged closer, her
shoulders squared for attack, her face drained and joyless. ‘I want my Leroy to have the same as his friends.’

‘I ain’t got no friends, Mum,’ Leroy piped up.

‘Be quiet.’

‘This kitten’s gonna be my friend. Aren’t you?’ Leroy said, and his small hands clutched me so fiercely against his heart that I squeaked in alarm and tried to escape by
crawling up his sweater.

‘I said shut up. NOW. And don’t let him ruin your school jumper.’

‘But I love him. I do, Mum.’ Two gleaming tears ran down Leroy’s cheeks and dripped onto my fur. ‘Tell her, Miss.’

Angie sat down at the table, bringing her head level with Leroy’s defiant stare.

‘Then try not to squeeze him like that, Leroy. He’s fragile,’ she said tenderly. ‘His little bones are like matchsticks. Let me hold him for a minute, please.’

Leroy clutched me tighter then, so tight I could hardly breathe.

‘You can have him back,’ Angie said, her eyes looking directly into his. ‘I just want to give him a goodbye cuddle. He’s so sweet.’

To be picked up by Angie was heaven for me. I snuggled into her cushiony chest, and listened for the heartbeat, steady and strong under the ruffled blouse she wore. Home. This was home. I
couldn’t believe she was letting me go like this . . . to Leroy McArthur! I gave her a meaningful stare, and began to purr for her. ‘I want to be YOUR cat,’ I was telling her.
‘I belong with you.’

‘He’s purring. Listen.’

Leroy brought his head close, and a magical smile lit up his face.

‘What about his name, Leroy?’ Angie asked. ‘Are you going to give him a name?’

Leroy’s eyes roamed around the classroom and focused on a poster behind the teacher’s desk. He pointed, so I looked, curious to see what name he was going to give me. And there,
unexpectedly, was a picture of the face of a White Lion. The moment exploded into magic. My neck got longer and longer as I stared at the Lion’s serious eyes. Was it MY Lion?

Leroy turned, beaming, and shouted out, ‘Timba!’ Then he reached to stroke me – this time gently – and he looked right into my eyes. ‘Hello, Timba.’

‘That’s a brilliant name, Leroy,’ said Angie.

‘Timmy will do for me,’ said Janine. ‘We don’t want nothing fancy.’

‘No, Mum. TIMBA,’ insisted Leroy, his eyes round and his voice husky with passion. ‘It’s cos of the White Lions of Timbavati. They came to save the world. Miss told us
about them.’

Then Leroy added something amazing. ‘And if he had a brother, Miss, I’d call him Vati.’

I thought about my brother. Vati: that’s what his name would be. Timba and Vati. Two black kittens against the world. I remembered Vati’s poetic little face, his sensitivity and the
way he had always stayed so adoringly close to me. Right then I wanted him so much.

‘That’s a very clever idea, Leroy,’ Angie said. ‘I like that.’

I was falling asleep in Angie’s comforting hands. Please keep me, I dreamed. I don’t want to be Leroy McArthur’s cat and live on scraps and get squeezed and mauled around.

Those few moments with Angie were precious. I was only a kitten, but I stared into her eyes with the mind of an adult cat who had lived many lives with her. I was searching for reasons why she
needed me now. What was causing the stress? Why did I feel this beautiful, loving young woman was hiding so much sadness? I saw the burden of too much caring weighing her down, stealing her
happiness. Angie was trying too hard to love. She wasn’t looking after herself. She definitely needed a cat. Me!

BOOK: Timba Comes Home
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