Especially if they’re stuck up trees.
‘Ah-ha!’ he said again, and hurried back to the garage.
The next thing I knew, he was backing the car out. For one horrid fur-shivering moment I thought he was planning on knocking my tree down. But then he stopped, put on the brake and got out again.
He stood at the back end of the car and knotted the other end of the rope round the bumper.
‘Right!’ he said, admiring his handiwork. ‘I think that’s so strong it’ll pull the branch down low enough.’
I stopped my pitiful yowling. I suddenly had hopes of getting down before I died of old age in that tree.
If I am honest, I thought he’d hit upon a brilliant idea to rescue me.
I thought the man was a genius. I was impressed.
6: More fool me
WELL, MORE FOOL me. Don’t get me wrong. The plan went well at first. Tickety-boo. He got back in the car, switched on the engine and drove away from the tree at almost no miles a hour –
– carefully –
– carefully –
until the rope went taut. The branch went down as planned –
– lower –
– lower –
until my way back to the ground was practically a gentle downward stroll.
‘Brilliant!’ I told myself. ‘I can manage that. Leftover sausage and bacon rinds, here I come!’
And I picked my way down the branch –
– tippety –
– tippety –
– and that’s when his foot slipped on the pedal.
The car shot forward. The rope snapped under the strain. The forked tree branch became a giant leafy catapult –
– and I became a flying cat.
Wheeeeeeee! Watch me go! I flew in one beautiful rainbow-shaped arc right over the tree top. (I tell you, I wouldn’t want to do it again, but the view from up there was spectacular. Spectacular! You could see as far as the gasworks.)
But, after that, of course, the only way was
d
o
w
n.
7: Splat!!!
SPLAT!!!
Straight into Melanie ‘s little straw basket.
Okay, okay! No need to sob in your pillow! I may have splatted some of the not-so-cuddly little creepy-crawly things that were scurrying about on the cushion. I didn’t actually end up picking any tiny crushed corpses out of my fur; but still, it would amaze me if all those ants who saw me coming got away in time.
Hearing the thwack! of my landing, Melanie broke off her prayer. She opened her eyes, and, seeing me in her straw basket, looked up to heaven.
‘Oh, thank you! Thank you!’ cried Little Miss Stupid and Soppy ‘Thank you for sending me exactly what I asked for – something all soft and furry to cuddle, just like Tuffy.’
Just like Tuffy?
Did she think I was sent from heaven? How soft is this girl?
But hey! Let’s not be nasty about Melanie. I could have fetched up in a lot worse places than a cosy soft cushion in a little straw basket.
She carried me inside and kept her promise. Cream! Tuna! (Were you expecting me to slide off home to nose through some three-day-old pellets of catfood?)
Then she sat down and stroked my fur while she chose a name for me.
‘Pussywussykins?’
Sure, Melanie. If you want me throwing up on your pillow each time you say it.
‘Little Baby Munchywunchykins?’
Just try it, and I’ll scratch you. Hard.
‘I know. I’ll call you Janet!’
Janet? What planet is she from? For one thing, I’m a boy. And, for another, have I – have you – has anyone, anywhere – ever heard of a pet cat called Janet?
But the cream was fresh. The tuna was delicious.
So Janet was staying. Oh, yes. Janet was warm, well fed and comfortable.
Janet was staying.
8: Sweet little pussy
GO ON, THEN. Snigger. So I looked a bit of a pussy cat, wearing that lacy bonnet. And the doll’s frilly nightie was too big for me. What are you going to do? Ban me from Fashion Week?
I had a good time, being Janet. The meals came three times a day. (Three times a day! That nightie was headed for being a perfect fit, any time next week.) I had steak bits, and haddock, lean chicken, sausage ends. You think of what you really love to eat most, and then imagine soppy little fingers feeding you, mouthful by mouthful, and you’ll see why I stayed.
The only problem was the endless yelling from next door.
Tuffee! Tufff-eeee! Where ARE you?’
Melanie settled me back down comfortably in the straw basket, and stood on tiptoe to peep over the hedge.
‘The vicar’s still looking,’ she told me sadly. ‘Poor Tuffy! He’s still missing. I hope, wherever he is, he’s warm and dry and comfy and well fed.’
I purred.
She turned back. ‘Oh, Janet! I’m so glad to have you.’
She squeezed me so tight, I gave a little warning yowl. Not a smart noise to make, just over the hedge from someone looking for a cat.
His head appeared. ‘You’ve found him!’
I stayed well down in the basket.
Melanie’s kind, but she’s not bright. ‘Who?’
‘Tuffy!’
‘No. That was my own cat yowling. That was Janet.’
‘Janet?’
‘She was a gift.’
I’m glad that Melanie didn’t say ‘A gift from heaven’. That would have made him even more suspicious. As it was, he narrowed his eyes at me.
Disguise! I thought, and simpered in my basket.
The bonnet and nightie obviously confused him a little, but he did have a go. ‘His face looks very like Tuffy’s.’
I purred in a friendly fashion.
‘But Tuffy never made a noise like that.’
(No. Not in your presence, Buster!)
The vicar’s eyes gleamed. ‘Melanie,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I do one tiny little test to assure myself it’s not Tuffy?’
He came through the gate, and picked me up.
Talk about tests! Some have to walk through fire. Others are sent on seven-year-long voyages. Some have to go and make fortunes. Others kill dragons, or set off to find the Holy Grail.
Nobody’s ever had a test like this.
He scooped me out of the basket.
He held me up.
He looked me in the eyes. (I didn’t blink.)
He said, ‘Nice pussy! Pretty, pretty, pussy!’
He said, ‘Sweet, sweet pussy!’
He said, ‘Who’s a clever little girl pussy, then?’
And all I did was purr.
He put me back in the basket.
‘You’re right,’ he said to Melanie. ‘It isn’t Tuffy And I can’t think why I ever thought it was in the first place.’
Phew!
More cream. More tuna. Here we come!
9: Rumbled
GO ON. Admit it. You wouldn’t have gone home either. You would have stayed the whole week, just like I did, stuffing your face and getting fatter and fatter.
By Saturday night, I was as big as a barrel. There were splits down the sides of my seams. I was bulging out of the nightie.
And that’s when the gang came looking for me.
They peeped in the basket.
‘Tuffy? Tuffy, is that you?’
I was a bit embarrassed. I disguised my voice.
‘No,’ I explained. Tm Janet. Tuffy’s cousin.’
Bella stared at the fur bulges bursting through the nightie.
‘So what happened to Tuff? Did you eat him?’
I gave her the blink. ‘No.’
‘So where is he?’
I shrugged. Maybe it was the most energetic thing I’d done in nearly a week. Anyhow, the seam of the nightie split, and a whole lot more of my bulges fell out at the sides.
‘Doing a striptease, are you?’ Pusskins said, then added rudely, ‘Fatso!’
That set them all off.
‘Furball!’
Tub o’ lard!’
I narrowed my eyes. I made the tiniest little noise. The tiniest.
Everyone said afterwards that I was the one who started it. But I wasn’t. It was hardly a hiss at all. It was more like a purr really.
I blame Bella. She should never have put out her paw and patted me. ‘Come on, guys! Until Tuffy turns up, let’s have fun with this great furry beachball!’
So I thwacked her.
So she thwacked me back.
And that’s how the fight started. It was quite a big flurry, with flying fur and shreds of nightie floating all over. At one point, the bonnet ribbons nearly strangled me, but I wriggled free, and took all three of them on again.