Ellie went pale. Of course she remembered. Tinkerbell was a small kitten the family had to look after for four whole days. You wouldn’t believe the fuss they made of her.
‘Isn’t she pretty? So fluffy! And so sweet!’
‘Look, Ellie! Tinkerbell’s learned how to flick her tail!’
‘See her tiny pink tongue! Look, Mum! Look quickly, while she’s lapping up her milk!’
‘She’s not cold, is she? If she’s cold, push Tuffy off the rug and let Tinkerbell sit near the fire instead.’
‘I think she’s hungry. Shall we offer her a dish of cream?’
Offer her cream? She didn’t even live with us! We were just kitten-sitting for a day or so. And I was their real pet, not Tinkerbell. I’d lived with them for years, ever since Ellie got old enough to nag them into getting me. Is it surprising that I got a little testy?
And that I wouldn’t let Tinkerbell sleep in any of my favourite places.
And that I accidentally pushed her off the windowsill.
And ate her special, juicy baby kitten food, all by mistake.
And all the other stupid, petty things that they complained about. No, I don’t think that Tinkerbell will be in any hurry to come and stay with us again.
And there’s no room, in any case. Because they clearly prefer silly pink babies now.
If they’re not careful I shall spit at it again.
2 Parasite
OK, OK. So cover me with jam and put me in a box of wasps. I broke their new television. It was an accident! I didn’t mean to tip the screen over like that. I was after a bumblebee, and if that stupid television hadn’t been in the way, I would have got it too. No one likes being stung by bees. They should have been grateful to me.
And whose fault was it that the new, slim, wide, high-definition screen wasn’t fixed on its stand more safely in the first place?
Yes! That’s right. It was Ellie’s dad’s fault, not mine. You only had to watch Mr Oh-That’ll-Probably-Be-All-Right fixing the screen so loosely onto the base to know that it was almost bound to fall off. Even without someone like me crashing into it hard.
And whose fault was it that I didn’t manage to get over the screen in my amazing leap?
That’s right. It was Ellie’s mother’s fault. She is the one who feeds me. If she has got it wrong and let me get a smidgeon over my ideal jumping weight, who is to blame?
Clearly not me.
You should have heard Ellie’s dad when he came in and saw the damage. Talk about wild! ‘This screen is ruined! Ruined! Claw marks all over, and both the top corners chipped! Look what that great, fat, stupid, tiresome, idiotic, unpleasant, vicious, dangerous parasite has done now!’
Excuse me? Parasite?
Now that’s not nice. In case you don’t already know, parasites are all those nasty things like nits and tapeworms and fleas and ticks that do nothing except sponge off other people to stay alive. I am not like that. I let myself be stroked. I let myself be fed. I let myself be cuddled. (Only by Ellie. And only sometimes. But you take my point.)
I’m not a parasite. How dare he? I won’t put up with rudeness like that. I tell you, next time he looks in his chest of drawers, he’s going to find hairs over everything. On all his socks. And on his pants and vests. Don’t think I can’t lick quite enough hairs off me to make his underwear disgusting.
I can pay him back.
3 The Same Old Boring Cat-Chat
He was a whole lot crosser than I thought. I slipped out for a quick smell tour around the wheelie bins with Tiger and Bella and Snowball. But when I strolled back in, what should I come across but what he calls ‘a family conference’ and I call ‘The Same Old Boring Cat-Chat that I’ve heard over a thousand times’.
‘What shall we do about Tuffy?’
There they all were, huddled together in the living room: Old Mr Grumpy. The Kitten-Loving Queen. And Ellie.
I hung around outside the door, eavesdropping as usual.
‘So,’ says Mr Football-on-Telly-Addict-Gone-Mad, ‘I say that was the last straw, and we should find another home for Tuffy.’
Just like she always does, Ellie burst into tears. ‘No! No! You can’t! Tuffy’s my pet!’
Her mother usually sticks up for me. But not this time. ‘But he’s not safe with babies. Or with kittens.’
‘Or televisions,’ Ellie’s dad added bitterly, still harping on about his own sad loss.
Now Ellie stamped her foot. ‘But he’s my pet!’
That’s when her father turned even more cunning than usual. ‘Ellie, I know you’re very fond of Tuffy. But we could always find you another pet.’
‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘One that’s a bit more gentle and doesn’t cause quite so much damage.’
‘Perhaps a kitten . . .’ said her dad.
‘Like Tinkerbell . . .’ her mother said hopefully.
‘But what about Tuffy?’ Ellie said through her tears. ‘What will happen to him?’
‘Oh, you know cats,’ said Mr Get-What-You-Want-Whichever-Sneaky-Way-You-Can. ‘They’re not like dogs. They don’t adore their owners. So long as they’re warm and comfy, and the grub’s good, cats can be happy anywhere. And there are plenty of other places Tuffy could go.’
I took a peek round the door and saw Ellie’s mother shaking her head at the pulled threads on her sofa where I like to scratch to keep my claws in trim. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Homes that are far more suitable than ours.’
‘That’s right,’ said Ellie’s father. ‘We’ll find a home where he’ll be just as happy.’
This is the moment when Ellie always hurls herself face down on the sofa, sobbing and wailing, and threatens to run away if they get rid of me, her precious pet. This is the moment when she’s supposed to shout at them: ‘If you don’t love dear Tuffy enough to keep him, then you don’t love me!’
But there was silence.
Just a long, long silence.
The longest silence ever.
I peered round the door again and couldn’t believe my eyes! Ellie was dashing away her tears and looking hopeful.
‘Really? Another home where Tuffy will be just as happy?’
‘That’s right!’ said Mr I-Never-Did-Like-That-Cat-Anyway.
‘And I could have another pet? A pretty kitten, just like Tinkerbell?’
‘Why not?’
Shall I tell you what I did then? I sat behind the door and waited. And I didn’t just wait. I counted to myself. One, two, three, four . . .
And would you like to know how long it took before Ellie burst into tears again and started sticking up for me?
It took eleven seconds! Can you believe it? Eleven whole seconds before that disloyal child finally remembered who is supposed to be her amazing, precious Tuffy. The Tuffy she even thinks she will be taking to the special ‘My Wonderful Pet’ show in her school hall next Thursday evening. (Ho, ho! She’ll be lucky!) The Tuffy she loves ‘so much and always have and always will, for ever and ever and ever’.
Eleven great long seconds!
What a cheek!
4 One Good Reason to Stay
That night I told the gang, ‘I’m going to run away.’
They all stared. ‘Run away? But why?’
‘Because I’m not happy at home.’
‘What’s wrong with your home?’ demanded Tiger. ‘The place is warm, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes,’ I had to admit. ‘The place is warm.’
‘And comfy enough,’ said Bella.
‘Yes, I grant you it’s comfy enough,’ I said reluctantly.
Snowball said, ‘And the grub in your house is very good indeed.’
‘Obviously the grub is good,’ I said, ‘or I wouldn’t still be there.’ I waved an irritable paw. ‘But give me one good reason why I ought to stay.’
‘Apart from the fact that it’s warm, and comfy, and the grub is good?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Apart from that.’
They all had a good long think. But none of them could come up with a single reason why I ought to stay (apart from the fact that the house is warm and comfy, and the grub is good).
‘Well, there you go,’ I said triumphantly when they had racked their brains. ‘Not one of you can think of anything. So I have no choice but to run away.’
5 A Chapter of Sad Farewells