With that, we were hoisted up in the air again and I was tumbling on top of my poor sisters and brothers, all of us too weak to care. I was barely conscious as I felt the sack being put down again. But a few minutes later, there was an even louder noise, if possible, than the din the dog was still making, and I lay there quaking and shivering, sure it must be the end of the world. I’ve since worked out that we were in a car, and the noise – I’ve heard it lots of times since, of course – was the car waking up. They roar at the top of their lungs at first, and then settle down to a kind of loud purr as they run along. It’s horrible being inside one, at the best of times – you can feel the vibrations of their tummies rumbling, and they make all sorts of horrible noises, stopping and starting and sometimes screeching. George plays music inside his car now if he has to take me out in it, and that helps a bit. But I shudder to think how scared I must have been back then, in the blackness of that sack, with no idea what was going on. It’s probably a good thing my memories of that part are quite dim now.
In fact I don’t remember anything else until I found myself being lifted out of the sack. I could hear the human who owned the dog, still talking, and another voice, higher and softer, but my brain couldn’t interpret what they were saying any more. As you know, we cats are born bilingual, able to understand Human as well as Cat, but apparently no humans have ever realised this because, of course, we can’t speak it. Didn’t you know that, little kitten? Didn’t you ever wonder why they don’t get annoyed when we completely ignore them? They’ve come to expect it, so it can be quite useful – we cats don’t have to do as we’re told, like they expect dogs to.
But by now, I think my brain had almost given up working. I didn’t like the high-voiced human picking me up, but she was a lot gentler than the horrible man in the shed. Her voice was comforting compared with the loud booming of the male and the shouting of the dog that was still going on. She gently felt me all over, and the next thing I knew she was dripping milk into my mouth from a little tube. It was heaven. I gasped and almost choked on it, I was so desperate to drink. And then I must have fallen asleep.
Well, the next thing I remember was waking up in a kind of cage, and I was all on my own. I tried to cry, and this time I managed a few pitiful little whimpers. The female human immediately came along and, to my relief, my brain was working again enough to understand her.
‘Ah, this one’s awake,’ she said. ‘Hello, little one. Are you feeling better?’ She opened the cage and picked me up again. I struggled a bit, but when I saw she had the little tube thing in her hand and was going to give me some more milk, I relaxed. ‘That’s it, puss,’ she purred at me gently. ‘Drink up, you need all the nourishment you can get. I think this one’s going to make it,’ she called to another female standing behind her. And then she laughed. ‘He’s looking for more. That’s a really good sign – he’s nuzzling me for more milk. I think we’ll have to call him Oliver. The boy who asked for more!’
And they both laughed, and although I didn’t understand the joke, and although I was really too tired to care what they called me, I must admit I thought it was a very fine name.
I must have spent a long while like that, drifting in and out of sleep, being fed milk whenever I woke up, gradually feeling stronger and eventually managing to get up on my little legs again. When I was finally able to scamper around like a proper kitten, I was allowed out of my cage for short periods to run up and down the room. I still had no idea where I was, but I knew I was being looked after. Several of my baby teeth had come through, and as well as the milk, I was being given tiny mouthfuls of meat to try now. Because I knew how it felt to be starving, I promised myself I’d never refuse anything I was offered.
Day by day, I felt myself growing bigger and fitter. Just as I was getting used to my new routine, I was moved to a different cage. This one was bigger, with room to run around and with my own comfy bed and toilet facilities. The female human had taught me to use a litter box. She’d looked very sad as she told me this was something my mother would have taught me if I hadn’t been separated from her. The thought of my mother made me cry, and then I started wondering about my brothers and sisters. I hadn’t seen them since I’d been taken out of the sack. I wished I could find them and play with them, but nobody ever mentioned them. I still don’t know, to this day, what happened to them. But … I think I can guess. I’m not even sure whether the thing about us having nine lives is true, anyway.
Ah, sorry, little kitten. Don’t cry. Come on, we’re just coming to the nice part of the story. It gets more cheerful now. I’ll cut to the end. One day, when I woke up in my little bed, there was a new, strange, male human looking at me through the bars of my cage.
‘Hello, little Oliver,’ he said. I instantly shrunk back against the edge of the bed, my fur standing on end, and gave a little growl. Male humans were bad news. To be fair, this one was keeping his voice quieter and softer than the others, and his face looked smiley, but how could I trust him?
‘Would you like me to get him out for you?’ my friend, the female, asked him.
‘Yes, please.’
‘He’s had a very traumatic start,’ she said quietly as she unlatched my cage. ‘Abandoned before he was weaned – probably at about three weeks or so. We didn’t expect him to make it, but he’s done really well and he’s ready for his first vaccinations now.’
I struggled as she picked me up. I didn’t want the male to get me.
‘It’s all right, Oliver,’ she said. ‘Don’t be frightened. He’s a bit nervous of new people,’ she explained. ‘We think he was probably mistreated before he was dumped.’
‘Poor little fellow,’ the new human said. ‘He’s such a beautiful little thing, too.’ He seemed so different from the other males, with their loud shouting, and especially that first one with his big rough paws. He gave me a little stroke and although I flinched a bit, it was actually quite nice. ‘Would you like to come and live with me, Oliver? I promise you’ll never be mistreated again. We’ll be best mates, you and me. We’re both lonely boys who need a pal, aren’t we?’
And despite myself, I found myself purring. It would take me a little while to trust him completely, and when he moved me to my new home he let me live quietly upstairs in his private rooms until I was brave enough to face the customers downstairs. But from our first day together, when he sat me carefully on his lap and told me how his own female had died and left him all alone in the world, and that he’d gone to the Cats’ Protection home to find himself someone to keep him company, I knew that what he said was right. We were best mates, destined to spend our lives together and look after each other.
That, little kitten, was how I met my George.
CHAPTER TEN
OK, well now that I’ve told you all about my poor sad kittenhood, is it all right with you if I get back to my story about last year? Otherwise we’re never going to get to the end of it.
As you’ve probably gathered, it was starting to be winter by now, and I was never a cat for spending a lot of time outside in the winter. I was lucky to have my two cosy foster homes to sleep in, although it has to be said that Nicky and Daniel’s cottage was a bit draughty and they didn’t turn the heating on very often. However, I must admit there were times, when Sarah was working on her computer in the study, and the children were at school, when I felt a little bored, and needed to stretch my legs. So I’d have a run down the road and round the corner into the main street, and if I couldn’t find Tabby and the others to play with, I’d usually run straight back again.