Of course, if there was a dim-witted pigeon or starling to chase while I was out, so much the better. I’m not a bad hunter, little kitten – I’m small and quick enough to take some of the dozy creatures by surprise. I’ll give you some lessons when you’re a bit bigger. Usually, back at the pub, if I made a kill I’d take it home and leave it by the back door for George. He didn’t seem to like having the gifts taken indoors, for some reason. But obviously, I didn’t realise other humans shared this dislike. So the first time I caught a sparrow for Sarah and Martin, I carried it straight through the cat flap into the house. Nobody was around to present it to, so I thought the best thing would be to leave it in the middle of the lounge, by the coffee table, so they couldn’t miss it when they came in. But if I was expecting praise for my hunting skill, I was in for a disappointment.
‘What the hell?’ Sarah said when she saw the decapitated sparrow on the carpet. ‘Oh, Ollie! How could you? Poor bird! And we do not want things like this brought indoors, thank you very much.’
I slunk away, feeling very confused and upset. Sarah had sounded cross with me – and yet she’d ended up saying thank you very much, so I guessed she must have been pleased with the sparrow but, like George, would have preferred it left outside. And as for poor bird – well, it had been a fair fight, and he’d lost. What was wrong with that? I ended up deciding my offering might have been too small. She’d been disappointed. Next time, I’d bring her a bigger bird, but leave it on the front doorstep. She’d like that, for sure.
One day, when it wasn’t quite so cold, I was feeling more frisky and adventurous than usual. After setting off from the house, something made me keep on going – up to the top of the main street, where the road runs out of houses and pavements and starts to climb a steep hill. I’d never been up here before, so I slowed down to have a look and a sniff around. But apart from the occasional dollop of smelly horse poo (I’ve never understood why horses don’t clean up after themselves like we do), there wasn’t really much to see, until I rounded a bend, and there in front of me were a pair of enormous iron gates, with huge birds sitting on top of them. It took me a minute to realise the birds weren’t real. I peered through one of the holes that made up the pattern of the gates, and meowed to myself in surprise. There was a very, very long driveway, stretching away into the distance, and on either side of it were massive lawns of lovely grass, dotted with all sorts of shrubs and trees. Far off at the other end of the driveway was a big house, the biggest I’d ever seen. Feeling too curious to be scared, I squeezed through the gap in the gate and dashed across the lawn to the first little group of shrubs, where I lay quietly for a moment, hoping nobody had seen me. When you’re exploring somewhere new like this, little kitten, you have to remember there could be a resident cat who will make short work of seeing you off his territory – or even, worst case scenario, an unstrapped dog. However, everything seemed quiet in this huge garden, so I decided to make the most of it, and spent a pleasant afternoon chasing sparrows and blackbirds and stupid woodpigeons all over the lawns, ducking behind trees and jumping out at them, wriggling under bushes and generally having an exhilarating time. I’d intended picking off one of the blackbirds to take home, but eventually I was almost too worn out by all the exercise to walk back and, as you can probably imagine, I fell straight asleep as soon as I was through the cat flap.
The next day, I happened to run into Tabby and his latest female, Suki. I couldn’t wait to tell them about my new discovery.
‘You’re talking about the grounds of the Big House,’ Tabby said at once, looking shocked. ‘You can’t go in there.’
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘I did, and it was lovely. You should try it. We’d have a great time together in there. Is it somebody’s territory?’
‘Yes, but not a cat’s. It belongs to the worst-tempered human in the whole village. I should know. I got chased out of there by him once, and he was waving a stick at me like he wanted to hit me with it. I’ve never been back and as you know I’m a very brave cat, so it’s madness for a timid little thing like you to risk it.’
If he hadn’t said that thing about me being timid, I’d probably have taken his advice and never gone back there. But it was so embarrassing, being patronised like that in front of Suki. She’d been purring away, rubbing her face against Tabby’s and making flirty eyes at him, and when she deigned to give me a glance, it was so disdainful, I’m afraid I snapped:
‘Actually I’m not timid at all. I’ll have you know I’m famous in the village these days for being as brave as a tiger.’
Tabby laughed. I was beginning to wonder why I was friends with him. He didn’t behave like this when Suki wasn’t around.
‘Oh, really?’ he said. ‘What did you do? Catch a mouse?’
‘No!’ I retorted crossly. ‘I frightened off a male human, if you must know. A very aggressive one.’
‘Yeah? What was he – a little human kitten?’ Tabby said, making Suki laugh and rub herself even more amorously against him.
I’d had enough. I turned and stalked away from them, waving my tail crossly as I went. So what if it was only a human kitten? I’d still been brave. I’d show that self-satisfied Tabby just how much braver I was than him – I’d go back to the Big House every day if I wanted to, and play there for as long as I liked. Huh! Timid, me? What did he know?
Up to a point, it was true that I was becoming famous in the village, but not necessarily for being brave. Everyone was now aware of my situation, that I was temporarily homeless and in foster care, and when I trotted along the road there was always someone who’d stop, bend down and stroke my head, asking how I was and whether I was missing George. George was very popular with everyone in Little Broomford and I got the feeling they felt a kind of collective responsibility towards me, as their pub cat. This made me feel quite proud, and also helped me realise that most of these people who had tried to stroke and pet me when they came to the pub, and whose advances I’d been afraid of, were actually kind and gentle after all.
It was interesting to see how various people in the village were starting to get together in each other’s houses now that the pub and the hall weren’t available. That same day, after talking to Tabby and Suki, I was going home past the shop when I noticed two women with prams who were laughing and chatting together as they went up the path of the house next door. One was Hayley, who had the baby called Jack. She caught sight of me and exclaimed to her friend:
‘Oh, look, it’s Oliver. Hello, Oliver!’
I went closer and did a circuit of her legs. There was a cold wind that day and I’d been in a hurry to get home to the warm, but I was so pleased to see the difference in Hayley, I didn’t like to rush off. Before, she’d been so quiet and sad, but now she was smiling and laughing out loud, and even little Jack in the pram sounded like he was making a happy gurgling noise instead of that pitiful mewing.
‘It’s because of Oliver that I’ve got some friends in the village now,’ she was telling the other female. ‘I’m sure he led me here deliberately one day when Louise was outside the shop, and left us to chat to each other. I know it sounds silly, but he seemed so anxious for me to walk this way…’ she said. She laughed, and shook her head. ‘Well, maybe I imagined it. But Louise was sorry too because of the mum-and-baby group not meeting, and we decided to start holding these afternoon get-togethers at each other’s houses. And now I’ve met you, and the others, and I can’t tell you how much difference it’s made, having friends to talk to about the sleepless nights and the crying and the nappies.’