Then Pumpkin spoke. ‘Right, swipers, let him have it.’ And a large cat came up to Barney. He was a large, old tortoiseshell with a bit of a limp. There were other bits of him that looked like they were wounded – patches where his fur seemed thinner or not there at all. It gave him the look of someone who had been roughly put together like a rag doll. But he could certainly swipe, and fast and hard too. Barney hardly knew where he was as the cat’s paws and claws sliced at him.
Then other swipers joined in. Lyka, the kittens, Pumpkin, the bronze and black tabby, all of them. And Barney was just a blur of pain and fear.
But then the door opened. The cats stopped and waited, as Barney looked desperately around for an escape. The door to the room was open but it was well-guarded on every side. And there she was, Miss Whipmire, with Maurice standing there behind her in the body he’d stolen from Barney.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Miss Whipmire. ‘It looks like you swipers have managed to do something right for once.’
‘Mum, what are you going to do to him?’ asked Maurice, looking worried.
Miss Whipmire turned to her son. She would have liked to kill Barney there and then but doubted her child had the stomach for the wails. So she picked up Barney, who was dazed and throbbing with pain.
‘Nothing, darling. Now, don’t you worry about it. I’m going to take him for a little drive. You go and enjoy some catnip.’
‘But Mum—’
‘No more buts, darling,’ snapped Miss Whipmire. ‘We’ve talked about this.’
As Miss Whipmire started carrying him downstairs, Barney heard Pumpkin.
‘Before you be goin’, what about our sardines? Will you open some tins for us?’
Miss Whipmire turned, furious. ‘No, you are getting too slow and fat. I think I need to keep you swipers a little bit hungrier.’
And the swipers stood out on the landing, mumbling their unhappiness as Miss Whipmire crunched her way over fish bones and out of the house, squeezing Barney breathlessly close.
‘So, you thought you could come here and speak to my Maurice without me, did you? You really are a sly thing, aren’t you? Oh, well, it looks like that’s another subject you’re bad at, doesn’t it? Staying alive.’
And Barney left the foul, filthy hallway and was carried out into the cold, uncaring wind.
‘Now, Mr No-hoper, let’s grade your chance of survival,’ Miss Whipmire hissed evilly, seconds before hurling him hard into the boot of her small yellow car. ‘Let’s give you an F. For Fatally Failing Feline.’
Then the blackness came, with the sound of the boot closing, along with all possible hope.
Miss Whipmire’s Idea of Fun
THE CAR SPED along. There was only darkness and noise. The engine, the wind outside, full of warnings even a cat’s ears can’t understand. It was then that Barney began to feel truly desperate. The combination of panic, cat lungs, what felt like a thousand scratches and being trapped in the boot of a car was making it very difficult to breathe, and it was also very hard to stay standing upright. By the time the car stopped he must have lost his balance a hundred times. At least.
And once the car did stop there was a confusing and ominous silence. The boot didn’t open. Nothing happened, and kept on not happening. It felt like hours.
Then, at long last, footsteps outside.
The boot opened.
It was dark, but felt almost like daylight compared to the impenetrable blackness of the boot.
Wind blew wildly all around, louder than Barney had ever heard, creating a temporary wild mane out of Miss Whipmire’s hair.
Then a noise which filled Barney with horror. Water.
Miss Whipmire pulled him out of the car. But by now he was realizing what was about to happen.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked as Miss Whipmire began to walk.
‘For fun, mainly. But there’s also a practical reason. You see, Barney, if you stay alive and somehow manage to turn into a human again, you might say things which could get me into trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t. I promise.’
‘It doesn’t even matter if you mean that. You see, I can now tell you the real reason.’
Barney remembered what the Doberman had told him, and the name Miss Whipmire had mentioned as she carried him from the house. ‘Maurice?’
Miss Whipmire nodded, unsurprised. ‘I want to make sure my son stays human too.’
Barney realized something. ‘So, if I die, he’s human for ever?’
‘Well, I just like to make doubly sure. After all, my son and I are human now. We have a long life ahead of us and I want to protect that life. He was the only one of my litter who survived. He was my miracle …’ Barney was surprised to hear real love in her voice.
‘Though, of course, we were forced to separate a long, long time ago. Anyway, I am a mother. And a good one, and I want what is best for my little kitten. And in this day and age that means
being human. Or being you. So, once you’re dead, I will know the back door is closed. The back door meaning you. And closed meaning dead. So my little darling will stay human for the rest of his life – and we can always be together.’
Barney stared beyond Miss Whipmire, past the river bank. There were buildings in the distance, and even though they didn’t have their lights on he could see them. It was a clear night with a bright moon and stars, enabling him to make out sheds and warehouses.
He knew where they were.
They were on the outskirts of town. By the river. Two miles from home.
She held him tight inside her furry jacket, and kept walking with slow, careful steps until they reached the bridge. It was a bridge Barney knew well. In fact it was the location of his very first memory: playing Pooh Sticks with his mum and dad.
Miss Whipmire let out a kind of cold laugh.
The sound scraped Barney’s nerves like a blunt knife.
Then Barney was taken out of her coat, which was patched with cat-skin that had once been her own, and held out at arm’s length over the side of the bridge.
She stared at him for a moment, the way you stare at an expensive meal before you eat it, her eyes wide with a mad glee.
Her phone rang. She answered. Barney heard a muffled voice. His own.
‘Mum …’ said Maurice. ‘Mum, don’t.’
‘I’m doing this for you, darling.’
‘He wasn’t the one who blew off your tail.’
‘No, I know that …’ Miss Whipmire’s voice contained a grain of sadness now. Though only a grain. ‘But we are going to get our revenge on the Freemans when we get to Thailand, don’t worry. Right now we need to know there is no one who can separate us again, darling. If he stays alive we will always be worried.
‘Maurice, hang on …’ Miss Whipmire didn’t switch the phone off but placed it in her pocket for a moment. ‘Now, I really did want another pen pot, but I think this method’s going to be a bit quicker and cleaner … You’ll just be another drowned cat in a river.’
Barney heard the water, relentless, below.
‘Goodbye, Barney Willow,’ said Miss Whipmire.
And then she let go.
She looked over the edge. It was a shame she couldn’t let Maurice join her. Still, it was a sight she could enjoy by herself. A cat, turning into a little black dot, and then a little white splash.
And then nothing at all.
‘Now,’ said Miss Whipmire, picking up the phone again. ‘It’s over. Do not worry about how it happened. All we’ve got to do is stick with the plan. You leave the house and go back to Mrs Willow, act as normal as you can so she doesn’t get twitchy. Then I’ll go home and sort everything out. And in the morning I’ll wait for you on the street, and you’ll have to lose that Rissa girl. Just tell her at the bus stop that you’ve left something at home. Then we can get a clear head start. A full day without suspicion. We’ll be on the other side of the world before anyone knows …’