King of the Vagabonds (11 page)

‘I’ve come to meet you,’ Sammy said, eyeing the tiny titbit of food Brindle had brought – the head of a small fish. ‘I can save you a journey.’

‘Save me a journey?’ Brindle growled. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about your intention to rob me of my food,’ Sammy replied icily. ‘You’ve a strange idea of fairness, you vagabonds. My day’s ration of meat for this – this – insult!’

Brindle’s eyes narrowed. It seemed the pet was looking for trouble. Well, that was fine by him. He would soon
teach him a thing or two. ‘It’s an insult, is it?’ he whispered. ‘Fish-heads not good enough for the likes of you – you mollycoddled—’

Brindle did not manage to finish – Sammy sprung at him with claws unsheathed. They grappled and rolled over together in the dust, spitting and biting, scratching for all they were worth. Brindle soon found that Sammy was no weakling. Although the young cat had no craft in his fighting, his sheer weight bore down on Brindle, pinning him underneath.

‘No – titbits,’ Sammy panted. ‘Your own words. You – wanted – no titbits. And you think – I’ll accept them – from you?’

Brindle snarled, but his breath came with difficulty. The larger cat was crushing him. Suddenly, on the fringe of the waste ground, the vagabonds were gathering, attracted by the noise. They watched the contest with interest. There was nothing they enjoyed so much as a good brawl. One of them, Brownie, detached herself from the group and came running across. Brindle was her brother. Sammy watched her out of the corner of his eye, but he did not slacken his grip. Before Brownie could join the fray the voice of Patch rang out.

‘Keep away, Brownie! It’s a fair fight. I want to see how this soft cat makes out.’

Pinkie was next to him. ‘He seems to be making out very well,’ she commented. ‘Who would have thought it?’

‘You’ve played – games with me – long enough,’ Sammy hissed. ‘You’ll get no more of my food.’

‘Brute might have other ideas,’ Patch informed him. ‘But I’ve no quarrel. You’ve bested Brindle all right. You could become quite a fighter in time.’

‘Let him go,’ snarled Brownie. ‘He can scarcely breathe.’

Sammy heeded her and loosened his hold. At once Brindle leapt up, aimed a blow at his adversary’s flank and dashed off. Sammy felt the claws rake through his flesh in a sharp rush of pain. He still had a lot to learn.

‘A trick!’ spat Sammy, as Brownie looked at him in triumph. But the young cat was not finished yet. He raced after Brindle who was running across Belinda’s meadow. Now he found he had superior speed as well. He gained on the other tabby, pounced and bowled him over.

Brindle was badly winded. Before Sammy could press home his advantage once more, his opponent gasped out, ‘All right, Sammy. You win.’ His sides heaved as he fought for his breath. ‘There’s – no – contest.’

Sammy was victorious. He sat and watched Brindle with a look of smug satisfaction. Eventually the other cat recovered.

‘You’re right,’ Brindle muttered. ‘The arrangement wasn’t fair. It was – never meant to be. We thought we could – make use of you and have – our fun as well. But you’re not – such a fool, are you?’

‘Not quite the one you took me for, no,’ Sammy answered, without malice. ‘I tell you what, Brindle. There’s still a plateful of food untouched in my garden. Let’s go shares.’

‘Are you – serious?’ Brindle asked incredulously.

‘Yes. Why not? No hard feelings. You’ve been honest with me. I bear no grudges.’

‘You’re a generous sort,’ Brindle remarked wonderingly. ‘After all this. Well well. Perhaps we can learn something from you, too.’

‘Of course you can. We can help each other. Come on then.’ He led the old enemy away, now his new friend.
Through the gardens, over the fences, they went shoulder to shoulder. At the last fence Sammy went ahead. His mistress’s garden was clear. He called to Brindle. They went over and up to the plate.

‘I don’t believe it,’ murmured Sammy.

‘Empty!’ cried Brindle.

Yet there were crumbs of meat on the plate and they were fresh. As they stared in disappointment at this, they failed to notice Pinkie nimbly climbing the apple tree, with some choice lumps of food between her teeth.

Sammy’s suspicions fell on Josephine but, whoever it was who had been there before them, there was no longer any reason to stay around. All at once Sammy remembered his hidden food supply.

‘We shan’t go hungry, after all,’ he told his companion. ‘Follow me.’

From the apple tree Pinkie waited for them to get well clear and then descended. She had to get back to Brute, but all the time she was thinking about Sammy. She was impressed by the way he had taken his stand against Brindle and then dealt with him. She already thought him a fine-looking animal, and had forgotten all about his strangely marked face. By comparison with the animals she had always mixed with, Sammy was such a healthy, fit-looking specimen. However, for now Brute was the cat that called the tune.

Sammy and Brindle arrived at the hedgerow bordering Belinda’s field. There was no difficulty in locating the rabbit. They had both been able to smell it from some distance away.

‘Did you catch this?’ Brindle asked in astonishment.

‘Er – in a way,’ Sammy answered vaguely. ‘I’ve had one good meal off it already. We can share the rest.’

Brindle was looking at Sammy’s flank. The wound he had inflicted was quite visible. ‘I’m afraid you’re still bleeding,’ he remarked awkwardly.

‘My first scars,’ Sammy answered. He seemed to be rather proud of them. ‘Now I truly feel like one of you. And, Brindle, you didn’t go scot-free either.’

‘I didn’t. You’re a strong cat,’ Brindle acknowledged. They ate their meal companionably. Then the vagabond cat said, ‘You’ve proved yourself in two ways already, haven’t you? Patch won’t have to ask again. You can fight and you can hunt.’

‘Hunt?’ repeated Sammy. ‘Oh, I see. Well, to be honest, I didn’t actually hunt this rabbit.’

‘But you caught it?’

‘Well, I found it, you see,’ Sammy admitted. ‘But,’ he added hastily, ‘I was on my way to hunt. Where
you
go, you know – behind that tall fence.’

‘I see now,’ said Brindle. ‘I suppose this animal was already dead when you found it. Well,
hunting
rabbits is not easy. It takes quite a time to learn the right moves. So the sooner we begin on that the better.’

‘We? You mean you’ll teach me?’ Sammy asked excitedly.

‘I can give you some help anyway,’ said Brindle. ‘Dusk is the best time for rabbits, so we’ll get together at that time tomorrow.’ He had assumed that Sammy was going back to his home now.

11

New Ways

Sammy could not make up his mind whether to go or stay. He wanted to make a full commitment to his new way of life, but the comfort and familiarity of the shed where he had been born was still a powerful magnet to him. He decided to sleep in the shed once more and make his plans known to Stella. Then he would leave and become one of the vagabonds in Quartermile Field, with all that that entailed. His old mistress would soon cease to try and tempt him back, for the food she believed he had been eating would from now on stay on the plate. The so-called exchange of food with the other cats had ended this night. He spoke to Brindle.

‘I’ll meet you at the tall fence as the light fades.’

‘I shall be there,’ the other tabby replied.

‘I hope we can continue to be friends,’ said Sammy.

‘So do I. And don’t mind Brownie, my sister. She did what she did to help me. It’s understandable, isn’t it? And it didn’t save me.’

‘I understand that,’ agreed Sammy, though he wondered if Josephine would have acted in the same way. ‘But there are many things I don’t understand yet about your ways.’

Brindle and Sammy separated. Back in the shed Sammy asked Josephine about the empty plate. She denied eating two meals, saying that she never touched
her brother’s food. So for Sammy the mystery remained.

Stella awoke and said, rather irritably, ‘I wonder you come back here at all, Sammy, if you only come here to sleep.’

‘I’ve come for the last time,’ he told his mother. ‘I wanted to make my farewells to you both. I don’t expect I shall see you again.’

‘Don’t do us any favours,’ Josephine answered. ‘You’re not one of us any more. You smell different, you move differently, you’re half-wild already.’

‘All right, Josephine,’ said Stella. ‘Sammy’s not answerable to you.’ She turned to her son. ‘It was thoughtful of you to do this. I know you have a heart. But, Sammy, you’re making a mistake. The excitement you think you’re going to find will not make up for the misery of cold and hunger and friendlessness which you’re going to experience. I know you want to be like your father. But you weren’t born into his way of life and you’ll find it much more difficult to try and acquire it.’

‘I shall have friends,’ Sammy asserted.

‘No, Sammy. Not the fond, kindly sort of friends you’ve known up to now. These will be friends while all goes well, and when it doesn’t they will be rivals and even enemies. But I know it’s no use warning you. You didn’t listen before, nor did I really expect you to. And you won’t listen now. Just remember, though, that where you’re going we’ll be unable to help you. You’ll have to rely on yourself alone.’

‘I mean to do so,’ Sammy told her. ‘I’m not frightened of that. What is there for me here? An endless round of uneventful days filled with the same routine. No new faces, no needs to cater for.’

‘Yes,’ said Stella, ‘that’s not enough for a son of Beau. I know and I’ve always known. You’re part of him and,
when you meet, you might find you have too much in common.’

Sammy reflected on that, but he was not yet equipped to interpret the remark. He began to wash himself. The conversation was at an end. It was strange for him as he settled himself, tucking his paws under his chest, to think that this was the last time he would lie here, in his birthplace.

High up in one of the wooden struts of the shed, Tiptoe was waiting. These days he stayed well out of reach and spent as little time as possible on the ground. And he was tiring of it. That was why he was waiting until it would be safe to talk to Sammy.

Stella and Josephine were curled up together as usual. Sammy also was napping but he heard Tiptoe’s squeaks. At first he could not see him.

‘I’m above your head,’ said the mouse. ‘I’m spending my life up in the air. I feel if I can’t come down to earth more often, I might change into a bird!’

‘Whatever are you babbling about?’ Sammy hissed.

‘Those wild animals you’ve invited on to my doorstep! How long must we mice live like this? Food’s hard to come by at these heights.’

Sammy understood and was more amused than contrite. But he did not let the mouse see this. ‘Your worries are over, Tiptoe,’ he assured the little animal. ‘There will be no more strangers coming into the garden.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘The arrangement about the food is over,’ Sammy said. ‘I’m leaving this place for good.’

‘Oh,’ said Tiptoe. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. Where are you going?’

‘To a new area,’ the young tabby answered. He was not going to admit to Quartermile Field.

But the mouse was no fool. He guessed at once where
Sammy was heading. ‘So you’re going to join the creatures who’ve been thieving your mistress’s food?’ he squeaked in indignation. ‘I’ve seen them, one by one. Black and ginger and white.’

‘White?’

‘A white one came tonight and then climbed up the tree,’ shrilled the mouse. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. You’ve encouraged them.’

Sammy had the answer now. It was Pinkie who had taken advantage of himself and Brindle while they had been squabbling. This was the way of things in the vagabond world. He turned back to Tiptoe.

‘You’re a fine one to talk about thieving,’ he chuckled. ‘You and your friends spend your whole lives doing it.’

‘Of course we do,’ said Tiptoe. ‘Tee hee.’ He saw the funny side of it too. ‘But what we take isn’t missed and, in any case, it’s expected of us.’ He tittered again. Then he said, more soberly, ‘I suppose our paths won’t cross for a while?’

‘I suppose not,’ Sammy replied, ‘though I should be sorry not to see you again. You’re a comical little fellow and I like you a lot. Perhaps we could meet—’