King of the Vagabonds (13 page)

As they travelled, Sammy thought again about Tiptoe. He was no longer alarmed about the mouse, for he knew he never appeared when Stella and Josephine were about. In the waste ground, Sammy left Mottle to go her own way. He himself went back to the old allotment area. He was hoping to find some rabbit meat left from the vagabonds’ hunt. What he did find was Scruff there before him. The lame cat regularly searched for the others’ leavings. He eyed Sammy suspiciously.

‘There’s not enough for one here,’ he growled, ‘let alone two of us.’

‘Not even a mouthful?’ Sammy suggested.

‘No.’ Scruff’s eyes wandered over the tabby’s stocky body. ‘It won’t hurt you to go without food for once anyway. My whole life is one of going without.’

Sammy knew this was an exaggeration, but there was some justice in the lame cat’s remarks. However, it would not do to seem too agreeable. He was part of the vagabond world now and had to vie with all of the cats. He simply replied, ‘You were first here on this occasion, but next time will be different.’

Sammy turned and sauntered away. He did not want to take food out of the lame cat’s mouth but he intended it to be known that he would not be taken for granted.

He headed for the spot where Pinkie had told him there were mouse-holes. Mice as food were no real substitute for rabbits, but he had to work up to that sort of thing. He must set his sights a little lower for now.

He made his way to the tree stump near the grassy bank and flattened himself behind it. His dilated pupils raked the slope for signs of life. Nothing moved. No matter. He might not be a skilful hunter as yet, but he had patience. He turned his head once to see if he were being observed. No other cat seemed to be nearby. As he
looked away again, he caught, out of the corner of an eye, a scurry of movement. He jerked his head round, at the same time pressing himself even closer against the ground. A plump little mouse was sitting by one of the holes, grooming itself. Sammy launched himself forward with great speed.

Of course he should have waited a little. The mouse had been too close to its bolt-hole. Despite his swiftness, Sammy was left scrabbling bare earth after he pounced. The mouse was safe. Furious, frustrated, Sammy dug a paw into the hole and scratched frantically around. Not a whisker could he find. He was glad there were no witnesses of his second failure. He sat on his haunches and licked his lips. The pain from Brute’s scratch made his face throb. Sammy was angry and disgusted with himself. His first attempts at hunting had been a disaster. He did not remain to see if any other mice should emerge. He turned his back on the bank and came face to face with Brindle.

‘Oh!’ said Sammy.

‘I – er – I’m sorry about our rendezvous,’ Brindle said awkwardly. ‘Brute, you see.’

Sammy understood. ‘I’m not having any success,’ he confessed. ‘I can’t catch mice either.’

‘No. It takes a time to learn their ways,’ Brindle answered. ‘I watched you with the rabbits. I can give you some tips for next time; tell you where you went wrong. But now—’

‘Yes?’

‘Pinkie sent me.’

‘Sent you?’ cried Sammy. ‘Pinkie? What do you mean?’

‘She seems very taken with your climbing display,’ Brindle informed him. ‘Says you deserve not to go
hungry. Brute’s out of the way for the moment and – well, Pinkie saved something for you.’

Sammy perked up at once. ‘Things are looking up,’ he commented. ‘Where is she?’

‘In her shelter.’

‘Are you coming?’

‘I don’t think I’m expected to. It’s you she’s inviting.’

‘Oh,’ said Sammy. ‘How did she know where to find me?’

‘She didn’t, but she knew I was looking for you.’

‘Thanks, Brindle. I’ll go.’ Sammy was about to trot away, then he hesitated. ‘When do the rabbiting lessons begin?’ he queried.

‘Whenever you want. When we next see each other,’ Brindle answered.

Sammy left him and sought out the dilapidated old hut where Pinkie sheltered. On his way he imagined the tasty rabbit pieces he was going to eat that the little white female had reserved for him. Pinkie was waiting for him. Without a word she led him to the food. Sammy stared at it.

‘What is this?’ he faltered.

‘Can’t you see?’ asked Pinkie.

‘It’s . . . it’s not rabbit,’ he muttered disappointedly.

‘Of course it isn’t rabbit,’ she snapped. ‘You didn’t catch any.’

Sammy looked at her sharply. ‘Is this a joke?’ he murmured. ‘Because if it is—’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Pinkie replied. ‘I told you of the old woman who sometimes leaves titbits for us here. Well, here are some. I’ve left them for you. Brute and I have eaten enough.’

‘Have you indeed?’ Sammy said slowly. His anger was kindling. ‘So this is all I was invited to, is it?’

‘Well, you don’t think the King Cat is likely to share the prey he himself catches, do you?’ Pinkie returned scathingly. Sammy was irritating her.

‘Only with you, his favourite, I suppose,’ Sammy answered in an icy whisper. His disappointment prevented his recognition of Pinkie’s intended friendliness.

‘I caught my own meal,’ she answered. ‘So did many of the others. You’re a great climber but a pathetic hunter.’

‘Not for long,’ Sammy hissed at her. ‘I’ll soon be a great hunter too. As for these morsels of – of – nothing,’ he spluttered, indicating the scraps, ‘they’re fit only for the likes of Scruff!’

‘You’re very snooty, Sammy,’ Pinkie told him coldly. ‘I meant it for the best. You’re not used to finding your own food. If you were, you’d see these for what they are – the difference between life and death, on occasion.’

Sammy looked at her steadily. He was mollified. His temper cooled. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I misjudged you. I thought you were mocking me.’ He examined the stale meat and fish-heads their human well-wisher had brought. Suddenly he realized with great clarity the change in his life and the new dimensions of it. There
was not
anything better than this for vagabonds, and he was a vagabond; a vagabond who could not hunt. Sammy was humbled. He bent his head and ate.

Pinkie watched him silently. They did not speak to each other again; both were aware of a presence. Brute had returned and was regarding them together.

‘A cosy scene,’ he declared, padding into sight. ‘You won’t be thinking of sharing our quarters too?’ He posed the question to Sammy sarcastically.

‘No,’ mumbled the young male, gulping his mouthful. ‘I don’t go where I’m not wanted.’

‘Hurry up,’ Pinkie urged him. ‘You linger.’

Sammy ate no more of the ill-tasting food. He left without further comment, marvelling over Pinkie’s ambivalence towards him. When Brute was away, she would extend a sort of friendship. But when he was around . . . well, it was quite another matter.

Over the next few days, from time to time Sammy thought he could hear his old mistress calling him. Her voice penetrated to the new tough world he had made his home. Quartermile Field was not so very distant from Mrs Lambert’s garden after all. But now the sound of her voice had become like the last echo from his old life. Sammy was fully occupied with the urgent need to improve his hunting ability. With Brindle’s help and his own determination he had begun to have some success.

He had learnt how to catch mice and voles. They were easy enough once you realized that you had to wait for them to move beyond their escape routes before you pounced. Now Sammy watched the rabbits whenever they appeared, noting the pattern of their movements and their variations of pace. He had steadily lost weight, confined to his diet of mice and the like. Now he was not very much stouter than the other vagabond cats. His luck in finding the rabbit carcass in the road was not repeated, although he went daily to look for one.

Brindle asked him, ‘Why don’t you try again to catch one?’

‘When I’m ready, I will,’ Sammy answered. He was afraid of failing again in front of Brute, who had begun to treat him with a little more respect. In fact Sammy had found a sort of acceptance amongst the vagabonds who no longer referred to his softness or his ugly face. Most of them ignored him, as they ignored each other while they went about their own business. Brindle was his friend and Brindle’s sister, Brownie, had changed towards him
because of this. Only Sunny, the ginger cat, continued to harbour any real resentment. He saw Sammy as a threat to his chance of becoming the King Cat when Brute’s days were over. Not that there was any sign of that at the present. Brute was still well and truly in control.

Sammy grew thinner and harder. Stella and Josephine would scarcely have recognized him. Sammy never thought about his relatives, but he did occasionally recall Molly and still with a pang. As for Tiptoe, perhaps it was just as well he was not called to mind. . . .

Eventually Sammy felt sufficiently confident to stalk rabbits again. He lay amongst the remnants of the cabbage and lettuce plants while it was barely dusk. If the rabbits were coming, he wanted to be the first to know. But the vagabonds began to arrive before the rabbits. Sammy noticed Pinkie was on her own. She approached him deliberately.

‘Brute’s on his travels again,’ she announced, as if she were well aware this would be of interest to him.

Sammy felt himself relaxing. ‘Where does he go?’ he asked, though he did not really care.

‘Who knows? Nobody asks him.’ Pinkie crouched down by Sammy’s side.

‘I hope your face has healed well,’ she said.

‘I’ve forgotten about it,’ he lied.

‘We can still be friends,’ Pinkie offered. ‘It’s quite natural for us to get along, isn’t it?’

Sammy looked at the little white cat penetratingly. There seemed to be a suggestion, even an invitation, somewhere at the back of her words. ‘I’d like that,’ he said. Pinkie had a definite attraction for him and he was a little flattered by her singling him out.

‘I’d like it too,’ she responded coyly.

‘Brute’s the drawback,’ Sammy muttered.

‘Let him do as he chooses,’ Pinkie retorted. ‘He doesn’t rule me.’

‘Not when he’s absent, no,’ Sammy remarked subtly.

‘Pinkie said nothing, though she felt the irony. She had noticed a group of rabbits loping into the area.

There was little breeze so the scent of the cats was not easy to pick up. The rabbits paused as they usually did, listening and smelling and looking around for all they were worth. Now Sammy was all agog. His tail flicked nervously. He singled out one of the smaller animals from the band for the attack. The rabbits came on. It was now or never. Sammy dashed out at them at full speed. His victim could not have seen him before he was on it, and crushed it under him. He copied what he had seen of Brute’s action before and made short work of the animal. The rest of the rabbits were put to flight. They ran helter-skelter for safety, making it impossible for the other cats to have any chance of catching them.

Sammy proudly dragged back his trophy. But there was trouble in store for him. The vagabonds rounded on him, saying he had spoilt their sport. Sammy dropped his rabbit.

‘You should have been quicker,’ he told them defensively.

‘What chance was there when you dashed out so early?’ Sunny snapped.

‘Speed is the essence of success in hunting, isn’t it?’ Sammy reminded him. ‘You could have been the first but I beat you to it.’

The other cats quietened down, sensing that Sunny might decide to fight.

‘I don’t need any lessons from you,’ the ginger cat snarled. ‘You know such a lot, don’t you?’

The old cat Patch, the former leader, could not resist
pointing out, ‘He seems to have learnt how to beat you to the strike, Sunny.’

The vagabonds were amused. Pinkie’s eyes were huge as she looked from Sammy to his antagonist. She longed for a brawl where the tabby would emerge victorious, stronger and bolder than ever. Sunny growled low down in his throat. His tail swished a warning and he took a few stiff steps forward, his gaze fixed on Sammy.

‘You take offence easily,’ Sammy said lightly. He thought he had the measure of the ginger and was not cowed. ‘This is my first success with a rabbit. You have caught many in your time, I don’t doubt. How can you begrudge me this one?’

‘Simple,’ Sunny spat. ‘The rabbits will not be back for a while and I shall go hungry because of you.’

Pinkie could see the situation in danger of cooling off. So she quite deliberately fanned the flames. ‘Sammy might leave you a titbit or so,’ she murmured derogatorily.

Her words had the required effect. ‘We’ll see if we can do better than that,’ hissed the ginger cat. Then, instead of launching himself at Sammy, he snatched up the dead rabbit and made off with it. Sammy was so astonished at the move that he failed to react at once.

‘Where’s your speed now?’ Pinkie urged him.

Sunny had not got far, hampered by the weight of the animal. Sammy ran after him and seized the other end of the carcass where it dangled from the ginger’s jaws. Each cat tugged with all his strength, trying to wrest it away from the other. Pinkie trotted up to see the outcome. Sunny tried to twist the rabbit away; then he shook it vigorously. But Sammy held fast. Now their stamina was put to the test as each cat determined to outlast his foe, using his shoulder, neck and foreleg muscles in the struggle. After a bit, it became apparent that Sunny was weakening. Sammy’s prior claim to the prey gave him an
added incentive in the battle and, in any case, he was naturally fitter. He sensed he had the advantage, exerted a final ounce of strength, and jerked his quarry free from his adversary.

Sunny stood panting. ‘You’ll – regret – this,’ he gasped.

‘Will I?’ Sammy replied easily. ‘Don’t count on it.’ He felt brimful of confidence. With a swagger he picked up the rabbit again and walked off without a backward glance. He knew perfectly well the ginger cat could do nothing now. Pinkie followed gleefully in his wake.

Sammy started to look for a secluded spot to eat in.

‘I have just the place for us,’ Pinkie offered.

Sammy was intrigued by the ‘us’.

‘In my hut.’ She took the lead.

When they reached it Sammy deposited his burden inside on the broken floor. ‘You’re quite sure Brute won’t return?’ he asked. ‘He’d see me as an intruder.’