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Then I thought of our tabby and white kitten I had loved so much. She’d be a cat now. I wished I could find her. I wished she would magically appear at the badger hole, all fluffed out, her eyes shining like lamps in the shadowy wood.

I had lost everything.

That first night alone in the badger hole was endlessly dark. I had only my memories.

Ellen used to read me stories when she was a child. I knew them all by heart and most had happy endings. Ellen would read faster and faster, her eyes alight, racing through the scary bits so that she could read the last page with a smile. As she got older the stories were longer and deeper, and one day she showed me a book calledThe Diary of Anne Frank, about a girl who had to hide away for years during the war. Like me, she was in a desperate situation, but every day she wrote it down in a diary. It made her feel better, and it helped people to understand, years later, what she had been through and how she had coped.

I remembered that book, and the sad girl on the cover. If I was able to write, then I would keep a diary now. I’d start today, and it would go something like this.

THE DIARY OF A DESPERATE CAT

I am all alone now and still sleeping in the badger hole. I’m in there most of the day as it’s so cold. Today there is more snow whirling across the landscape. It piles higher and higher around my hole. My dinner is a small mouse, which I had been saving, and when I want a drink I lick some of the cold snow. My body is so thin that my ribs hurt when I lie down. Even my paws, which used to be soft and glossy, look bony and rough.

A fox comes by in the night and sticks his pointed nose right into my hiding place. The snow crystals on his whiskers glisten in the moonlight, and his eyes gleam as he looks in at me. I am too weak to fight, but the memory of Jessica confronting Paisley gives me courage. I puff myself up, flatten my ears and yowl ferociously. I smell the fox’s musky breath. I attack his surprised face with claws of steel. He backs away. But he doesn’t go. He skulks around, pacing to and fro, always looking at me with that rusty stare. He’s hungry too. I crouch in the hole, glaring back at him, but the energy of being constantly on guard is draining me. I can read the fox’s mind. He is waiting. And when I am weak, he will have me.

The fox sits down like a dog, watching me. His fur is in perfect condition, fiery red-gold and white. He’s a creature of the wood, and he doesn’t go hungry. He doesn’t give up and lie in a hole with only his memories, like I am doing. In a way he’s teaching me something.

I glance at the tiny white tuft of Jessica’s fur. And I can hear her sweet voice in my head, and she’s saying, ‘It’s no good just sitting there. You’ve got to go at him. Be a dragon.’

I don’t know where the strength is coming from but suddenly I am on fire. I charge out at the fox, right up to him. I scream at him and slash his nose with a paw made of iron. Again. And again. He yelps like a puppy. He turns and runs away. I stand there like the king of the wood.

It is morning now, and I’ve been awake all night watching for the fox. Hunger echoes through my body, but I so need to sleep in the morning sun. I am very, very lonely. I want Ellen. I want Jessica. I want the amber velvet cushion. I must be the coldest cat in the world, and the saddest.

Another day dawns.

The snow is melting now, and at midday the sun shines for a while. I venture out looking for food and find a crust of white bread that a bird has dropped. It is mouldy but I eat every single crumb. I go to look at the caravan. Will Ellen be there? In my mind I hear her sweet voice cry out my name and welcome me back. But the door is closed, the curtains drawn over every window, and there is tape over the cat flap. Sadness fills my being and I mooch about, my tail down, hoping to find something that will comfort me. Underneath, behind one of the wheels, I discover a very old dead mouse that Jessica had stashed there. Too exhausted to eat it, I carry it back to the badger hole in my mouth. It will do for my breakfast if nothing else turns up. In the evening I can see the sunset between the trees and I watch for Jessica’s star. It is there like a bright spirit shining in the twilight. I watch it rising behind the ash trees until I fall asleep.

It is moonlight outside and I can hear music and lots of footsteps coming down the lane. Something is different. I peer outside and see a lantern bobbing above the hedge. The music gets louder. I sit up. I remember that song.‘Silent Night, Holy Night’. Ellen used to sing that. Perhaps it is Christmas. Oh I loved Christmas. I used to get given a catnip mouse and a ball with a little bell inside. Jessica and I had one each and we played for hours. Then Jessica would shred all the wrapping paper and drag it under the sofa. I try to go to sleep, but in the middle of the night I hear the church bells ringing.

Another morning, another dawn, and it is frosty. Yes, it must be Christmas Day. I know because I hear those bells ringing again and the sound of carols being sung. And the distant village smells of roast potatoes. I used to get given a plate of chopped-up turkey with gravy. But this Christmas is the worst week of my life. Surely a cat shouldn’t be all alone on Christmas Day? I’m getting angry. And where is my angel?

The day passes into night. Then morning. The hunger is deep and painful now. I am listless and weak, but I am still managing to wash. It’s not fun because my fur is coming out. It’s all over the place in the badger hole, and I’ve got some bare patches on my back and along my tail. Today the weather is still and I could go out, but I can’t be bothered. I’d rather lie in here and die.

Where IS that angel? I close my eyes and purr for a while, and think hard about my angel. What did she look like? I begin to visualise the haze of shimmering light, I imagine the tingle of her stardust through my fur, I listen for her voice, and suddenly she is there. She has been there all the time; I just haven’t been using my psi sense.

‘Please help me,’ I say to her. ‘I’m dying. And I’m only a young cat.’

There is a silence. My angel is sending me energy and love. But it’s not helping my wretched cold and starving body. It’s not healing my troubled mind. Then she answers, and she says something I did not expect.

‘You must help yourself, Solomon.’

She says no more. I lie there, angry, processing this information. Help myself indeed. But I’m a smart cat, and maybe I can figure out what to do. I can’t do a big thing. But I can do a small thing. I’ll do it. I’ll stop this diary of self-pity and help myself. I’m going to start meowing, as long as I can, for as long as I have to.

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IF CATS COULD CRY

At first the meows I did were a bit modest, but once I got into it, they were LOUD. I tried to make them more like a cry than a yowl. I sent the cry echoing through the winter landscape, into the caravans and the cottages and the lanes. Now and again I paused to listen.

I heard footsteps. Someone far away was pit-patting down the lane, coming closer, stopping. Someone had stopped to listen. I meowed even louder, trying to put hope into my voice. I heard heavy breathing and the thump of feet in the copse. Someone had scrambled over the wall and through the brambles.

I meowed faster to encourage the person.

‘Where are you?’ called a voice. ‘Pussy cat?’

Meow. Meow.

‘Are you up a tree? Down a tin mine? Come on where are you? I haven’t climbed over that hedge for nothing you know.’

I knew that kind voice. It was Karenza. Her black boots came scrunching through the copse and stopped. She was looking around for me. I managed to stand up on my wobbly legs, and I just remembered how to put my tail up.

‘Oh you poor, poor cat,’ she gasped when she saw me. She came gently towards me. ‘Will you let me pick you up?’

Would I let her! It was heaven to be in someone’s arms again and feel a warm coat and hear a heartbeat. I purred and purred as if I would never stop.

Inside Karenza’s cottage a bright fire was burning. She put me down on a sumptuous rug right next to it, and the warmth soaked into me. It was heavenly. Karenza seemed to know I was too weak to cope with the other cats and she shooed them into the kitchen and shut the door. She brought me a dish of Whiskas rabbit.

‘Nothing wrong with your appetite,’ she said as I tucked in. Afterwards I was too exhausted to wash. Feeling warm and safe, I stretched out by the fire to sleep. Before I drifted off, I heard Karenza talking on the phone.

‘I’ve found Solomon,’ she said and I heard a scream at the other end of the phone. ‘He’s here, and he’s safe, and I’ll take care of him until you come.’

My sleep was deep and blissful. Once in the night I awoke, surprised to find Karenza had put me in a round fluffy cat bed and taken me into her bedroom. She wasn’t asleep but lying close to me with her hand on my back. I was so thin that when she stroked me her fingers seemed to be touching my bones. She was talking to me gently and her hand was full of stars. Healing stars. I began to purr, and the rhythmic purring and the stars mingled together throughthe night.

Karenza was a cat healer. She lived alone in the cottage and all her love was poured into looking after her cats. I was so lucky, I felt ashamed of my angry thoughts and the way I’d turned my back on my angel. But the pain of losing Ellen, and then Jessica, was overwhelming. I shuddered, and Karenza was there for me instantly, stroking and soothing, and telling me to go back to sleep.

In the morning Abby the vet turned up to see me.

‘He’ll be fine,’ she said, after she’d given me a load of injections and told Karenza what they were. ‘Worms, fleas, mange, cat flu jab and a vitamin boost. Just keep him warm, keep him away from the other cats until he’s stronger, and feed him little and often.’

‘He’ll get lots of TLC,’ said Karenza. ‘And this afternoon he’s getting a surprise.’

A surprise? I thought that might be a catnip mouse, but I wouldn’t have the energy to play with it. All I wanted to do was sleep. Karenza carried my new fluffy bed to the fireside and I lay there gazing into the golden flames. I chose one flame that had a rim of sapphire blue, then orange, then white hot in the middle. In my mind I walked through that white-hot door into the land of pure light, and Jessica was there, washing her pink paws. She looked beautiful and perfect, but far away where I couldn’t reach her.

My angel came, and she said,‘You must heal in body and soul, Solomon. It will take a long time, so be patient with yourself. Now go back to sleep.’

I did, feeling like the warmest cat in the world.

In late afternoon when the winter sun was filling the cottage with beams of gold, I heard a car pull up outside. I heard feet running up the path.

‘You wait till you see who this is, Solomon.’ Karenza winked as she swept past me to answer the door.

She opened it, and there stood my Ellen.

If cats could cry, I’d have cried with happiness. I stepped out of the fluffy bed, and my legs felt stronger already. My tail went up by itself and I ran to greet my Ellen.

‘Solomon,’ she breathed, and picked me up. I licked the tears from her cheeks and purred.

‘You darling, darling cat. And you’re so thin. What have you been through?’

I wanted to tell her, but even if I’d had the words, I couldn’t have spoken. It was too big, too painful to tell her about Jessica dying in the cold woods, the old badger leading me home, and the Diary of a Desperate Cat.

‘Look at his fur,’ Ellen said, smoothing me.

‘The vet said it will grow back. She came out this morning, and gave him some injections. She said he’ll be fine.’

‘Thank you, Karenza.’

Ellen gave Karenza a hug with one arm. She sat down by the fire with me on her lap. I noticed she looked better, there was a glow on her cheeks and she was wearing a beautiful sparkly scarf.

‘I’ve left John with Pam,’ she said. ‘She’s bringing him down in a short while.’

‘So what’s been happening?’ said Karenza.

‘John and I have been in a B& B,’ explained Ellen. ‘John hated it. But– I’ve just been to see Nick and he said we can have the caravan back. Joe left three weeks ago, he’s gone up country to stay with his dad.’

‘Was it drink?’ Karenza asked.

‘Yes. And his dad is getting him into rehab,’ said Ellen. ‘But I’m never going back with him, Karenza. Of course he’ll have to see John. I’m much better on my own though, even in a B& B.’

Karenza grinned at her.

‘Cats are better than men,’ she said. ‘I figured that out long ago. So when can you move back?’

‘Next weekend,’ said Ellen. ‘Nick has kindly said he’ll do a few repairs on the caravan, and he’s going to put in a little wood burner, so we’ll be cosy.’

‘Well, I’ll look after Solomon until you’re ready.’ Karenza gave my head a rub. ‘Is that all right, Solomon?’

‘He understands everything,’ said Ellen. ‘I just wish he could tell us where Jessica is.’

I sat up and gave the saddest meow I could muster. It came out as a wailing sound. Ellen and Karenza looked at each other. Ellen put both arms around me and looked right into my eyes.

‘Has Jessica died, Solomon?’ she whispered, and I did an even sadder meow and buried my head in her scarf because I couldn’t bear the sadness.

‘He’s grieving,’ said Karenza. ‘I know a grieving cat when I see one. He’ll need lots of time and love. I took him to bed last night and I’ll do it again for him.’

‘You’re an angel. How can I ever thank you?’

John and Pam arrived next, and there were more tears. I was glad to feel John’s small hand stroking me.

‘Poor Solomon,’ he kept saying. ‘I missed you, Solomon.’

Pam had a big plastic bag, which she gave to Ellen.

‘I brought you a present.’

‘Oh Pam.’ Ellen reached into the bag and took out the amber velvet cushion.

‘I rescued it, after he’d chucked it out,’ said Pam proudly. ‘And I’ve washed it, and dried it, and even made it smell nice.’

‘Wow!’ Ellen buried her face in the cushion. ‘It smells of lavender. Thank you, Pam. You’re an angel.’

Another angel, I thought. Pam and Karenza. Two earth angels. If I were a person instead of a cat, I would give them a bunch of roses each.

I was quite nervous about going into the caravan again. The memory of Joe’s bad tempers would be in there, and the damp washing, and the way everything rattled in the wind.

After a week of Karenza’s TLC, I was much better. My fur was growing back, my thin body was filling out again, my legs were strong and my tail was up most of the time. When the day came, Karenza carried me all the way up the lane inside her coat, and I knew my eyes were shining again as I looked around. High in the trees a song thrush was singing, and there were snowdrops and yellow celandines along the sides of the lane.

John had gone to school, but Ellen was there to welcome me home. She’d bought me a new basket and lined it with a cosy rug, and a new dish with food already in it for me. The caravan looked and smelled different. The best thing was the new stove full of a crackling fire, and it washot in the caravan. It felt peaceful. I inspected everything, strutting around with my tail up. I went into John’s bedroom and touched noses with his two teddy bears, then into Ellen’s room and saw her slippers under the bed. I sniffed at Jessica’s cupboard. It had been cleaned out and packed with boxes, but right in the corner I found Jessica’s catnip mouse. I took it into my new basket, and settleddown there, wondering what kind of life we would have here now, without Joe. ‘There will be peace,’ my angel had said.

She was right. Ellen, John and I were peaceful together. The caravan wasn’t a house, but it was a cosy sanctuary, and there was no more shouting and screaming. Ellen spoke quietly to John and to me, and on wet afternoons the three of us would curl up together in front of the fire and Ellen would read John a story or play a game with him. We were as happy as we could be. I had something in common with John. Both of us were grieving, me for Jessica, and John for his daddy. At first John cried a lot and I was glad to be able to comfort him. I’d stretch myself out with my long paws over his chest, and my chin on his heart, purring and purring.

‘You are SUCH a healing cat,’ Ellen said to me once. ‘But I know you still miss Jessica, don’t you? You don’t play like you used to.’

It was true. I didn’t feel like playing. Jessica’s death had left a big hole in my life, and I thought about her constantly. Ellen had a photo of Jessica’s cheeky face on the wall near my basket, and I often sat gazing at it. I still loved her, and I kept her memory alive by remembering the fun times we had had, and all that she had taught me.

Cats are not brilliant at counting, so I don’t know how long we lived there like this, peacefully in the caravan. Summer passed, and I was sleek and glossy again, and autumn rolled on into winter. John was growing bigger, and I knew that every two weeks Ellen took him to see his daddy, and both of them came back stressed and upset. But Joenever came to the caravan, and for that I was glad.

One bright winter morning, everything changed.

I was sitting on the caravan steps, washing my paws in the sunshine, when my angel appeared in a flare of white light. Usually I had to struggle to see her, but now she was sharply in focus and fizzing with stars.

‘Be at your best, Solomon. Someone is coming, and he is very important. You must stay close to Ellen, and use all of your senses.’

‘Who is it?’ I asked, but already a gleaming black car was turning into the campsite, and my angel disappeared in a plume of light. I sat up and made myself look important, with stiff whiskers and fluffed-out fur.

The car drove quietly and carefully up to the caravan and stopped. A bailiff, I thought. Not again.

But a beautiful man got out and stood looking at the caravan. He was beautiful because of his aura, which I could see. It was huge and luminous with lots of turquoise and white, and the man reminded me of the sea. He had interesting blue eyes, which lit up when he saw me sitting on guard.

He didn’t say, ‘Hello puss,’ like most did. He padded peacefully towards me and stretched out a chunky hand to stroke me. But first he asked permission, in a deep rumbly voice that I liked.

‘May I stroke you? You are a beautiful friend.’

I did a special sound for him, a cross between a meow and a purr, and stood up on my hind legs to show him I wanted him to touch me. His touch was calm and loving, and he stroked me for several minutes before knocking at the caravan door. When he had knocked, he stepped back respectfully for Ellen to open it.

She stood there looking surprised and a bit anxious, wiping her hands on a flowery tea towel.

‘Excuse me, I was baking,’ she said.

The man didn’t speak immediately and I saw he was looking at Ellen’s long golden hair glinting in the winter sunshine.

‘I’m Isaac Mead,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘I’m a governor at John’s school.’

Ellen shook hands with him, but she looked uneasy.

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Has John been playing up?’

‘No – not at all. It’s because of something that John said though, that’s why I’m here.’

‘You’d better come in.’

She took Isaac into the tiny kitchen, which smelled of warm cakes, and he sat down by the wood burner.

‘Does this gorgeous cat have a name?’ he asked.

‘Solomon. Because he’s so wise,’ said Ellen, and I climbed onto her lap and sat there protectively, studying the deep blue of Isaac’s eyes. He had a beard, and bits of it were grey, and he wore a duffel coat with toggles, which I wanted to play with.

‘So what’s this about?’ Ellen’s eyes were still wary. ‘Is it bad news?’

‘No my dear. No. You see the school is in rather a difficult situation. We’ve got the Christmas concert coming up, and now the pianist has had a heart attack. She won’t be able to play for a long, long time, and when we told the children this in assembly they were really upset. Then your Johnput his hand up and said, “My mum can play the piano and she’s brilliant.”’

‘Wow,’ said Ellen, and her face glowed. ‘Fancy him remembering. He was so young when we – we,’ she hesitated, and Isaac just looked at her kindly and waited. ‘We lost our home you see, and they took all our furniture, including my piano. So I haven’t played for years.’

‘Would you consider playing for the children?’ Isaac asked.

Ellen couldn’t seem to answer. She’d always said no as a child when her mother wanted her to perform.

There was a long silence. My angel had said Ellen missed her music, and that music would feed her soul. I knew Ellen had to say yes, and she wouldn’t. So I decided to answer for her.

I looked at Isaac and gave a loud, firm meow. Then I batted Ellen’s face with my paw, and meowed at her. I kept doing it until she smiled and said, ‘OK, I’ll have a go,’ and I rubbed my head against her and purred.

‘Perhaps you’d better bring Solomon,’ smiled Isaac.

‘I could. He’s a very well behaved cat – and he loves music,’ explained Ellen. ‘Maybe he’d give me confidence. He always used to sit on top of the piano. He really loves Mozart.’

‘The children would love him,’ said Isaac. ‘And John would be so proud of you.’

‘I’d need to practise. There isn’t room for a piano in here, even if I could afford one. I’m a single parent.’

‘I’ve got a piano,’ said Isaac. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t been played for years, but it’s a beauty – a grand. It’s a bit dusty, like the rest of my place. I live alone you see, since my dear wife died of cancer …’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Ellen said kindly. She put her slim hand on Isaac’s arm, and tiny sparks danced in his aura.

‘I’ll go home now, and clear all my stuff off the top of it.’ Isaac’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘Then you can come down and practise. I promise not to listen. I’ll be up a ladder putting a new roof on the barn. You can bring John. It would be good to have some life in the old place. It’s just me and the mice at the moment.’

I meowed at Ellen again, and this time she responded.

‘I’d … like that. I really would. Thank you, and I’d so appreciate you not listening! I’ve always been shy about performing.’

Isaac looked at her silently, nodding his head a little. His eyes glanced around the caravan, at the picture of Jessica, the bowl of oranges, the neatly stacked books and box of Lego, the cosy rugs and cushions.

‘You’ve made a beautiful little home here,’ he said, rather wistfully. His eyes looked at Ellen again, and suddenly I remembered meeting Jessica for the first time. As soon as I’d seen her challenging buttercup eyes, I’d fallen in love with her, and the love was forever.

Isaac was being quiet and courteous. But I knew a secret, even before he knew it. Isaac had fallen in love with Ellen.

On the night of the Christmas concert I was the proudest cat on the planet.

Ellen had bought me a special cat harness, with a lead, and she’d taken me into John’s classroom. With the door firmly shut, I was set free and I knew exactly what to do. Tail up and purring I walked around loving the children, and they adored me. Then I showed them how I liked to sit on the piano while Ellen played. After a few of these sessions, I was allowed to go to the performance on a starry winter night.

Pam was assigned to look after me, and she sat squarely in the front row close to the piano, in her best red coat. The children were used to me by now, but they still buzzed with excitement when Pam put me firmly on top of the piano. I sat up smartly, looking at everyone.

‘Please welcome our pianist, Ellen King,’ said the headmaster, and everyone clapped. I was so proud of Ellen, I could have burst. She swept in, wearing a black velvet coat, with her golden hair swinging down her back. I lay down immediately and had eye contact with her as she sat down at the piano.

She began to play the Christmas music with great energy and love, and everyone listened. Ellen kept glancing at me, and I knew I was helping her. No one except me knew how nervous she’d been. The music helped her too. Once she had started, she was happy. The audience and the children stood up to sing and I really loved the sound they made. I watched Isaac and he was gazing raptly at Ellen.

The children did a play, and John was a shepherd. He had a tea towel on his head and a stick he had cut from the hedge. When the play was over and everyone had finished clapping, I was allowed to go on stage. I strutted on with my tail up and all the children wanted to stroke me. I wanted to inspect the toy sheep that John was carrying, and I touched noses with it. Then I thought I ought to see what was in the crib they were all looking at, so I climbed up and touched noses with the plastic doll who was in there. Everyone laughed, but I didn’t see what was so funny.

‘Well done, Solomon,’ said the headmaster. He was leaning on the piano, so I ran back and touched noses with him, and the children laughed and laughed.

Ellen’s eyes were sparkling as she started to play again, and everyone sang lustily, a song about a figgy pudding.

‘Eee,’ said Pam, as we all walked home under the stars. ‘That were the best night I’ve had in years. And that cat was the star of the show.’

The following morning Ellen’s mobile phone kept ringing; and I noticed she was smiling a lot and singing the ‘figgy pudding’ song as she worked. She and John had decorated a small Christmas tree and the baubles fascinated me. I sat looking at a pink one, intrigued to see a tiny cat inside it who looked like me.

‘That’s you, Solomon,’ said John, and he appeared beside the cat in the bauble. ‘And me. It’s a reflection.’

I stared at it, and when I moved the tiny cat moved too, and I could see Ellen in there hanging decorations in the window– paper snowflakes that she and John had made together. I patted the bauble with my paw, hoping to get it down on the floor and chase it. But Ellen spoke to me, firmly.

‘No, Solomon, please don’t play with the Christmas tree,’ and I meowed back and sat still to show her I understood.

‘It’s a good thing Jessica isn’t here,’ said John. ‘She’d trash it, wouldn’t she Mummy?’

I looked sadly at Jessica’s photograph. A year had passed and I still missed her so much.

I moved round to inspect the reflections on the other side of the bauble; the trees in the copse, the caravans, the entrance gate, all in miniature. Isaac’s shiny black car was arriving. He came so often now that I knew the sound of his car. I jumped down and ran to the door with my tail up.

Ellen looked pleased, and so did John.

We all ran out to meet Isaac, who got out of the car a bit sheepishly, with the biggest bunch of flowers I’d ever seen. Pink and red, yellow and white, inside a cone of crackly cellophane which Jessica would have loved.

Ellen’s cheeks glowed as Isaac thrust the bouquet into her hands. I noticed she had done her hair nicely, tied back with a floaty red scarf, and her eyes were alive again, the way they had been when she was a child.

‘WOW. Are those for me, Isaac?’ she asked.

‘They’re from all of us at the school, to say thank you,’ Isaac said. He hesitated, then leaned forward and gave Ellen a kiss on her cheek. ‘And that’s a warm thank you from me, my dear. We all enjoyed your playing so much. It wasmarvellous.’

And when he said the word‘marvellous’ in his rumbly voice, something amazing happened which only I could see. An angel appeared in a flare of gold, a new angel who I’d never seen before. Her robe fizzed with points of light and it swirled around Ellen and Isaac, wrapping them in stars. It electrified my fur from headto tail as it swished over me. I looked at John. Had he seen it too? His eyes were full of its light, but he stayed silent, and I could read his thoughts. He did see it, but he wasn’t going to say so.

‘These are wonderful flowers.’ Ellen buried her face in them. ‘The perfume! And the colours! I … I’ve never had such a bouquet.’

Isaac smiled, looking down at her, his eyes radiating kindness.

‘The first of many, I hope,’ he said, and rubbed his chunky hands together. ‘Brr, it’s cold. I’ll be glad to get in by the fire. Is your little stove going?’

‘Not yet.’ Ellen said. ‘I had trouble lighting it this morning.’

‘I’ll do it for you … in return for a coffee,’ said Isaac eagerly.

‘And will you make a Lego model with me?’ John asked. ‘Please?’

‘When I’ve lit the fire … if that’s OK with your mum.’

‘That would be brilliant,’ said Ellen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

I glanced across at Pam’s caravan and she was watching out of her window with a big smile on her face. She stuck her thumbs up and winked at me. Isaac sat on the floor with the stove doors open, twisting bits of newspaper and popping them in around the kindling. He lit a match and sat there blowing and twiddling paper until orange flames were roaring up the flue. I rubbed myself against him, purring, walking round and round him, over his lap and stretching up to kiss his nose and feel his beard brushing my whiskers.

I buzzed with excitement when Ellen gave me the crackly cellophane from the flowers. She put it on the floor and I pounced and skidded and scrunched it. I wanted to hear Isaac laugh, and he did, and the caravan shook with his happy laughter. His eyes crinkled and his face went red, and Ellen and John were laughing at me too.

We had a great afternoon. John settled down with his Lego and Ellen sat peacefully talking to Isaac. He did a lot of attentive listening, and I could see him looking at the ballet shoes hanging on the wall. When he stood up to go home, he touched the pink silk ribbon with one finger.

‘Who’s the dancer?’ he asked.

Ellen blushed.‘Me,’ she said. ‘I used to do ballet. I loved it. Ballet and music were … were my passion.’

Isaac looked down at her with deepening interest.

‘Well,’ he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Slowly he put his hand into his pocket and took out a glossy leaflet. ‘It so happens that this came through my door today. It’s the Hall for Cornwall programme in Truro. Have you been there?’

‘No. Never,’ said Ellen. ‘We couldn’t possibly afford to go.’

‘They’re doing a ballet.Swan Lake. I… don’t suppose you’d like to come with me, would you Ellen?’

Ellen stared at him, her mouth open, her eyes full of light.

‘I’d love to,’ she whispered, and looked at John. ‘But …’

I rubbed against Isaac’s legs to show my approval, and John said, ‘You go Mummy. Pam will look after me, and Solomon.’

‘I’ll fetch you, and bring you home,’ said Isaac, ‘and I can pay for the tickets. It would be my pleasure to take you.’

I had to meow at Ellen twice before she said,‘Yes … yes, I’d love that Isaac.’

‘Right.’ Isaac got up and put on his duffel coat. ‘I shall go home now and book them this instant.’

The minute he’d gone, Pam came bustling over.

‘Eee,’ she said, ‘look at them flowers.’

‘He’s invited me to the ballet, at the Hall for Cornwall in Truro,’ said Ellen.

‘Eee …’ Pam sat down and I saw tears in her eyes. She leaned forward and whispered, ‘I reckon Isaac Mead fancies you, Ellen.’

Ellen went red.‘Maybe he does,’ she said.

‘He’s a lovely man,’ said Pam, ‘a lovely man, and so lonely since his wife died. He’s all on his own in that big farmhouse like a pea in a drum.’

‘But Pam …’ said Ellen. ‘What am I going to wear?’

‘He won’t care,’ said Pam. ‘He’ll probably turn up in his old duffel coat. Anyway, you are going, aren’t you? And you know I’ll look after John and Solomon.’

‘Thanks Pam, you’re a star.’

It was the first of many times when Isaac came and took Ellen out, and I watched her slowly coming alive again, singing and making things, and reading stories to John. And I enjoyed the evenings with Pam. It seemed that everything had come right for me, if only Jessica had been there to share the cosy life we now had.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_13]

THE DIARY OF A STAR CAT

I only had one terrible fear in my life. The cat basket. There were bad memories of being taken away from Jessica that day. How it felt to be imprisoned, to have to fight so fiercely for my freedom, had left scars in my mind. One day Ellen tried to take me to the vet, and when I saw that cat basket I ran away and hid in the same old badger hole. I stayed there all day until dark and I heard the anxiety in Ellen’s voice as she called me, banging my dish with a spoon. So I went home to a warm welcome, and the cat basket was nowhere to be seen.

The next day Abby the vet came to see me and gave me what she called a booster jab.

‘How old is he now?’ she asked, stroking me under my chin.

‘He must be seven,’ said Ellen. ‘I don’t know why he’s got those grey hairs round his face. Seven isn’t old for a cat, is it?’

‘It’s middle age,’ said Abby. ‘But don’t forget Solomon went through a major trauma and it may be that he’ll age quicker.’

‘And we don’t know what happened,’ said Ellen, ‘or what he’d been through when he was a kitten. And I do think he’s still grieving for Jessica. He lies and gazes at her photograph.’

‘Well, he’s in good condition anyway,’ said Abby. ‘His coat’s beautiful.’

‘I want him to be as strong as he can,’ said Ellen. ‘We’ve got another huge change coming and I don’t want him to get upset.’

The words rang in my head. Another huge change! What could that be? I was settled now, even without Jessica my life was as good as it got. I didn’t want another upheaval. Especially if it involved Joe. Or the cat basket.

My anxiety led me to seek out refuges again. I went down the lane to see Karenza. I made friends with Pam’s dog who was smaller than me, and I was allowed into her caravan for a cuddle and a titbit. The old badger hole was my private sanctuary, and the tuft of white fur from Jessica’s coat was still there. It comforted me as I slept with my nose touching it. Inside the hole I listened to every carthat came down the lane, and if one slowed down and turned into the campsite, I was instantly awake and nervous. Was it Joe? Was it a bailiff?

One day in early summer when the copse was full of bluebells and pink campion, I heard the sound of Isaac’s car turning in. I loved Isaac, so I got up, stretched and dashed through the tall flowers and over the wall to greet him.

He was standing outside the caravan with his arms full of empty cardboard boxes. Ellen came out and he put the boxes down and gave her a big bear hug. She hugged him back and her aura glowed like a sunset.

‘I’m here,’ said Isaac, ‘and this is the best day of my life.’

‘And mine,’ Ellen said, gazing up at him.

I ran to them meowing, my tail up.

‘Here he is. Hello, Solomon,’ said Isaac, and picked me up. I purred and made a fuss of him.

‘He loves you,’ Ellen said, ‘he always comes running doesn’t he?’

In the caravan I sat on the sunny windowsill and wondered why Ellen and Isaac were taking everything down from the shelves and packing it into boxes. The kitchen china went in, then Ellen’s books and her ballet shoes. I turned to look at Jessica’s photograph, and it had gone. It was a shock. I stood in the space and meowed at Ellen.

‘Don’t worry, Solomon, Jessica’s photo is packed. It’s quite safe, darling, and you shall see it again very soon.’

Ellen had always explained stuff to me, but just lately I hadn’t been listening. With a growing sense of alarm I watched her dragging two big bags out of a cupboard and packing John’s clothes and teddies into them. When had this happened before? On that terrible day when I’d been abandoned.

Surely it wasn’t happening again!

I got more and more spooked. My fur began to bristle, and I sat stiffly, watching Isaac carrying the boxes to the car.

The caravan looked bare, as if no one lived there.

Ellen went outside, and came in with the cat basket.

I took one look at it and ran as if someone had set fire to my tail.

‘Oh no!’ I heard Ellen cry. ‘Solomon!’

I shot up my favourite ash tree in the copse and sat there hidden by the green summer leaves. Ellen and Isaac were calling for me, but I ignored them. I watched the sunlight flickering on the leaves as they moved in the breeze. I heard the scream of the seagulls flying overhead, and I remembered the shining sea.

It had been so long since I’d talked to my angel. Had I become a boring switched-off old cat? I focused on the light, remembered the silver stars, and listened beyond the wind in the trees. And from somewhere among those sounds my angel’s voice began to talk to me.

‘All is well, Solomon. You must go back,’ she said. ‘Ellen wants to take you to live with Isaac, and this is good for her and for you. You will be quite safe in the cat basket. I will watch over you. Stay calm and this time nothing will hurt you.’

‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I just can’t go inside that basket.’

‘You can, Solomon. Isaac has a lovely home where you will be free and happy. It’s time to move on.’

I clambered down from the tree, thinking about what she’d said. In my heart I wanted to be with Jessica again. I decided to go to the badger hole, one last time, and sit close to the tiny white tuft of Jessica’s fur. Then maybe I would try to go home.

Sensing a movement inside the hole as I approached, I sat down to watch. A bird was in there! A robin. I watched him hopping about and saw his head move to peck something. I heard the burr of his wings as he flew past. In his beak was Jessica’s tuft of white fur. He was going to line his nest with it.

My last link with Jessica was gone.

With my tail down I padded slowly homeward through the copse, just looking at the ground in front of me. I was tired of life, and deeply grieving, and afraid.

When I got to the caravan I was surprised to see Karenza sitting on the grass with Ellen. Normally I would have run to them with my tail up, but I couldn’t.

Ellen gave a cry,‘Oh HERE he is! Solomon …’

I didn’t go to her but crept right under the caravan into the dark and crouched there.

‘What’s wrong with him? He must be hurt, or sick,’ said Ellen, and she lay on her tummy and tried to coax me out. I felt too numb to move. ‘Please Solomon,’ she pleaded, ‘I love you so much. I won’t leave you ever again. Please come out.’

‘Let me try,’ said Karenza, and she crawled under the caravan and lay beside me. She looked into my eyes for a long time, and gently put her hands on me. I felt a warm glow from them, and I remembered that touch, how she had taken me into her bed and healed me through the night.

‘I need to spend some time with him, Ellen,’ she said. ‘Can you hang in there?’

‘OK, I’ll just sit here quietly.’

Karenza began to talk to me by telepathy, which made it so easy. The thoughts were rippling to and fro between us. Instead of lecturing me, Karenza asked me questions, deep questions that needed to be answered.

‘What is it you want to tell me, Solomon?’

‘I want to go with Ellen, but I can’t. I can’t go in that cat basket.’

‘What happened to make you so afraid?’

‘I was … kidnapped … by a family and they were going to take me to London, and call me Fred.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I … I went crazy, and hurt myself. I made my paws bleed, and my nose. I was covered in blood. I had to make them let me out.’

Karenza paused and sent me a whoosh of love from her hands. It was better than the amber velvet cushion. I sensed her tuning in to my deepest secrets.

‘That must have been hard for you, Solomon. You don’t like fighting do you? You’re such a loving cat.’

What she said, and the way she said it, gave me such peace to know that a human understood. I wanted to purr, but instead, I sort of cried like a human in little squeaks and growls, and the sound travelled right through me, carrying the pain away. Karenza stayed with me, and I saw that Ellen had crawled under the caravan too and her beautiful eyes were looking at me like two big lamps. I reached out a paw to her to show I cared.

Then Karenza asked me about Jessica, by telepathy, and I was able to tell her everything. It was such a relief. I even told her about the robin flying off with the tuft of white fur.

Each time I told her something and she listened, I felt lighter, and better. The dark space under the caravan seemed full of the haze of stardust. I began to feel like a new cat.

I purred and stretched. I kissed Ellen on the nose. Then I walked out into the sunshine and the two women crawled after me, their hands and clothes grubby from the dust. I sat on Ellen’s lap and purred while Karenza told her everything.

‘He’s a very traumatised cat,’ she said, and then added something which made me feel a whole lot better. ‘And he must never be expected to go in a cat basket again, Ellen. He can’t, and he needs you to understand that.’

Ellen was silent.

‘It’s my fault,’ she said eventually. ‘I should never have left him that time.’

‘Solomon’s forgiven you. Haven’t you, Solomon?’ said Karenza, and I purred louder, put my paws around Ellen’s neck, and gave her a cat-hug.

‘Look at him. He’s giving me so much.’ Ellen rubbed her cheek against my head. ‘But how are we going to get him down to Isaac’s place? The caravan is all locked up now and I’ve given the keys to Nick. We’ve officially moved out.’

Karenza’s eyes gleamed and she rummaged in the bag she always carried over her shoulder. It had a fabric cat on it with eyes made of tiny beads. She took out something that looked like a sock, and let me sniff it. It smelled of one of her cats.

‘This is a new kind of cat harness,’ she said. ‘He’ll be quite safe in it. And we can walk him down to Isaac’s place. That’s the natural way for a cat to travel, and he won’t be frightened at all.’

‘It’s five miles, Karenza, and look at the time.’

‘I don’t bother about time,’ said Karenza. ‘I’ll come with you, and we’ll go across the fields. I know the way. And we’ll take turns carrying Solomon if he doesn’t want to walk.’

‘That’s wonderful of you – thanks,’ said Ellen, taking the sock thing from Karenza. I let her slip it over my head and gently pull my front paws through the two arm holes. It was comfortable and I felt OK in it. Karenza clipped a long lead onto it, and I rolled around on my back, playing with it for a few moments of being silly.

Then we set off into the golden evening, walking west. We walked through bluebell woods and along lanes perfumed with clouds of white flowers, through a village and over a bridge. It was a long way.

‘He loves it,’ said Ellen. ‘He’s had his tail up all the way.’

On top of a hill we stopped for a rest, and the two women drank from bottles of water as we watched the sun going down.

‘That’s Isaac’s place.’ Ellen pointed to a huddle of buildings in the valley below. ‘It’s an old farmhouse. You’ll love it, Solomon.’

I hoped it was going to be OK.

Seeing Ellen so happy with Isaac, I was a bit jealous. They both loved me and gave me everything I needed, but I still missed Jessica. Sometimes I wanted her so much that I ached inside.

Isaac’s place was a roomy farmhouse with deep stone windowsills lined with cushions. And it had STAIRS! I did try to play on my own, and everyone encouraged me. John ran up and downstairs dragging a catnip mouse on a string, and I enjoyed that game.

Isaac had a magnificent piano and I took to lying on his lap and purring while we both soaked up the beautiful music Ellen loved to play. I grew to trust Isaac totally, and I could see that Ellen and John had a happy life with him.

The garden was a wild tangle of overgrown shrubs festooned with honeysuckle and bramble. Underneath was a network of green tunnels, used by various wild creatures. Exploring on my own was spooky, but I persevered, and one day I made an amazing discovery.

I found a gate overgrown with ivy, and beyond it was a secret path winding between tall pink foxgloves. It looked mossy and inviting, and as I sat staring at it, I suddenly felt that Jessica was with me. She would have gone straight down there. My fur started to bristle with excitement. I squeezed under the gate and trotted down the path, not knowing what I was going to find.

The grass was hot and bees were buzzing, but there was a rhythmic swishing sound. It changed suddenly to a majestic roar as the path opened onto a rocky hillside, and there before me was the sea.

Now I knew where to go to think about Jessica.

I selected a warm rock and sat on it for a long time, gazing at the blaze of sunlight on the water. I watched enormous sparkles pirouetting at the edges, dancing away and then massing together. It seemed to me that the sea was full of angels, and if I stared for long enough I would see them. I never did, but if I closed my eyes and imagined that mass of silver sparkles, I saw my own angel clearly.

Time passed. Autumn, Christmas, and spring. Another year, and then another. I lost track of how many, but I was aware that my body wasn’t quite as agile as it used to be. My legs were stiff in the mornings, and I wasn’t so good at climbing trees. But I still loved to explore and make friends with badgers and catch mice when I could be bothered.

One day when I was exploring the wild cliff-side beyond the garden, my angel told me to listen. I did, but heard only the seagulls and the wind in the bushes, and the zee-zeet of grasshoppers.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Listen deep.’

I focused on the deep dark places under the thick canopy of gorse and heather, and listened again, picking up a brittle whisper of something moving in there. Then I heard a squeak that might have been a meow, and my hackles went up. After what happened to Jessica, I didn’t want to meet a feral cat.

I sat quietly and waited.

Minutes later I heard the squeak again, and a delicate golden face peeped at me from the undergrowth. It didn’t look or feel threatening so I meowed back. A small ginger cat crept out and ran to me eagerly. She was terribly thin and her eyes looked haunted. We touched noses, and my bristling fur subsided. I lay down and she snuggled next to me. I started to lick her ginger fur to reassure her, and I could feel her bones, she was so thin. I sensed her loneliness and hunger. She didn’t seem able to talk to me, but I knew she was in trouble, so I encouraged her to follow me. I led her along the path, under the gate and into the garden, right onto the patio outside the kitchen door where Ellen had put my lunch.

I shared it with the tiny ginger cat, and she ate ravenously. When she was satisfied she sat with me on the warm stones, and washed her skinny little paws.

But when Ellen came out of the back door, the little cat’s eyes went huge and black with alarm. She took off so fast that her claws left scratch marks in the dust. She vanished into the bushes and we didn’t see her again for several days.

Then she returned, watchful and slinking, but she wouldn’t eat until Ellen put the dish further away from the house.

‘She’s a wild cat,’ Ellen said. ‘Not an old softie like you, Solomon.’

Old? Me? I suppose I was getting old now, for a cat. We’d been at Isaac’s place for years and John was a big boy now, going to school on the bus with a stack of books in his bag. He was learning to play the guitar, and he liked me to sit on his bed with him while he practised. I didn’t know exactly how old I was.

Ellen gave the little ginger cat a name, Lulu.

‘It gives her an identity,’ she said.

‘You’ll never tame a wild cat,’ said Isaac. ‘But let her come if she wants to. Poor little mite.’

But Ellen and John were determined. Every day they put out extra food for Lulu. At first they put it near the bushes where she felt safe. I spent time in the bushes with Lulu, washing her and purring, and sometimes if she felt safe she cuddled up to me and slept.

‘Why are you so scared?’ I asked her one day. ‘Ellen is kind and lovely. She’d never hurt you.’

‘I’ve never seen one of those humans before,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know what they were. They are huge and they look so scary.’

‘Where did you come from, Lulu?’ I asked.

She sighed and looked sad.

‘I was born in the bushes where you found me,’ she said. ‘And I had a mum, ginger like me, and a sister too. She was ginger and white and used to play with me. But one day our mum led us across the road because she thought we would find more to eat over there. The cars were coming so fast, savage they were. I hung back, but Mum and my sister tried to run across and they got killed. So I was left alone.’

I felt so sad for Lulu. I knew how painful it was for her.

‘You try to make friends with a human,’ I said. ‘Then you’ll have a happy life like me.’

‘I never will,’ Lulu said. ‘Never. Never.’

It was no good trying to tell her.

But Ellen had a plan.

She started sitting outside in a chair, sitting quite still, and eventually Lulu got used to her being there and came to eat from the dish Ellen put out for her. Gradually Ellen moved the dish and the chair closer together until Lulu was eating her food within touching distance. While she was eating Ellen talked to her softly, sometimes she actually sang to her, and I could see Lulu flicking her ears to listen. If Ellen moved, Lulu looked up at her and hissed like a snake.

I helped by rubbing myself around Ellen’s legs or draping myself over her lap to show Lulu it was OK. One day the dish was so close that Ellen reached down and gently rubbed Lulu’s back while she was eating. This went on for weeks and weeks, but it was Isaac who finally tamed Lulu. She couldn’t seem to resist his rumbly voice and the calm touch of his big hands. She even rolled on her back and played with his shoelaces.

Then one chilly day in autumn, Isaac gently eased his hands around Lulu and picked her up. He put her on his lap and let go. Lulu lay there, looking surprised. She looked at me and I climbed up there with her and showed her how to lie and listen to Isaac’s slow heartbeat, and she did.

John and Ellen stood motionless, watching with smiles on their faces. It was a moment of magic, and it changed Lulu’s wretched lonely life forever.

Months later, Lulu was as daft as me, rolling over and purring, and climbing on laps. I taught her everything about living in a house, and we even played on the stairs. She made a lot of mistakes, but the wonderful thing about humans is that they are so forgiving and kind.

I knew Ellen had forgiven me for not bringing Jessica back, but I had never forgiven myself. Befriending Lulu had been good for me. It was my way of saying thank you to the people who had rescued me– Karenza, and Pam, and Abby the vet. And I was grateful to Isaac for sharing his lovely home with us.

I was a lucky cat now.

The years rolled on, happy and peaceful, and then I started getting old. My bones ached, and I was stiff. I could still put my tail up, but I didn’t want to play. I didn’t go to look at the sea any more. I just wanted to lie by the fire and sleep.

One day my back legs wouldn’t work any more, and I had to drag myself around.

Abby came to see me with her vet’s bag in her hand. She picked me up and felt me all over.

‘He’s got arthritis,’ she told Ellen. ‘But he’s a very old cat now isn’t he?’

‘He’s twelve,’ said Ellen. ‘John was two when we found Solomon. He just appeared on our lawn in a thunderstorm. It was midsummer night. He was a skinny little kitten covered in car oil.’

‘Hmm.’ Abby was feeling my tummy. ‘That’s a good age for a cat. I suspect he’s got internal problems too. We might be able to do something but you’d have to bring him in.’

I looked at Ellen and she had tears in her eyes.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to put him through all that now he’s old. I’d rather just keep him here and love him and let him go.’

I looked at Ellen with gratitude. She loved me, but she was going to let me go. I was ready now. Ready to go home.

‘A wise lady,’ said Abby. ‘But call me, Ellen, if you want me to help him. You know what I mean.’

THE DIARY OF A STAR CAT

I am writing this diary again as a gift to Ellen. I want her to know where I am going.

Because today I begin my journey to the stars.

Ellen has done the right thing. She doesn’t want me to go to the vet and have surgery. She is going to love me, and let me go. Today she has put me on the amber velvet cushion in my favourite chair. She knows I can’t walk any more. My back legs are weak. She is feeding me little spoonfuls of tasty food, but I don’t really want it. Idon’t want to be in this old body any longer.

Thank goodness I can still purr. I can still open my eyes and see Ellen’s lovely face. I can hear her voice talking to me and she is saying ‘Thank you, Solomon. Thank you for being my cat. I’ll always love you.’ Some of the time Isaac is there too, and his touch on my fur is soothing and blissful. And John is there with me. He’s nearly a man now. He wants tocry over me but he won’t, so he sits beside me playing heavenly music on his guitar. He goes on playing into the night.

It is morning and Pam comes to see me, and she cries and cries. Then she tells me stories about Jessica, and the Christmas concert, and the time I visited Ellen in hospital. When she is gone Ellen tells me I am a star. A star cat. It reminds me to think about stars. I imagine the blaze of sunlight on the sea that Jessica showed me. I go to sleep and dream of the dance of silver stars and how I believed that the shining sea was full of angels, if only I could see them.

Another day and I am still on the amber velvet cushion. I’m sleeping most of the time. Today I have a surprise visitor, and it is Joe. ‘Don’t worry, Solomon,’ Ellen whispers. ‘I’m not going back with Joe. He just wants to say goodbye.’ I open my eyes. Joe looks different. He smells nice and his eyes are calm. He tells me he is sorry for theway he treated us, and I purr and reach out my paw to him to show I have forgiven him. Then I sleep on a silver bed in the silver stars that are drifting all around me.

It is night time, and only Ellen is with me, stroking and talking, and Lulu is sitting on the arm of the chair, watching me. I am glad I found Ellen another cat. I can hardly see her now because the silver stars are clustered around me. They are lifting me, like a magic carpet, and carrying me away into the blaze of light. I am floating faster and faster, but I can hear Ellen’s beautiful voice, and I am still purring.

Ellen and Lulu are like faraway pictures now. I can see the amber velvet cushion with the body of a very old black cat lying on it. I hear Ellen saying,‘Goodbye Solomon. Darling cat.’ I am flying now, through the glittering stars, there are thousands of them whizzing past me, and they are turning from silver into gold. At last, I see the angels, and I burst through the golden web as if I am a firework.

I have come safely home to the spirit world, to my idyllic valley where the grass is full of stars, and the rocks are like warmest velvet. I am a shining cat now, made of pure light, and it feels amazing. I sit up and gaze into the distance, and something is moving. A cat. Another cat. Dashing towards me with its tail up. It is a shining cat.

And it is Jessica.

2. SOLOMON’S KITTEN

Chapter One

‘FOLLOW THAT GIRL’

‘Follow that girl,’ said my angel.

The girl was crying as she hurried past me. She was staring at the ground in front of her, and clutching a white plastic bag with something heavy inside. Whatever it was, I could smell it, and it was alive. Every time she met someone, she tightened her grip on the bag and twisted past them. She seemed afraid of being stopped.

I was sitting on the garden wall under an orange street light, a good place for a cat to watch the life of the street, and catch the moths that flitted around the honeysuckle. I was a young cat, a bit nervous as I’d had a bad start to my life, and I rarely ventured outside our square of garden.

My angel’s voice buzzed through my whiskers and made my silver and white fur bush out with courage. I jumped down from the wall and ran after the crying girl. Instinct told me to do it furtively, so I crept on quiet paws through front gardens, under gates and hedges, over fences and under parked cars. I stalked the girl by listening to the tip-tap of her shoes, the sniff-sniff of her crying, and the strange animal smell that came from the big bag. It was the subtle smell of fear that told me this was important.

My silver tabby fur made perfect camouflage in the summer twilight. Only my white bits and socks gave me away. The traffic frightened me, but I kept following the girl through a maze of streets. Would I ever find my way home?

She turned into an alleyway, and paused under a lamp. She lit a fag and I could see her hands shaking as the smoke curled upwards in the orange light. She had put the bag down. I peeped round the gatepost where I was hiding. I stared at the bag on the floor.

And then it moved.

Something inside kicked and wriggled, rustling the plastic. That really spooked me. With my soft fur brushing the ground, I crept nearer. Grizzly little cries of distress were coming from inside the bag. Some kind of creature in there was lonely and desperate.

The girl responded by snatching up the bag and marching on with it.

‘Shut up,’ she hissed. ‘Just SHUT UP, will you?’

Even in the dark, her aura looked like cracked glass.

I dashed after her down a long footpath to where the streetlights ended and a white moon shone over the common, glinting on hummocks of rough grass and bramble leaves. I could smell the dogs who were walked there, and it sharpened my awareness. Scared now, I hid in the long grass and watched the girl’s shadow. There was danger. A tang of water, a sound that rushed and babbled through the night, a sense of mysterious river creatures who lived there and emerged when it was dark. I could see the glimmer of water, and the arch of a high bridge. Horrified, I watched the girl walk over it, andstop right in the middle. She opened the plastic bag.

I knew what she was going to do, and I remembered how it felt to a living creature to be tipped out like rubbish. I ran closer, and sat majestically on the path, staring at her, using my cat power and meowing.

The girl turned and saw me. Then her crying started again in loud sobs.

‘I can’t do this,’ she howled, and came down from the bridge, hunched over with the crying, the bag clutched against her body. Nearby was an elder tree growing out of a wall, and she disappeared under the shadow of its branches.

Minutes later, she emerged without the bag, her arms wrapped around herself as if every bone in her body was hurting.

‘Fluff your fur,’ said my angel, ‘put your tail up and run to meet her.’

So I did. It wasn’t difficult. I knew how appealing I would look, a silver and white cat with long fur and golden eyes that shone in the moonlight. Like a spirit cat.

We met on the path and I gazed up at her and meowed in a friendly way. She froze. Then she reached down and stroked me. I patted the gold and silver bangles that jangled round her wrist. I sniffed her finger, and it had that smell on it, the salty tang of something newly born.

‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Magic puss cat.’

I liked that name. Better than‘Fuzzball’, which is what my human had called me. I mean – Fuzzball? – for me, the Queen of Cats! And I liked the way the girl looked so deeply into my eyes. I looked into hers, and what I saw was pure beauty ensnared in suffering, like a lacewing caught in a spider’s web.

‘Remember her,’ said my angel softly. ‘One day, you will need to find her again.’

So I kept staring, fixing the essence of her soul into mine. No matter how much she changed her hair and clothes, I would still know her by the blend of pain and magic in her eyes.

‘Don’t follow me,’ she said, moving on restlessly, her heartbeat loud, her tears glinting in the moonlight. I jumped onto the wall and ran along beside her with my tail up. I meowed until she stopped again and turned her face up to me. We touched noses. I had bonded with her.

‘Don’t follow me, magic puss cat,’ she said again. ‘If you knew what I’d done, you wouldn’t want to know me. Don’t follow me, I’m BAD NEWS. Evil. That’s what I am.’

I purred and purred, pouring my love into her and my purring was a stream of healing stars. Weaving to and fro, I rubbed my whole body against her crying face until she smiled just a little and told me her name.

‘TammyLee.’

Fascinated, I listened to the rhythm of the name. I patted the gold bead in the side of her nose, and played with a wisp of her hair. TammyLee. I didn’t care what evil she had done. In that moment, my job was to love.

We ran on together through the night, me on the wall and she on the path, and we were wishing I could be her cat. But when we reached the orange streetlights again, a change came over TammyLee. She stopped crying, lifted her head, and began marching along with her shoes clonking. Her aura hardened to a shell and I noticed a man walking rapidly towards her.

‘Where the hell have you been, TammyLee?’ he asked.

She shrugged.

‘Nowhere, Dad. Don’t FUSS.’

‘We’ve been worried sick. You’ve got school in the morning, my girl.’

‘Who cares?’

‘We do. You rushed out of the house complaining of stomach pains, then you disappear for FOUR hours. Why was your mobile switched off? Your mum is getting herself in such a state worrying about you, and it doesn’t help her illness, does it? And I don’t need to be out here combing the streets all hours of the night, TammyLee. You’re only fourteen, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I’m fourteen and I need a LIFE,’ TammyLee shouted.

‘Don’t you get bolshy with me, my girl.’

‘I’m not being bolshy, Dad. I’m upset.’

‘What about?’

‘STUFF.’

‘What stuff?’

‘Stuff you don’t understand.’ TammyLee turned and marched off, her face set like a doll. ‘OK, OK, I’m going home.’

I hesitated. I wanted to follow, but instead I watched the man walk after her, muttering something about teenagers. He looked bewildered and he didn’t give me a passing glance.

I sat on the wall, thinking, as I watched them go down the street. I was a lucky cat. I had a decent home with an old lady, even if she did call me Fuzzball. She fed me and fussed over me, I was safe there, and I was free. Right now, I loved being out in the moonlight, so, yes, I was going to see what was in that bag. I could feel it drawing me, calling to me.

Wild creatures lived on the common; foxes, rats, stoats and weasels. And crows. Something in that bag was alive, and I had to get to it before they did. With my tail looped and my ears flat, I bolted back across the common, and when I came close to the elder tree growing out of the wall, I was spooked and flattened myself against the ground.

The bag gleamed white against the tree trunk. It was wide open. I stalked it on quiet paws, my whiskers twitching, my fur stiff with nervousness. I peeped in, and drew back, shocked.

A baby. A human baby was in there. Very tiny, red-faced, with its little fists waving. It was cold, and hungry. What could I do?

I eased myself into the bag and covered the baby’s body with my warm fur and my purring. I would keep him warm, show him that someone cared. I would stay there until morning, until someone came.

I settled down to wait until dawn, my warm body spread out like a rug over the tiny baby, and I could feel his warmth under me, the rapid pulsing of his heart. Carefully leaving a space for him to breathe, I shut my eyes and purred, glad to be helping this new little being.

For I knew only too well how it felt to be abandoned.

Before I came to this planet, I lived in the spirit world, and I was a shining cat.

Shining cats are the souls of real cats, living in the spirit world between lifetimes. Some call the spirit world heaven, and in a way it is. It’s peaceful and warm, full of colours and music, and we don’t have to worry about physical bodies. There’s no illness or hunger, no fleas or trips to the vet, and no arguments. We communicate by telepathy, which is easy and quick. And we get to work with the angels and that gives us a real buzz.

In the spirit world I still looked like a cat, but I was very light, like thistledown, and my face was surrounded by a halo of gold and silver, like fur, but made of light. I was a very important cat. I sat majestically on a violet cushion, and all the shining cats in the spirit world would gather around me for communal purring sessions that sent ripples across the universe.

I was the Queen of Cats.

I only agreed to be born again on earth because no other cat would go. The task was to experience abandonment, and then to help reunite an abandoned child with its mother. It sounded impossible, which is why I thought I could do it. No problem. And I had an angel, a new one who introduced herself as the Angel of Secrets.

She was clear as glass and her robe rustled with stars of turquoise, emerald and lime. Camouflage, she said, to blend with the colours of earth’s oceans and forests.

‘When you are on earth, I will always be with you,’ she said in a voice that tinkled like bells. ‘But my colours and my transparency will help me to hide, and you must remember that and work hard to see me. My voice will blend with the sound of rain, and the wind in the leaves, so you must listen for me, and not get distracted by the cacophony of noise that humans manage to create.’

When it was time for me to be born as an earth kitten, I was nervous about whizzing through the star gates, having to let go and burst through the golden web. I didn’t feel I could do it. So my angel led me through a beautiful land where shining cats and dogs were playing and resting, and eventually, we arrived at the foot of the rainbow bridge, which was awesome.

‘Choose a colour,’ she said, ‘and you can just walk over with your tail up.’

I hesitated, staring up at the arched bridge of glowing colours. I sat and watched it for a while, reassured to see other cats, and dogs, trotting over confidently, some going, some arriving. All of them were quiet and peaceful.

‘Once you start, you can’t go back,’ my angel explained, ‘so take your time, and all will be well. Trust me, I’m an angel.’

Still I hesitated, and she said,‘Why not choose pink? It’s the colour of love. You can’t go wrong with that.’

I put one shining paw into the pink light, and before I knew it, I was walking, tail up, higher and higher over the rainbow bridge. Easy! Over the top, and there in the distance, far below me was Planet Earth. I wanted to cry because she looked utterly delicate and complex, her colours magical. Electric blues, rich greens, lemon and lots of white.

But as I reached the summit, my angel swirled past me with a whoosh of her wings. Shocked, I watched her disappear, her colours shimmering as she dissolved and became one with the landscapes of Planet Earth. I couldn’t stop now. I was racing, sliding down the other side of the rainbow bridge; it took my breath away; even though I knew how it would happen, I was still terrified.

I didn’t want my fabulous spirit to be put inside a tiny wriggling earth kitten. I wanted to go back and be the Queen of Cats for ever. But it was too late. Being born was such a let-down. I should have been loved – and I wasn’t!

I was born under someone’s bed, right next to a smelly pair of slippers. And my mother didn’t like me. The minute I was born, she gave me a draconian swipe with her paw, knocking my small wet head sideways. I was blind, but I sensed her anger as I struggled to breathe. She was blaming me for getting stuck and causing her pain. Weak and shocked, I lay there on my own, getting colder and colder.

A man’s voice made me jump.

‘Ellen!’ he was shouting. ‘Guess what THAT CAT’S DONE NOW!’

‘What?’

‘She’s had a bunch of kittens under the bed.’

‘Oh, Jessica!’

Ellen’s voice was lovely. I heard her come and look under the bed. ‘Oh, the little darlings,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t be cross with her, Joe. We can take them downstairs in a basket. Aw, look at them feeding. Aren’t you a clever girl, Jessica?’

I was cold and starving so I squeaked and squeaked until Ellen noticed me, and I felt her hand round me.

‘What about this one, Jessica?’ She put me down close to my two purring guzzling brothers, and gently pushed my face into my mother’s fur. ‘No, don’t growl at her, Jessica. She’s beautiful. Silver tabby with long fur and she’s got pink paws like you. Come on, you’ve got to feed her.’

I found a nipple and sucked like mad until the warm sweet milk filled my mouth and mother finally relaxed and let me have it while Ellen stayed close, encouraging her. I got the feeling that Jessica was rebellious but she would do anything for Ellen. So I was fed. But Jessica never liked me. She always left me until last, lavishing attention on my two brothers, and she would bop me when Ellen wasn’t there. Twice we were put in a nice basket and carried downstairs, and both times Jessica carried us back, one by one, holding us by the scruff. When it was my turn, she wasn’t careful. She banged me all up the stairs.

On that day, before our eyes were open, there was a lot of shouting and crying in the house, and we all lay there shivering, cuddling close and wondering what was going to happen. What kind of home had we come into so trustingly?

At the end of the day, I heard this amazing loud purring, and sensed a huge male cat very close, looking at us, sniffing us. He was loving and kind, I knew that, but my mother still growled at him until he backed off. Once our eyes were open, I saw him. He was black with a white chest and paws, long white whiskers and concerned peagreen eyes. His aura was massive and shining. My dad! Solomon.

I settled down, thinking I had decent parents and a warm safe home, even if there was a lot of shouting. The three of us grew up under the bed, learning to crawl, to put our tails up and to play. We got used to Ellen and her little boy, John, picking us up. In fact, we loved it. They were so warm and kind and stroked our fur and talked to us.

Until one terrible day that I will never forget.

We were four weeks old and just learning to lap Kitty Milk from a dish. Jessica was a strict mother. She bopped us if we put our feet in it, and she diligently kept us immaculate, always leaving me until last. Sometimes our dad Solomon would come and wash me, and purr with me and tell me stuff by telepathy.

On that day, the house shook like thunder, and two strange men plodded in and out, moving furniture, sliding and scraping and bumping it down the stairs. Then Joe came in with a basket in his hand. He put it down on the bedroom floor and reached under the bed where we were cuddled together against our mother’s warm body.

‘Sorry about this, Jessica,’ he said, and picked us up one by one with his big hand and dumped us inside the basket. I saw my mother’s anxious eyes as she came after us, and that was the last time I ever saw her dear black and white face. She cried and cried as Joe clipped the basket shut. He slammed the bedroom door and we heard Jessica’s echoing wail of despair, and her paws scrabbling to get out.

We huddled together and clung on with our tiny paws as he bounded down the stairs swinging the basket.

‘There’s nothing to cry about,’ he said to Ellen and John, ‘so stop your snivelling. We’ve got more to worry about than a bunch of kittens.’

He took us outside, and that was the first time I saw the sky and smelled the lawn. A bird was singing high up in one of the trees, and women and children were walking past with pushchairs. No one seemed to care about us, three kittens suddenly wrenched away from their mother. Jessica was at the window, crying and crying, clawing at the glass with her pink paws.

‘You will take them to the Cat Sanctuary, won’t you?’ said Ellen to Joe.

‘Course I will. Stop fussing.’ Joe swung the basket into a car and another door was banged in our faces. Seriously worried now, we were climbing all over the inside of the basket, desperately seeking a crack or a hole through which we could escape.

The inside of the car smelled of beer and socks. It squealed and rattled as Joe drove us away from our home and our mother, away from Solomon, away from Ellen and John. We travelled fast, the basket lurching as the car hurtled round corners. We grew hot with fear and exhausted by our efforts to escape.

‘Nearly there, guys,’ said Joe. He hauled the car around a sharp bend and slowed down. ‘Here we are. Cat Sanctuary.’

He turned the engine off, and there was only the sound of our three baby voices crying and crying for our mother cat. Joe swung the basket out of the car and walked towards a pair of high wire gates. He stopped in front of them, looking at a notice board.

And then he exploded.

‘SHIT,’ he bellowed. ‘They’re shitting CLOSED.’

He kicked at the wire gates. He put the basket down and rattled the gates with both hands.

‘What’s the good of a cat sanctuary that’s CLOSED!’ he roared. ‘Well, you’ll have to go somewhere. I’ve gotta get back. I can’t be doing with a bunch of wailing cats.’

He flung our basket into the hedge. Then he got back into the car, reversed it and roared off, filling the lane with black smoke and a storm of gravel.

And he left us there, three terrified kittens cowering in a corner of the basket.

Minutes later, the car came racing back and skidded to a halt. Joe got out, swigging beer from a can. Still swearing, he seized our basket, opened it and tipped us out like rubbish into the long wet grass.

Chapter Two

A BAD CAT

I learned a lot during those lonely hours in the hedge.

My brothers were both black; they were mates and didn’t care about me, so I followed them as they crawled deep into the hedge. We had to keep each other warm. We found a dry twiggy hollow at the roots of a hawthorn tree and pressed close together. Hungry and tired, we slept, and when we woke, nothing had changed except the sunlight, which was nowa brassy pink. We’d grown up under a bed, and we hadn’t learned about day and night, earth and sky, sun and rain.

Soon we were starving. We spent the night creeping about, not far away from each other, tasting anything we could find; worms, slugs, beetles, all disgusting and too tough for our delicate new teeth. We licked raindrops from the leaves and blades of grass, and we did a lot of meowing, hoping our mother would come and find us.

I tried to see my angel, but I was too little to remember how. Her voice whispered to me, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.

‘Your mother is far away,’ she said. ‘Jessica and Solomon were put in the basket and taken away, hundreds of miles. You won’t see them again in this lifetime.’

But she coaxed me out in the morning to feel the sun on my fur, and this time my brothers followed me. We sat at the edge of the lane on hot stones, and the sun’s warmth was a new and healing experience for us. The sound of a dog barking sent us scurrying back to our twiggy hollow. I’d never seen a real dog and, curious, I crawled out on my own through the narrow grass tunnel we’d made.

I peeped, and immediately regretted it. Towering over me was a very stiff black Labrador with such a tail, wagging up in the sky. Its ears were up and its brown eyes were staring at me. It gave a soft huffy sort of woof and its hot breath gusted over me. Too petrified to move, I stared back and we had a telepathic exchange. She was an old dog, wise and kindly; she wanted to tell me something, and she wanted to ask me a question. Her eyes were puzzled, as if she knew I shouldn’t be there.

‘Come on, Harriet. Whatever it is, leave it. I said LEAVE IT,’ called a voice from further down the lane.

Harriet gave an apologetic shrug, turned and trotted off, looking back at me just once, her paw in the air.

‘LEAVE IT,’ shouted the voice again. I was trembling with shock at my first encounter with a dog. The overwhelming smell of her, the thickness of her legs, the way she went stiff when she saw me. And yet, tiny as I was, I had a sudden sense of power. I was a CAT. Well, almost.

Two more days and nights passed. We kept each other warm, but we were getting weaker and more depressed. We’d given up meowing; it took too much energy. Worse than that was the emotional pain. That feeling of being dumped in the hedge like rubbish never left me in my whole life, but weaved and wandered through my aura in strands of anger and sorrow. We should have been normal happy little cats, but already, at four weeks old, our confidence was damaged, our sense of self-worth shaken. And we didn’t have our mother to teach us how to live.

I wondered if Jessica ever got over losing us, even me.

On our third day in the hedge, something terrifying happened.

We were sleeping, heaped together in a mound of fur, in a round nest we had made in the grass, when I woke up suddenly. The Labrador, Harriet, was looming over us, puffing and sniffing, a long pink tongue flopping from her mouth. I caught the smell and the gleam of her teeth set in pink and black shiny gums, and the look of thoughtfulness in her eyes as she reached down to me. Before I could move, she had opened her jaws and picked me up by the scruff.

I squealed and screeched. My heart lurched into a stream of beats. I tried to kick and scratch but she had me so tightly, stretching my skin so that my tiny legs splayed out and wouldn’t move. I hung there, hardly able to breathe, and the dog lifted me high in the air and walked off with me.

‘I can’t survive this. I can’t,’ I thought, panicking. But Harriet was plodding down the lane with me. She wasn’t going to put me down. I kept my baby-blue eyes wide open, and floating alongside us were splinters of coloured light, stars of turquoise, emerald and lime. My angel! My angel was there, escorting us in cloaks of light, and in total silence. The Angel of Secrets.

After that, I calmed down and let it happen. Harriet wasn’t eating me. She was taking me somewhere, the only way she knew how, in her mouth. An extraordinary thought dawned in me: this was a dog, a dear old dog who wanted to mother me.

She broke into a trot, and I was swinging, like it was when Jessica had carried me upstairs. I could see the dog’s tail wagging faster and faster. We reached a wicket gate in the hedge, and Harriet shoved it open with her paw, being careful not to bump me. She took me up a garden path and in through an open door.

‘Oh, Harriet! What have you got?’

A woman was sitting there on a cosy sofa. Harriet’s tail dropped and only the tip of it wagged apologetically as she gently put me down in the woman’s lap. I lay there in total shock. The woman’s lap smelled of bread and flowers. She gasped.

‘A KITTEN!’

I sat there, disorientated.

‘Where did you get that from?’ she asked Harriet loudly. And immediately the dog turned around and bounded out, her tail wagging madly. She turned the corner on one leg and galloped up the lane.

‘What a little beauty you are,’ whispered the woman. She cupped me gently in a pair of weathered hands, and I could have cried. The way she looked at me with such tenderness. Someone wanted me. I wasn’t rubbish. The dog hadn’t hurt me.

Minutes later, Harriet came back through the door, her tail bang banging against the wood, and in her mouth was one of my brothers. She did the same again. Put the traumatised kitten down next to me and charged out again to fetch the other one.

‘That dog!’ Tears were running down the woman’s face. ‘That dog is a miracle. A miracle.’

But this time the dog returned with a puzzled expression on her face, and she hadn’t got my brother. He was the all-black one, the biggest and bravest of us three kittens.

I never saw him again.

I’d have liked to stay in the cottage and cuddled up to Harriet for the rest of my life, but it wasn’t to be. A few days later, well fed and rested, we were put in another basket and taken, gently this time, to a Cat Rescue Centre, to await adoption.

I wanted to go with my brother. He was all I had. But the first person to look at us fell in love with me straight away. Her name was Gretel. I gazed up at her wrinkled face which was covered in powder, and her expectant eyes under blue-painted lids. Two tantalising pearls dangled from her ears and there was a halo of silvery hair. She pursed her red-painted lips, then opened her mouth very wide.

‘Oh, what a pretty kitten. Aren’t you a little poppet?’ she crooned, and picked me up as if I was made of gold. She held me against her pale pink sweater, and I managed to keep still, smelling her perfume and watching those earrings. Aware that my silver and white fur was exquisitely soft, my paws had pink pads, I knew I was beautiful, but I wasn’t sure if this was right for me. Was I good enough for Gretel?

I didn’t exactly have a choice.

Gretel looked at me silently for a moment, and then said,‘You are a darling, darling little Fuzzball.’ I hoped that wasn’t going to be my name, but then she turned to the cat lady and said, ‘Can I have her? She’s definitely THE ONE.’

I wanted to say goodbye to my brother, my only family now, but I was whisked into a luxurious carrier with pink fluff. A lot of fuss was going on. People saying,‘Oh, you are a lucky kitten,’ and shuffling about with papers while I sat in there, lonely, and wanting my mother. I even wanted Harriet. We had spent a couple of nights cuddled up to the big dog who seemed to love us. She was warm and peaceful, her heartbeat so steady and slow. She’d even let us play with her silky ears and the tip of her tail. It helped me to make a decision: I wanted a dog in my life. A dog was a solid reliable friend.

Gretel was OK, but I was uneasy. Had I made the right decision? And I definitely didn’t want to be called FUZZBALL.

Gretel’s bungalow was fine. Warm and sweet-smelling, with soft carpets, a furlined cat bed with a roof, and a puss-flap leading to a sunny patio and a square of lawn. I should have been happy there, but I wasn’t. It was lonely, even though Gretel made a fuss of me. She wanted me to be good.

I wasn’t good. I was a BAD CAT.

My dad, Solomon, was the most saintly cat, and I wished he were there to teach me the mysteries and illogical rules about living with humans.

The first issue was the litter tray. I knew how to use it, but I didn’t think it right to use it a second time. It was more creative to find some paper and make my own. I shredded a copy of the Damart catalogue before Gretel had read it, and she went ballistic.

‘You wretched cat. Look at this STINKING mess. You’re a bad girl. BAD GIRL,’ and she grabbed my scruff like Jessica would have done and shook me. I was hurt and puzzled. It had been fun shredding the paper and making myself a luxurious heap behind the sofa and, when I’d used it, I’d carefully raked it up and covered it over. Problem solved.

I quickly became a compulsive paper shredder as I grew bigger. My new claws had to be kept sharp and it was a good workout. Gretel used to go out and shut the kitchen door so I couldn’t go out through the puss-flap, and she’d always left a magazine somewhere, by her bed or on a chair.

Next, I discovered the postman. I learned what time he came and recognised his footsteps. Or I’d sit in the window, watching him pushing his trolley down the street, getting more and more excited as he approached. Once he was on the path, I shot into the hall and waited, tingling, by the front door. There were always catalogues in plastic that landed with a slap, but if they were heavy I ignored them. What I liked were the paper letters, especially the brown ones, which made a succulent tearing noise. In one part of my mind, I was being a lion ripping skin from its prey, and in another way, I was being creative and pragmatic while Gretel was out.

One morning, she came in the back door with her shopping bags and I ran to meet her like a cat should. She sat down and took me onto her lap, and I learned how to give her healing. She had pain in her joints; they used to glow in her aura like hotspots. I draped myself over her knees or up on her shoulder and practised the art of purring, which I had brought with me from the spirit world. It was a vibration that generated streams of minute stars that only I could see. But Gretel felt it. I knew she did.

‘Oh, you are a darling cat. You’re so good for me,’ she said as we relaxed together. But as soon as she got up and went into the hall, it all changed.

‘You BAD CAT,’ she shouted when she saw the heaps of shredded paper I was so proud of. ‘My LETTERS! You’ve ruined them.’

She seized me in angry hands and held me up so that my face was close to hers, and hissed at me like a mother cat.‘WHAT am I going to DO with you, Fuzzball, eh?’

I hated being treated like that. I flattened my ears and lashed my tail. After all that healing, Gretel was abusing me! I kicked out with my back legs, and my claws were out. They caught in her clothes and scratched her neck.

‘You little demon,’ she snarled and dropped me. I mean – dropped me, not put me down nicely. Unprepared, I twisted and landed awkwardly. Stunned, I crouched there, looking up at her, hoping she’d apologise, pick me up and make peace with me. Instead, she clapped her hands right in my ear and I ran away, through the puss-flap and into the garden. It was lovely sunshine, but I sat in the dark underneath the decking and licked myself miserably. I was trembling inside with a mixture of fear and anger. What had I done? How could Gretel change so quickly from sweetness to rage?

I’d never felt so alone. I wanted my parents and my brothers to guide and comfort me. I wanted a dog like Harriet. I wanted a nice name, a beautiful romantic name suitable for a silver and white tabby who had come here to heal. My life wasn’t working out the way I’d planned.

Then I remembered my angel. It was a long time since I’d talked to her, and I’d never really learned how to see her on this planet. Where was she?

A cloud blew over the sun, the garden darkened and rain spattered down, splashing the leaves with drops. It dripped through cracks in the decking and I shrank back against the wall, feeling worse.

The storm was soon over and the sun shone out again, making everything glisten, and tempting me out to feel it on my fur. I sat on the path and stared out at a bright raindrop hanging from a leaf. The sunlight was turning it into a blazing star, so bright I squinted my eyes to look at it, and it started turning pink, then gold, then blue. As I turned my head sideways, the rays of light revolved like the spokes of a wheel.

Mesmerised, I focused on the centre where the rays of pink, gold and blue converged, and with my daydream came a memory from the spirit world. That magic dot in the centre was the point of infinity. In my mind, I could go through it, into the land of spirit. Ignoring everything else around me, ignoring my hurt feelings, I concentrated on it. I zoomed in, slipped through it into a place of light.

And there, waiting for me, was my fantastic angel. The Angel of Secrets. Her colours were those of a dragonfly in the sun, her face was the happiest beaming smile, welcoming me. Just seeing her gave me courage.

‘It’s all going wrong, living with Gretel,’ I confided. ‘She’s so angry with me for being a cat.’

‘I know, I know. I see it all,’ my angel said, and she wrapped her light around me. I nestled into the sparkles, and listened.

‘It’s a time of learning,’ she explained. ‘You are a young cat with no mother to teach you. Gretel is teaching you how to live with humans. If you don’t learn this, you will suffer all your life.’

‘But why can’t she teach me nicely?’ I asked.

‘She doesn’t know how. She’s a human. She has stuff to learn too.’

‘But why am I a bad cat?’

My angel threw an extra whoosh of stars around me, warming my soul.‘You’re not a bad cat. There are no bad cats. You must forgive Gretel. She doesn’t know a better way, and she was treated unkindly by her family. When she is fierce, she is afraid.’

I cuddled into the warmth of her aura as if it were a cushion.

‘Your mother, Jessica, was a very creative cat. She did all the things you are doing now and got punished and called a demon for it. But she was loyal and courageous too.’

‘But this isn’t how my life is meant to be,’ I said. ‘I’m not meant to be with Gretel, am I? And I’m not “Fuzzball”.’ I flicked my tail in frustration.

‘You are an earth kitten. All young earthlings must go through a time of learning, and if you don’t learn, you can’t move on,’ said my angel. ‘So learn! Learn what Gretel is trying to teach you. We have work for you.’

She melted back into the light, leaving me realising I was staring at a sparkle on a raindrop. I sat thinking about how to please Gretel. Catch a mouse and present it to her? Or that robin who was tugging a worm out of the lawn. He’d make a nice gift for Gretel.

I stalked him, and pounced, but he flew up, muttering, and swore at me from the rooftop. And he’d lost his worm.

Full of energy and frustration, I rioted in the garden, rehearsing pounces and charges, and playing wildly with a soft ball Gretel had hung from a string for me. Then I heard laughter, and she came out and sat by the lily pond, watching me.

‘You must forgive Gretel,’ the angel had said, so I gave it a go, rubbing my silky fur against her legs and smiling up at her. I gazed right into her soul and saw that she did need forgiveness and lots of it. Behind that powdered exterior was a person who carried a burden and didn’t know how to let go of it.

‘Oh, Fuzzball. Come on then.’ She patted her lap and I jumped up and made a fuss of her, kissing and purring and kneading her with soft paws. ‘You’ve forgiven me,’ she said, and we were friends again. Phew!

But it didn’t end there. The same thing happened repeatedly through the autumn as I tried to understand what I did to make Gretel lose her temper and call me a demon. It came to a head just before Christmas.

I was almost fully grown but still loving to play. One dark afternoon, Gretel came home with a tree. A spiky fir tree in a red pot. I was sleepy, curled up in a chair, but I sat up to watch what she was doing. She opened a box full of shiny baubles and funny little creatures on loops of string, and she hung them all over the tree.

‘There. Our Christmas tree, Fuzzball. Isn’t it pretty?’

She switched on some lights and the tree twinkled like magic. We sat in the dark admiring it. The tree was hypnotic. I couldn’t stop looking and longing to leap up and play with all those things. There was a miniature white teddy bear with a bobble hat, there was a fat little man in a red coat and his face looked so real. It had glittery eyes. There was a skinny fairy right at the top, looking very serious. And, hey, there was a BIRD on the tree, a robin like the one in the garden. He looked at me cheekily, but was he real? I couldn’t work it out.

I jumped down and stalked round the tree, looking at that robin from all angles. The shiny baubles attracted me too and I sat in front of one, fascinated to see a tiny cat inside, a cat that moved when I moved. There was a room in there with a window and a fire burning. Could it be a mirror? I peered behind it, but it was perfectly round, a ball on a string. Gretel must have hung it there for me to play with. I patted it experimentally, and the whole tree shivered and shook and glittered in new places.

‘NO,’ said Gretel in that warning kind of voice I hated.

I looked at her and her aura had spikes.

‘Fuzzball! NO. You are not to play with the Christmas tree.’

By now, I knew what NO meant. My back and tail twitched with irritation. Didn’t cats have any rights? Why couldn’t I play and be joyful? Turning my back on Gretel, I sat in the doorway pretending to wash.

‘Good girl,’ she said, but I ignored that. I knew I was going to play with that Christmas tree when the opportunity came. I dreamed about it all night and, in the morning, I curled up in my favourite chair and pretended to be asleep. Gretel came and looked at me, her car keys jingling, but I didn’t move, even when she stroked me softly and told me she was going to fetch her mother.

I listened to the engine of her neat little blue car, and the slam of the garage door. She had gone. I got up and flexed my muscles, ate some of the mashed sardine she’d left for me, and swanned into the lounge.

The Christmas tree was still there, glittering expectantly, and now it was mine. Fantastic bubbly joy filled my heart; I was so happy, and I wanted that feeling to last. So I moved in slowly on the tree, my eyes chasing its moving points of light. I chose a pink shiny bauble and messed about, touching noses with my reflection. I patted it and watched everything shake and settle down again. There was a wild feeling deep in my being, charging me up like an electric cat.

A few more swipes from my paw, and the pink bauble was off the tree. I chased it across the floor, under the chair and out again. It rolled under the sideboard and wouldn’t come out. So I swiped another one down and batted it into the kitchen, where it went ping-pinging across the tiles.

I leaped and twirled, and belted round and round the tree in a frenzy of fun, swiping more and more baubles until they were scattered everywhere. I chased them north, south, east and west, skidding and pouncing and tearing the carpet with my claws. I got the miniature white teddy bear down, carried him in my mouth into Gretel’s bedroom, and pushed him into the toe of one of her slippers, thinking I’d have another game later getting him out.

The fat Father Christmas went under the sofa where my collection of secret comfort toys was hidden– my catnip mouse, a Babybel cheese, and various bits and pieces from the garden. With my heart beating very fast, I sat for a moment, looking up at the tree. A few smaller baubles were left at the top with the skinny fairy. I didn’t fancy her but I wanted that robin SO much.

The only way to catch him was to leap high into the prickly branches. It was hard, but the challenge fired me up even more. I leaped until my fur felt on fire, my paws hot and tingling. At last, I had the robin between my paws, in mid-air, and I wasn’t going to let go. I fell backwards and the tree toppled right over, spilling earth on Gretel’s pink carpet, and I had to crawl out from under it, the toy robin in my mouth, my heart thudding with excitement.

It had been a wonderful morning and, worn out, I took the robin onto the windowsill behind the curtain. I tucked my paws under myself and went blissfully to sleep with my chin on it.

Hours later, Gretel pushed open the back door and dumped her shopping on the table. There was a crunching, cracking sound. Still sleepy, I stayed behind the curtain.

‘What’s that doing here?’ she shrieked.

‘Looks like a bauble off the tree,’ said another voice, an old quavery sort of voice. ‘And you’ve trodden on it. Where’s the dustpan?’

‘Don’t fuss, Mum. I’ll sweep it up in a minute.’

I listened in growing alarm as Gretel came into the lounge and saw the wreckage.

‘Oh, NO!’ she howled. ‘What an unbelievable mess.’

Feeling the shockwaves, I stayed hidden behind the curtain. I was in terrible trouble.

‘It’s that CAT. That CAT’s done this!’

‘I told you not to have a cat, dear. I wouldn’t have one.’

‘How can ONE CAT make such an almighty mess?’

‘You’ll have to get that carpet steam-cleaned, dear.’

‘I worked so hard to keep this place decent. The Christmas tree looked wonderful, and it’s ruined … RUINED.’ Gretel began to make the most alarming howling noise. I listened in horror, thinking I should run to her and purr. I fluffed my fur, kinked my tail and padded out from behind thecurtain with my face bright and friendly.

‘There you are!’ she screamed. ‘You little BEAST of a cat. Look what you’ve done. Look at it.’

‘Don’t take on so, Gretel,’ said her mother, but Gretel had only just started, and seeing me made her worse.

She grabbed me with bony hands, and chucked me out into the garden. It was freezing fog. I went to the puss-flap to come in again, but she had jammed it shut. I meowed and scrabbled but she banged her fist in the door and shouted.

‘You’re not coming in here, you demon cat. You’re going back to that cat home. I’m not keeping you any longer.’

‘But she’s such a lovely cat.’ Gretel’s mother professed not to like cats, but she was defending me. I sat outside in the fog, listening to the loud conversation and the sweeping, tinkling sounds from the kitchen. Then Gretel’s mother said, ‘Can’t she live in the shed? When I was a girl, our cats lived outside.’

‘Today’s cats don’t.’

‘Well, she’s got to go somewhere. It’s Christmas.’

‘I do know that.’

In the end, Gretel did try to put me in the shed. She set up a cardboard box with a rug in it, while I purred round her ankles, trying to make peace. She put me in it and I jumped out immediately. I didn’t like that rug. It felt bad and scratchy, as if a bad-tempered person had used it and left their anger in every fibre of the wool. And the box smelled of vinegar.

I didn’t want to be in the shed. It was cold and dusty, and there were fierce-looking tools on the walls, and no space for me to play, and no fire to warm my bones. Gretel had left the window open so that I could come and go, and the freezing fog drifted in, making everything damp. It was my first Christmas, and I was so lonely and miserable. I meowed and meowed through the night at the sealed-up puss-flap. Eventually, Gretel opened the door in her dressing gown, and I shot past her ankles, headed for the rug by the fire.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ She picked me up. ‘You are driving me UP THE WALL. Meowing all night, keeping me awake.’

I tried to be loving and friendly, but she ignored my love and carried me out to the shed again. She shut the window, and the door.

I was a prisoner.

‘It could be a blessing,’ said my angel. ‘Wait and see.’

She was right in a way. Gretel eventually melted and let me back into the bungalow. But I was never left in there alone again, and, when she went out, she left me in the shed, if she could find me. I got wise to it and hid, so when she did go out, I had freedom to explore.

And that was how I came to be sitting on the wall on a summer evening when TammyLee walked by and my angel said,‘Follow that girl.’

Chapter Three

A BABY CALLED ROCKY

The experience of being out all night was new to me. I’d never seen the stars before, or watched the dawn. The sun didn’t snap on like a lamp, but took its time. Once, I had sat and watched a water lily opening on Gretel’s pond, and it was like that – slow and pink, unfurling petals across the sky until it exposed the centre disc of burning yellow. The burr of moths’ wings on the scented elderflowers was replaced by the hum of bees, and above me on the top branch, a blackbird started singing. I listened and absorbed his pure melody into my heart. So that’s what birds were about. Pure joy.

When I got up for a stretch, the blackbird changed his song to a harsh whit-whitting alarm call, warning the other birds that I was there.

I was hungry for my breakfast, and needed to move, but when I did, the baby boy started to cry. I ran back and kissed his tiny red nose and he opened his eyes. They were the brightest turquoise blue, and full of astonishment. He responded to my purring with a sort of chuckle, and I arranged myself over him again, keeping him warm. I nudged his arm with my head, trying to get him to stroke me, but it felt floppy and weak. Was he dying? His aura was thin now, just a fuzzy line of aqua and lemon. His angel was there, and she was a rainbow swirl in the air.

The baby gave little grizzling cries, intermittently, but the crying seemed to suck the remaining energy out of him. All I could do was watch over him and purr. He needed a human. He needed food and milk, but he couldn’t crawl out and help himself. I had to find someone, or he would die.

Anxiously, I watched the common from under the canopy of elder trees, and in the distance people were walking their dogs. But no one came past the elder tree.

I listened to the burble of the river rushing over stones, and at last I heard footsteps clonking over the bridge. Shoes. Like TammyLee. Had she come back?

I bounded out with my tail up, and saw a woman with a scrap of a dog on a lead. It flew into a frenzy of yapping when it saw me, but I wasn’t fazed. Then it cowered and wound its lead round her ankles as I approached.

‘Well, you’re a brave cat,’ she said, bending down to stroke me, ‘and aren’t you beautiful! I hope you’re not lost.’

I meowed and meowed, sitting on the path in front of her. If only the baby would cry. What could I do? She stood there, watching me, the dog tucked under her arm. He was twitching his nose and looking towards the tree.

‘Come on, puss, I’ve gotta go home.’

She stepped over me, and walked on. I ran after her, meowing. I belted past her, with my tail fluffed out, and again sat on the path in front of her. I lifted my paw and patted the hem of her coat, then got it between my teeth and pulled.

‘What ARE you doing?’ She laughed at me. ‘You funny cat.’

I did the loudest meow ever. It echoed over the common, and I trotted back towards the tree, stopped and turned to look at her. She frowned, and just then, magically, the baby boy gave that little grizzling cry.

Still with the dog tucked under her arm, she followed me under the tree. She saw the bag. She looked in.

‘Oh my God. Oh no, NO. A baby. Oh, you poor little MITE.’

I thought she would pick him up straight away, but instead, she tied the dog to a tree, and jumbled in her bag. She took out a mobile phone, tapped it and did a lot of talking.‘I’m Linda Evans, and I’m on the common by the footbridge over the river, and I’ve found an abandoned baby. He looks new-born, and he’s been dumped in a carrier bag. He needs medical attention, and so does the mother, whoever she is.’

Next, Linda eased the baby out of the bag. He was so small, smaller than me, and I was a cat.

‘Look what he’s wrapped in,’ she exclaimed, pulling at a thin purple scarf with threads of silver in it. She cuddled the baby close and wrapped her coat around him. ‘You poor dear little soul. Who’s done this to you?’ Tears ran down her cheeks, and the dog was whimpering. I went and sat beside it firmly, to calm it down, but its legs went on shivering.

Linda seemed to get into a panic as she watched the baby. She sat down on the grass with him on her lap.

‘Don’t die on me, darling. Come on.’ She rocked him and cuddled him, but he was still and floppy. Holding the phone again, she shouted, ‘Be quick. He’s not going to make it. Please. Please get here.’

She pulled out a scrap of torn paper from the folds of the scarf, and looked at it. Four words were scrawled on it in bright pink letters.

‘HIS NAME IS ROCKY,’ Linda said, showing me the words on the paper as if I could read. She pursed her lips. ‘That’s all,’ she said. ‘That’s all his mum left with him. Evil woman, whoever she is. Just give me five minutes with her. Doing that to a dear little defenceless baby.’

I ran back to her and added my purring and my love, and she didn’t push me away. A siren was screaming up the road on the other side of the river, a blue light flashing. I climbed up into the elderberry tree, to watch what happened. Oh, those humans were awesome. They pounded across the bridge, dressed in orange, a man and a woman, leaving the ambulance with its light flashing, its doors open. They took the baby boy and rushed him inside the ambulance, where they messed about with tubes and bottles, working on this tiny being called Rocky, whose life I had saved.

From my perch in the tree, I could see that his aura suddenly brightened, and he cried then, properly. The paramedic turned and gave a thumbs up, and Linda scooped up her dog and burst into tears.

‘Will you stay there, please? The police are on their way.’

The doors of the ambulance were closed and it raced off. I watched it go, remembering the baby’s bright blue eyes, remembering his soul energy.

I hung around, making friends with Linda as she waited there, crying, a screwed-up tissue in her hand. She seemed glad to have me with her. I worked my way up to her broad shoulder and draped myself over it.

‘You are a loving cat,’ she said, and looked into my eyes as I peeped round at her. She was a motherly person, like Harriet, I thought. Yes, Linda was a Labrador kind of human. We had a bond now. We’d both helped to save the life of an abandoned baby.

When the police arrived, I stayed on Linda’s shoulder while they talked, and they were interested in me.

‘So what’s the cat doing here?’ the policeman asked. ‘Is it your cat?’

‘No … but it led me to the baby. Just like a dog would have done.’

Me! Like a dog? I was miffed at that.

‘Perhaps the cat belongs to the mother. Has it got a collar?’

‘No.’ Linda burrowed her fingers in my ruff. ‘It’s a well-cared-for cat, that’s obvious.’

‘Have you ever seen it before?’

‘No. Never. But I don’t think it’s a stray, and it’s not feral.’

‘If it’s microchipped, it might lead us to the mother. Let me hold it.’ The policeman held out his arms and lifted me gently off Linda’s neck. I’d never had a cuddle with a policeman before so I touched noses with him and made a fuss, purring and rubbing and kissing his neck, and he wasenjoying it, I could tell. He was feeling my back to see if I’d got a microchip, whatever that was.

‘I think I can feel one. We should definitely hang on to this cat and get it scanned.’

He was holding me too tightly now. I knew what he was planning to do. I could feel the intention buzzing through his fingers. He was going to put me in one of those baskets. I had to act fast.

Without giving him any warning, I went from being a loving softie to a fighting tiger. I kicked hard with my back legs, thrashed my body around, and managed to reverse out of his grasp, a long thread of police uniform caught in my claw. I hit the ground, bounded, and fled, my tail kinked cheekily.

‘Follow it, will you!’

The other policeman thundered after me across the common. I was fast, and smart. His boots crashed through the bushes but I soon evaded him, diving into some nettles, up a fence and into a garden, over a garage roof and into the street. Through the front gardens again, I ran stretched out like a fox with my tail streaming. A few dogs barked at me, and blackbirds flew up from lawns as I escaped into the town.

Satisfied, I sat on a busy corner, watching the traffic and the children going to school, and wondering where my home was. I didn’t know. None of the roads looked familiar. I couldn’t locate any of the scent marks I had left as I followed TammyLee.

Being lost didn’t faze me. There were so many nice people around, and the town looked interesting with its bright windows and lovely smells of bacon and toast. Intrigued, I trotted down the busy road, pausing to sharpen my claws on the magnificent lime trees.

I crossed the road with a bunch of children and a bleeping noise, and the cars magically stopped in a neat line. For me? I heard laughing, and people saying,‘Look at that cat.’ But when I sat down to wash my face in the middle of the crossing, the bleeping stopped, someone screamed, and a young man bounded into the road, picked me up and carried me the rest of the way.

‘Stupid cat!’ he said, and I flicked my tail in annoyance, and the traffic made a terrible noise, blowing horns and swearing.

‘Keep that bloody cat off the road.’

‘It’s not my cat,’ yelled the young man.

I jumped up onto a massive flower pot full of pansies, and sat there to wash my face. It had to be done. But humans don’t understand what it’s like to have fur and the need to keep on washing it. And why not sit somewhere pleasant like in the middle of a pot of yellow and purple pansies? They were scented and had wistful faces like kittens. I must have looked beautiful there in the morning sun.

‘Get off, cat!’ A woman who looked like a bulldog gnashed her teeth at me. ‘You’re squashing the flowers.’

I stared at her. Obviously, she didn’t know I’d just saved a baby’s life.

‘Aw, leave him,’ said a kinder one.

‘Him!’ I thought, indignantly.

I settled down to wash in the lovely pansy pot.

Next, I followed some people into a shopping mall and had a mad half hour on the slippery floor. It was like a skating rink for cats. I twirled and skidded, figuring out how fast I had to run to slide a long way on my belly. After the night of guarding the tiny baby, it felt amazing to be having fun and making people laugh. I chased a paper cup down the mall, under benches and into doorways. I pretended it was a mouse and hid round a corner, then pounced on it, and skidded.

When I was tired, I strolled down to the pavement caf? and arranged myself on a chair, and the couple who were eating breakfast there gave me some crisp curls of bacon and corners of buttery toast. I padded round the tables with my tail up, and was given a saucer of warm milk, some bits of sausage and a kipper’s tail, before the staff noticed me.

‘We don’t encourage cats,’ said the waiter, hovering over me with an armful of plates. ‘Go on. Shoo!’ He stamped his foot and hissed at me, and the plates slipped alarmingly.

My hunger satisfied, though, I walked on down the shopping mall. I went into a clothes shop and swung from a rail of T-shirts, pulling them onto the floor.

‘OUT!’ shouted the shop assistant, and she ran at me clapping her hands. ‘You’re wrecking the place, you shouldn’t be in here, you crazy cat.’

Miffed, I walked on with my tail waving elegantly, and into the shop next door, which was full of televisions. And there I had the shock of my life.

I was on television … well, on a whole shop full of televisions in different sizes. I sat down in front of a big one that made me look like an enormous fluffy tiger on Linda’s shoulder.

‘The baby was discovered by this woman, Linda Evans, who was walking her dog.’ Now the picture was of a reporter lady sitting on a red sofa.

Then I sat up even straighter. There was the tiny baby, Rocky, in the arms of a nurse. He’d got a little white hat on and a blanket wrapped round him, but I could see the mole on his cheek and the glint of astonishment in his turquoise eyes. It was definitely him. My baby. My Rocky.

I went up to the screen, to touch noses with him, patted it and jumped back, not liking the crackle of static through my fur. I couldn’t stop looking at Rocky and wherever I looked, he was there on every screen, and people were walking past the shop, ignoring him.

‘We are hoping his mother will come forward,’ the nurse was saying. ‘She may need medical help, and Rocky needs his mum. He’s a dear little chap.’

Then they showed me– again! – and the policeman who’d tried to hold me, and he was saying, ‘If anyone sees this cat or knows where it lives, please get in touch with us. There could be a connection.’

I knew who Rocky’s mother was. TammyLee. How could a cat give that information? But even if I’d been able to talk, I wouldn’t have told. It was a secret I shared only with TammyLee. We had been drawn to each other, I had felt her sadness, and she had called me ‘magic puss cat’. TammyLee and I were soulmates.

I had to find her. The time had come for me to grow up, stop playing, and work. I’d search to the ends of the earth for TammyLee.

But just as I was making this momentous decision, a man’s voice shouted, ‘THAT’S THE CAT!’ An agile young man, who’d spotted me watching myself on TV bounded to the shop doors and slammed them shut.

And I was a prisoner. Again.

Chapter Four

A HOT CAR

I searched the shop for an escape route, but there wasn’t one.

‘You stand there, Dave,’ the manager called to his mate.

Both wore smart white shirts, like tuxedo cats, black trousers and shiny shoes. Obviously, they weren’t used to cats, it made me nervous, but my angel’s voice rang in my aura, keeping me calm and still. Self-control was something I needed to work on. It was hard. My instinct was buzzing like a bee, telling me to run wild in the shop and not be caught.

‘Get it some milk from the back, Kyle,’ said Dave. ‘Shut it in the kitchen and we’ll call the cops. Bit of free publicity, eh?’

There was no way out. A quick look around the walls and ceiling told me that. So I had to be pragmatic and trust these two young men, Dave and Kyle. I could see that Kyle had a fiery intelligence as he warily approached me, so I was polite, standing up and putting my tail up. A silent meow and eye contact had him transfixed in seconds. Gingerly, he picked me up, and airlifted me into the kitchen, kicking the door shut.

‘Got him!’ he shouted. ‘You can open the shop now, Dave.’

Why did everyone think I was male?

Kyle stood with his back to the kitchen door, brushing my fluff from his black trousers and watching me lapping the milk he had given me. I’d hardly got room for it after my street-caf? breakfast. I was fine until the police turned up with a cat cage. Then I panicked in the small kitchen and squeezed myself behind the fridge.

‘Come on, darling. It’s all right. We’re only going to scan you and take you home. Come on, my lovely.’

I didn’t like it behind the fridge, so eventually, the policewoman’s honeyed tones coaxed me out and into the cage where she’d hidden some cat treats and, hey, a catnip mouse. She kept talking to me kindly.

Bad memories of being a tiny kitten in one of those cages haunted me, so I kept still and quiet as I was carried into a police car and driven away with the blue light flashing. I thought about the friends I had made. The couple who had fed me at the street caf?, the lady who’d let me sit in the pansy pot, the young man who’d risked his life to get me off the road. In my search for TammyLee, I planned to return to that shopping mall, and see my new friends. A cat who is alone and searching needs the support of friends.

It turned out that Ihad got a‘microchip’, and the police took me home to Gretel, even though I didn’t want to go.

Since the Christmas tree disaster, Gretel had changed her mind and decided she did want to keep me. She still shut me in the shed, usually with the window open to give me access to the garden. I used those times of freedom to roam the streets looking for TammyLee. I sat on the wall and waited for her to walk past, but she never did. I followed groups of children to school and sat watching the playground, but TammyLee was never there, and no one spoke her name. She seemed to have vanished.

Living with Gretel wasn’t working. I tried to love her, but it wasn’t easy. She loved me only when I was good and boring, not when I ran up the curtains or swung from the birch tree in the garden, or caught the orange fish from the lily pond. But she did teach me stuff that turned out to be useful, like going in the car. Instead of shutting me in the shed, she took to putting me in the car and taking me with her. At first I was petrified. But I soon got used to it. The car was warm and comfortable, and Gretel had set it up with a wire grill to stop me going into the front while she was driving, a cosy catigloo where I could hide, and even some toys for me to play with. She talked to me a lot while we were going along, and sang me songs and played the radio. The trips were interesting. I learned to recognise places. Corners and buildings and parks. Even the shopping mall and the river bridge whereTammyLee had stood with baby Rocky. I glimpsed the elder tree where I’d spent the night guarding him, and I sensed the wild country beyond the town, which I longed to explore.

So I became a car cat. I quite enjoyed it. Until one terrible day that changed my life.

It was a summer day, many weeks after I’d found the abandoned baby. The weather was so hot that it hurt my paws to walk on the patio. I was rolling on my back on the lawn, enjoying the sun on my belly and dabbing at passing flies.

‘Come on, Fuzzball.’ Gretel appeared in a flimsy blue dress, twiddling her car keys. ‘We’ll go to the supermarket. At least they’ve got air conditioning in there.’

If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d never have let her pick me up, tuck me under her arm and put me in the car. It was hot in there, but she drove along with the window open. Lovely, except for the smell of a crowded town, the exhaust fumes, lawns being mown, the bakeries and the pubs. Faraway was the briny tang of the river and the heather-covered moorland beyond the town, a scent on the wind that stirred a deep ancestral longing in me. Being a domestic cat was OK, but I had a wild streak in me that wasn’t satisfied with fluffy cat beds and cat-nip mice.

There was a bad atmosphere in town. A sense of something simmering, about to erupt. People looked knocked out by the heat. Children were crying and dogs were being dragged along on leads on the hot pavements.

‘I’ll bring you an ice cream,’ said Gretel, turning into the supermarket car park. She found a parking space, shut the windows and got out. ‘I won’t be long, Fuzzball.’

I sighed and settled down for a snooze. Used to being left in the car, I curled up, wrapped my tail around myself and closed my eyes.

Within minutes I was too hot. It wasn’t like lying by the fire and having to move away from the heat. I was trapped in it, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Alarmed, I climbed up onto the back of the seats, but it was worse up there near the roof of the car. Outside, the car roofs shimmered in the heat, dazzling me. I wanted to shut my eyes, but I was frightened. I clawed at the window, hoping to open it and get some air. It was so hot I had to breathe with my mouth open like a dog.

I longed for water but Gretel hadn’t left me any. Desperately, I licked a few drops of condensation from the window glass, then worked my way round each of the windows, licking what moisture I could find, and all the time getting hotter and hotter.

There was no way of cooling myself down. I tore at my thick fur, trying to get some air on my skin, but nothing worked. I dug and scrabbled at the floor of the car, trying to find a hole or a crack I could make bigger with my teeth and claws. Soon my feet were burning, my claw sheaths sore, and my throat so dry. I was being dried up, cooked alive in that oven of a car.

Where was my angel? Where was she?

I listened. I kept still and called her name in my heart. The Angel of Secrets. Angel of Secrets. Angel … I was giddy now, and her voice came to me from far away. My body was collapsing and I just lay there panting. All I could hear was the alarming echo of my heartbeat, the rasp of my breath, and the distant whisper of her voice, repeating over and over again,‘Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Meow and someone will come. Meow. You must meow.’

I fought to stay awake, but I was losing consciousness, sinking into a boiling black darkness. I did meow, and it was loud, and painful. Yet my body seemed to take over and meow by itself, draining my last dregs of energy, calling, calling for help.

As I finally lost consciousness, I saw a face looking through the glass at me, and it wasn’t Gretel.

I drifted through the dark, and reached the shoreline of the spirit world. A high fence of the brightest gold sent out beams of light spangled with pinpoints of intense colour. I sat before it and gazed through into the world I had loved so much, the spirit world where I was the Queen of Cats. Telepathically, I begged for the golden fence to open and let me through, let me go home, let me leave this body of pain lying in the hot car.

The voices I heard were muddled.

‘Come back, Queen of Cats. You still have work to do.’ That was my angel, and from beyond the golden fence I could hear purring. Loud, vibrational purring from the shining cats who had purred with me in the spirit world. They weren’t welcoming me, but sending me back, floating on a carpet of purring.

I drifted back to the sound of human voices around the car. Someone saying,‘That poor cat in there!’ and ‘We have to get it out. NOW!’

My world exploded with a bang. A storm of broken glass scattered over me, into my fur and all over the car. Dazed, I saw the emerald green of the broken pieces. The air rushed in, and a pair of long arms reached through the hole in the window. I felt my limp body being lifted out.

‘I’ve got him.’

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

‘Not quite. And it’s a she cat. She’s beautiful.’

Someone ran with me to the shade of a big plane tree and laid me on a bench. I felt the slats of wood under me, and the deliciously cool canopy of the great tree. But I couldn’t move. My breathing was laboured, my eyes wouldn’t shut, and I was salivating.

‘There’s no time to get her to a vet.’

‘Water. Get some water from the shopping bag.’

I heard running feet again, then the rustle of plastic and the soft pop of a bottle being opened. I hate water, but they were pouring it over me! It trickled round my neck, into my fur, along my back, over my parched face. I licked the drops and felt the healing cool of it soaking my hot body.

‘Frozen peas,’ said the voice. ‘Bottom of the bag.’

More rustling, and something achingly cold and knobbly was put close to my back. My breathing eased a bit. I was coming alive again, coming back from my trip to the shorelines of the spirit world, reclaiming my beautiful silver tabby and white body.

‘She’s still breathing.’

‘Come on, darling – it’s all right.’

Didn’t I know that voice? I focused my eyes and saw the lovely policewoman who had coaxed me into the cat cage and taken me home that day. I was glad, and disappointed too. I’d hoped it might be TammyLee.

My eyes were burning and they wouldn’t shut. I tried to sit up, but my legs wouldn’t move. Yet I knew I wasn’t dying. I’d come back into my beautiful cat body, my long silver tabby fur, my white socks and pink paws, my lovely tail. But none of it would move. I could feel it twitching, but I’d somehow lost control. It was scary. How could I play and live my life? I didn’t want to be useless and immobile. I felt terribly afraid.

I wanted peace, and recovery time.

But it wasn’t peaceful.

A crowd had gathered, looking at me as I lay on the bench, still gasping for breath and twitching. A row was breaking out. I heard Gretel’s shriek of a voice and she was part of the row.

‘My car,’ she cried. ‘It’s been broken into.’

‘Never mind your car,’ a man was shouting at Gretel. ‘Is this your cat? Look at the state it’s in!’

I felt the old familiar shockwaves coming from Gretel as she saw me there on the bench, and I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t put my tail up and run to reassure her. She was under attack. People were shouting at her furiously.

‘How could you leave a cat shut in a car in this heat?’

‘Haven’t you got any more sense?’

‘Don’t you CARE about your lovely cat?’

Gretel was crying and crying.‘Is she going to die? I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to.’

No one was being kind to Gretel. The shouting got even louder.

‘I’m reporting you to the RSPCA, and you’ll never keep an animal again. You CRUEL woman.’

‘But is she dying?’ Gretel kept asking. ‘I’ll take her to the vet’s.’

‘You won’t. It’s too late for that. If we hadn’t been here, she’d be dead right now. Poor, poor cat. She’s suffered so much.’ Now the other person was crying, and I lay there, shuddering in the middle of it.

‘I’ll see that you pay for this. That cat will be taken away from you. You’ve no business keeping an animal.’

‘It’s disgusting.’

‘But I do love her. She’s called …’

Gretel didn’t get the chance to say Fuzzball, and I was grateful for that. The lovely policewoman with the blonde ponytail intervened.

‘Please calm down,’ she kept saying firmly. ‘The cat needs some quiet. Please!’

I felt Gretel slump down on the bench beside me, and she touched my wet fur gently.‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,’ she wept, and I wanted to tell her it was OK, I’d forgiven her, but I couldn’t even lift my head to look at her. I knew I’d never see her again, and I wanted to say thank you to her for giving me a home and a fluffy cat bed, and all that food. The toys and the quiet evenings on her lap by the fire. I wished those people would stop attacking her.

‘Here’s the animal ambulance. Move back please,’ said the lovely policewoman, and I heard people shuffling back as a vehicle drove up. After that it went quiet and I heard the soft pattering of the plane-tree leaves above me.

The voices became murmurs and I was picked up and carried, my tail and legs floppy, into a silent and beautifully cool van with a blissfully soft bed inside. A kind man with a bright light around him sat beside me and kept trying to put my head inside a weird-looking cup of clear plastic.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Come on, breathe. It’s oxygen. Come on, try it. It’s good stuff.’

He didn’t hurt me, but held my head firmly, and I picked up on his thoughts. He wanted me to breathe a special kind of air that was inside the cup. I tried it, and it was cool and sweet. I couldn’t get enough of it. This clear, pure, mysterious air he called oxygen was filling my body with the fizz of new life.

I was alive, but I still couldn’t move. I took a last look at Gretel’s tear-stained face looking in at me as they closed the doors. I felt the van driving away, with me in it, lying there, a useless dysfunctional wreck of a cat.

What would become of me now?

Chapter Five

AN ANIMAL HEALER

I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but my life with Gretel was over. For long days and nights, I lay in the animal hospital on a white bed with a light in the roof, listening to the whimpering and wailing from other cats and dogs who were stretched out in recovery beds in that place.

The humans looked after me beautifully, and stroked me a lot, but their talk was gloomy.

‘This cat is borderline,’ I heard the man saying. ‘We don’t know what long-term effects the heat stroke will have. She could suffer from multiple organ failure and have to be put down. A pity. She’s only a young cat.’

Every day they stuck a sharp needle in me and, yes, they took some of my blood! I could see it in the syringe. Then they put something in through another needle, and I felt better afterwards. Clever stuff. But I knew what I needed, and it wasn’t available.

‘What’s happening to me?’ I asked my angel.

‘It’s a window,’ she replied.

‘A window?’

‘A time of waiting, a time of transition between two life times.’

‘Am I going to die?’

‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘But you are like a cat sitting in the window, watching what is outside. You can’t move on to the new life we have planned for you until you help yourself to get better. You will need to be a strong healthy cat to cope with what is ahead.’

‘Help myself!’ I was surprised. I thought I could just lie there and let the humans work their mysterious magic with those needles and tubes.

‘All the purring and the medicine can’t make you right again,’ said my angel. ‘You need to HELP YOURSELF to find the healing you know you need.’

How could I FIND anything? I was lying flat in an animal hospital. Angels can be so unreasonable, I thought, and twitched my back and tail. My paws quivered in frustration. I stretched each of my front paws, splaying my toes and letting my claws curl out, then in again. Bits of me were working. It seemed a good time to wash, so I lifted each paw to my mouth and began licking and brushing my pink pads and the downy fur between my toes. It felt good.

‘Oh, she’s washing!’ exclaimed one of the nurses who was walking past. She stopped by my cage. ‘Good girl!’ she said, like Gretel. Then the vet came and looked at me.

‘I think we’ll let Roxanne look at her later. Has she eaten anything?’

‘Little bits. She still doesn’t want to stand up.’

‘But she’s washing. That’s a start.’

Later that day, the animal hospital went uncannily quiet. I wondered why. Then the main door opened and in came a girl in a blaze of light. Was she real? I stared, and found I could see a human in there, inside that blaze of light, just an ordinary lump of a girl with a long dark plait over one shoulder. I wanted her close to me, immediately. I couldn’t wait.

My angel had told me to help myself, so I managed an echoing meow and at once the girl came to me and looked in with the most beautiful eyes.

‘We thought you should start with the dogs, Roxanne,’ said a nurse.

‘No.’ said Roxanne. ‘This cat. She needs me now. She’s right on the edge. I’ll do her first.’

First. I was first! I meowed in welcome as Roxanne came right up to me, and the light from her aura flooded into my cage. She unlatched my door, and looked deeply into my eyes, like TammyLee had done.

‘I’m Roxanne,’ she whispered. ‘I’m an animal healer, darling.’

As soon as I heard her voice and felt her touch, I wanted to cry, and I sort of did by sighing and making little mewling sounds in my throat.

‘Is it OK to take her out?’ Roxanne asked the nurse, who hovered beside us, watching and learning.

‘Sure. She’s not going anywhere. She’s just laid there for days.’

Roxanne picked me up and sat down with me flopped on her lap.

‘What’s her name?’ she asked.

‘She hasn’t got one.’

Again, Roxanne looked deep into my eyes.‘Then I shall give her one,’ she said, ‘it will come through to me.’ I tingled all over. This girl of the blazing light was going to give me a name, a new, beautiful name, something I had longed for. I went on sighing and mewling, and with every sigh a stream of energy seemed to leave my body, as though my fur had been full of heavy dust weighing me down for all of my young life, and now, under Roxanne’s healing touch, it was leaving.

I saw her hands, and they were full of colours as they moved over me. She went to my head first, and it felt like a soft cocoon of pure light was being woven around my skull, wrapping my face, my long whiskers, my ears, my nose.

‘This cat is depressed,’ Roxanne said to the nurse.

‘Depressed!’

‘Oh, yes, and deeply so. She’s been hurt and it’s never been healed. That’s what is stopping her getting better.’

She knew. She’d looked into my soul. The relief was huge, it left my body in waves as her hands shone colours into me, deep emerald greens, hot white and glowing pink.

‘That’s it, darling. You let go of it all,’ she whispered to me, and my emotional pain shuddered through me, and began to leave. I saw it all. The very first hurt of my mum cat not liking me, the terrible shock of Joe tipping us in the hedge like rubbish. Then Gretel. Calling me Fuzzball. Calling me a BAD CAT. Calling me a DEMON. Shutting me out in the freezing fog. Locking me in the shed. And then leaving me to die in a hot car.

Gretel hadn’t meant to hurt me. She didn’t understand. I’d forgiven her, every time, but the pain had burrowed into my mind and made me depressed. Now this wonderful animal healer, Roxanne, had chosen me – FIRST – and she knew what to do, what to whisper into my twitching ears. She wasn’t in a hurry. She spent ages healing me, sending colours into every part of my body.

‘You take as much as you need, darling,’ she kept saying. And I did. I soaked up the colour and the healing energy like a starving soul. Gretel had stroked me and played with me, but no one had loved me like this. I felt I’d come home. I felt lighter and lighter, as if I were a thistle seedthat could blow for miles in the sunshine.

Then I heard purring, and it was me. I was purring.

‘And now – I’ll give you your name,’ said Roxanne. I looked attentively into her shiny dark eyes and waited. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ she said. ‘Your fur has the colours of a waterfall in the sunlight: silver and black with a tinge of gold and snowy white. And when you are well you will leap and dance and run fast like the mountain streams. So I’ll call you TALLULAH. It’s Native American for “Leaping water”.’ She whispered this to me so softly, the words were like gossamer, precious and strong. I wasn’t even sure whether I was hearing them or whether she was sending them by telepathy.

‘TALLULAH.’

I was thrilled. I had a name. A beautiful name that was full of music, a name that honoured my beauty and made me feel good.

A buzz of happiness started inside me, and I rolled over and managed to sit up and purr my gratitude to Roxanne. I was determined to touch noses with her, and I stretched up, wobbling a bit on my legs, and kissed her glowing face.

I was healed.

I was a new cat.

I had become Tallulah.

Chapter Six

BEING TALLULAH

On the day I left the animal hospital, I saw the mountains for the first time. They were peacock blue against the sky beyond the town and I wondered why I’d never noticed them before. I studied them as we travelled along, through familiar streets, past the common and the elderberry tree where I had found Rocky. Dark berries hung from it now. It was late summer, still hot, but the car I was travelling in was airy and quiet.

Being Tallulah made me feel proud and excited. Not knowing where I was going didn’t bother me. I couldn’t wait to arrive and start my search for TammyLee.

The car followed the river out of town, past its foamy places and waterfalls as it flowed down from the hills. I longed to get out and sit watching them, seeing the colours of my fur as Roxanne had described them. Silver, black, tinges of gold and snowy white. I longed to climb trees, and explore, chase leaves through the woods, hide in the long grass, and stalk mice in the moonlight. I was a free spirit now. I was Tallulah.

‘You must be patient for a while longer, Tallulah,’ said my angel as we turned into a farm gateway and down a track to a cottage. Immediately, I could hear the cats. There were other cats there, and all of them meowing. I hoped they would like me.

But when the car stopped, I was again carried out in the cat basket. There was a lovely house, but we didn’t go inside. Instead, we went round to a yard at the back, and along the wall was a line of wire enclosures, each with a cat inside. Cages. Prisons. What a let-down! I was put inside one, and it had double doors so that I couldn’t escape when someone came in.

‘Hello, my luvvy.’

A warm friendly woman welcomed me, and she smelled of cats. Her eyes sparkled at me. I meowed back.

‘I’m Penny,’ she told me, and I’m the cat lady, that’s what everyone calls me. I’m not adopting you, luvvy, but fostering you, and you can live in this lovely Cat Protection pen until we find a super home for you.’

She came into the pen with me, and opened the door of my travelling basket. I stepped out politely, with my tail up and my whiskers shining in the morning sun.

‘Tallulah,’ said Penny thoughtfully. ‘That’s a nice name, and aren’t you just BEAUTIFUL! We’ll have no trouble finding you a nice home. You won’t be here for long.’

She stayed in the pen with me, sitting on a chair while I explored my new home. It had some great perches I could climb up to and sit on. It had a little house with a window and a warm bed inside. There was a huge litter tray, and a post with rope wound round it and I spent some time smelling it. Judging by the claw marks, dozens of cats had used it as a claw-sharpener. In a box on the floor were some toys: a ball with a bell inside, a brand-new cat-nip mouse, a teddy bear and some other bits and pieces. I looked at them, but didn’t yet feel like playing. When I’d inspected every inch of the pen and found no way out, I jumped onto Penny’s lap and she stayed there for me, smoothing my long fur while I purred myself to sleep.

Eventually, she got up and tenderly put me on the chair.

‘I’ll be back to see you, my luvvy. We’ll have lots of cuddles,’ she said, but I jumped down and followed her to the gate, meowing as she gently pushed me back and closed it tightly.

Horrified, I ran round and round the pen, calling and meowing. Surely, I wasn’t a prisoner! I was Tallulah. I had a right to enjoy the world, to charge across lawns with my tail streaming, to scale trees and hang from branches, to dive under bushes and pounce on people’s feet. These humans who looked after me so well had taken from me what I most treasured – my freedom!

And how would I ever find TammyLee?

I sat by the gate, my nose to the crack where it would open, and then I waited, planning the speed of my escape, how fast I would dart out when it was opened. I looked out at the garden beyond, and the road winding away beside the river, and planned my escape route. I’d follow the river back into town, back to the bridge where TammyLee had left Rocky. She’d go back there, eventually, I was sure.

When Penny came back with a dish of food for me, I did slip past her ankles and out of the gate, only to find she had cleverly shut the first gate and I was still trapped. Distraught, I gazed up at Penny with my golden eyes and meowed piteously.

‘Aw, you poor darling.’ She picked me up but I wriggled out of her arms and ran to the gate. Penny came after me, stroking and talking to me in a lovely voice, letting me smell the delicious meat she had brought me. But I didn’t want anything except my freedom. The need for it burned insideme, and I tried to convey it to Penny. She understood me, but she didn’t do what I wanted. She didn’t let me out.

Night came, and I was still distraught. I ran round and round. I climbed the high wire fence in every place, searching, hoping for a hole to escape through. But it was rigid. I meowed and zigzagged around until my paws were sore and so was my throat. By dawn, I was exhausted and crept into the warm bed, curled up and slept until mid-morning.

As soon as I heard Penny’s voice, I tumbled out, in such a hurry to get to her and beg her to let me go. Please, please let me go.

Penny was in the next-door pen, cuddling and fussing a rather portly black tomcat who had watched me through the wire with a disapproving stare. He looked contented, and so did the ginger tomcat on the other side who was tucking into a juicy looking breakfast. I sniffed at my uneaten supper, which had gone dry and had flies buzzing round it. I ate a little bit, then jumped up to the higher perch to feel the sun on my fur and see the mountains.

It seemed a good time to wash.

Washing is a sort of ritual that stabilises cats. For me, it had become a time to think. I wanted Penny to explain to me why I was shut in, and for how long. So I sent her the thought, and when she did come into my pen, she sat down with me again. I stretched myself over her heart and reached up to pat her face with a long paw. I knew she loved cats, so why did she shut me in?

She looked at me thoughtfully, and I sent my question again with all the power of my golden eyes and another pat from my newly washed paw.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s not much fun being shut in, is it, Tallulah?’

I encouraged her with a purr-meow and a kiss on the nose.

‘You’re a very beautiful and intelligent cat,’ she said, talking to my soul. ‘And someone will come and choose you – a good person who knows how to take care of a cat. We make sure of that. We don’t let cats go to bad homes.’ Her hands were stroking my neck and rubbing behind my ears and under my chin. ‘It might be today,’ she said. ‘Or it might be tomorrow. Or it might be a long time, many dark nights. These two have been here for months, haven’t you, my luvvies?’ She pointed at the black cat and the ginger one, who were both washing and listening. ‘But you’ve got to choose too, Tallulah. Don’t go with someone you don’t like.’

I stared at her, getting the firm tone, and the pictures she was sending me from her mind. Nice people coming to choose a cat. And I remembered. Gretel had chosen me. I’d been too small to resist. But this time it would be different, I was determined. Even if the people were nice, I wouldn’t go with them if it felt wrong.

‘I’ll put you in the paper this week,’ said Penny, and she took a photo of me with a silver camera, and showed it to me on a screen. I looked like the teeniest fairy of a cat in there, but I purred and touched noses with the image, and Penny laughed so loudly that the wire fences rattled and shook.

After that conversation, I settled down and accepted that I wouldn’t be in the pen for long. I made the best use of the space, playing a lot and climbing and keeping my claws sharp. Two people came to see me the very next day, and I remembered Penny’s advice. It was a hard thing for me to do but I turned my back on them and went all huffy, climbing up to the top perch and sitting there, washing. It worked.

‘She’s such a pretty cat, but I don’t think she wants to go with us,’ the lady said to Penny. I watched the ginger cat next to me, who was meowing loudly and scrabbling at the bars, looking up at the two people adoringly.

‘He’s too old, really.’

‘And he’s a tomcat.’

‘But he loves you,’ said Penny. ‘Look at him, poor luvvy, he’s been in that pen all summer. And he’s got oodles of love to give.’

The ginger cat eventually got what he wanted. He made a fuss of the two people, and ran into the cat basket with his tail up. As they carried him away, he was kissing the bars and purring, and his eyes danced at me joyfully. I felt so lonely.

It got harder and harder as the days rolled by, and other cats came and went in the pens next to me. It got harder every time I saw one being taken home with‘nice people’. I wanted my freedom. I didn’t want to get depressed again. No, I had come to this planet for a reason. I’d used up one of my nine lives and wasted my time with Gretel.

I seriously considered going with someone who wanted me, and then escaping, following the river back to TammyLee. My angel said no.

‘Wait,’ she kept telling me.

Penny told me she’d put my picture in the paper for a second time, and then something totally unexpected happened.

People didn’t normally come in the mornings, so I was dozing in the sun, stretched out in the chair. I was used to hearing Penny’s voice as she bustled around the cat pens, and I was so sleepy and comfortable that I didn’t bother to open my eyes when I heard the click of the farm gate being opened.

Penny was patiently explaining something to someone who didn’t want to listen.

‘But I saw her in the paper. I know it’s the right cat.’

‘I understand that, my luvvy,’ Penny was saying. ‘But I can’t allow you to take her today.’

‘But why not? It’s a perfectly good home for a cat. We’ve got a big garden. I’ve looked after lots of cats.’

‘This is the Cat Protection League,’ insisted Penny. ‘And we don’t home any of our cats until we’ve inspected the home they’re going to.’

‘You sound like you don’t trust me.’

‘Well, I don’t know you, do I? I’m only doing my job, dear.’

‘I thought you wanted a home for this cat.’

‘Of course we do.’

‘So I’m not good enough. Is that it?’

‘I’m sure you are, dear. I just need to make sure – for the cat’s sake.’

‘I mean, what d’you think I’m gonna DO to her, for goodness’ sake?’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, dear – but please.’

‘Oh, yeah, yeah, I know.’ The voice was getting higher and higher, even though Penny was keeping calm. There was something in the girl’s voice that struck a chord in my memory. I’d been running along the top of a wall on a moonlit night. So much had happened to me since that night. It washard to remember.

The footsteps and voices were coming nearer, walking down the side of the house. Soon, they would be round the corner and coming to the cat pens.

‘Well, surely, I can at least LOOK at the cat,’ came the girl’s voice, and with it came a distinctive jingling sound that jogged my memory further. Bangles. An arm with gold and silver bangles on it.

By now, I was wide awake and sitting up in the chair. Penny knew I usually turned my back on people, not because I was rude, but because they weren’t the right people for me. But this girl who was arguing so loudly with Penny – could it be … could it be HER?

I tensed expectantly as they came round the corner together. When I saw the girl’s aura of bright turquoise and lemon, I knew.

It was HER! My TammyLee!

I sailed down from the chair and ran across the pen with my tail flying like a plume. I flung myself at the fence and scrabbled with my paws, and meowed so loudly that it echoed off the stone walls of the farm. I wasn’t going to make a mistake this time. My TammyLee had come for me. She’d found me. She wanted me.

I weaved from side to side as I waited for them to open the gates and come in.

‘Well, well, well!’ said Penny, and she reached down to pick me up, but I twisted away from her and stared up at TammyLee with my golden eyes.

She gasped, and held out her arms. I leaped straight up and she caught me, her bangles jingling and tinkling. She looked into my soul with eyes that were green as clover leaves. And then she whispered to me:

‘Magic puss cat.’

I purred and purred, and kissed her beautiful face. I patted the gold bead in the side of her nose. I searched those green, green eyes, past the brightness, and saw that the deep pain of losing Rocky was still there. It would be there for ever. But I was here now, and I was going to love her.

‘Well … I’m speechless,’ said Penny.

TammyLee gazed and gazed at me, and a smudgy-looking tear rolled down her face. I licked it from her cheek, which was like a pale piece of velvet.

‘It is you,’ she whispered to me. ‘I knew when I saw your photo in the paper. I knew it was you. Magic puss cat.’

I snuggled down in her arms and stretched my chin over her neck so that she could feel my purr vibrating through her. I wrapped my paw round the other side of her neck, hugging her like a human. She started smiling, and two dimples appeared in her cheeks.

‘I’m speechless. Speechless,’ said Penny again.

‘Thank God for that,’ said TammyLee wickedly, and the two women smiled at each other.

‘Her name is Tallulah,’ said Penny.

‘Tallulah! That’s lovely. It’s like a song. Tallulah. I’ll sing it to you one day, magic puss cat.’

I cuddled deeper into TammyLee’s neck and throat, feeling as if I’d come home. I looked at Penny, and sent her a strong message. She got it.

‘Well, it looks as if Tallulah knows you. She’s certainly loving you,’ said Penny.

‘We do know each other. She used to run along the wall with me, in the moonlight, when …’ The sadness in TammyLee’s eyes rose to the surface, the deep ache of the mother love, like my mother’s last look at me when we were ripped away from her. A forever pain.

‘Please, please don’t let anyone else have her,’ pleaded TammyLee, suddenly vulnerable now, not arguing, not being bolshy, just appealing to Penny. ‘Only I was going to take her home today.’

TammyLee sent me a picture of a lovely home with a fire, and a wide back door that opened into a sunny room made of glass. Beyond the glass was a back garden with a weeping willow and a view of the mountains. It was perfect. But Penny was looking serious and shaking her head.

‘I’m sorry, my luvvy, but I can’t let you take her.’

There was a silence. I clung tighter and purred harder round TammyLee’s neck. I watched her aura turning to cracked glass, the way it had been that night. Grief and anxiety manifesting as anger. The anger flared through her like a bonfire, and I saw her looking at the gate. I saw she was thinking of making a run for it, with me in her arms.

‘I know how much you want her,’ said Penny kindly. ‘You can wait a couple of days, can’t you? Isn’t Tallulah worth waiting for?’

I patted TammyLee’s face and made her smile again as she fought against the anger.

‘I can come tomorrow and look at your home,’ Penny offered. ‘And if it’s OK, then I’ll bring Tallulah to you in my car. She’ll be safe, and I’d like to see her settled in. And I’m sure you’d like to know more about her, wouldn’t you? She had a very nasty experience before she came here and you need to know about that, and know what to do if she shows any symptoms.’

A rush of sympathy changed TammyLee’s defensive stance into softness and vulnerability. I sighed with relief as she said, ‘OK then, if that’s what it takes. So – can I really, really have her?’

‘I hope so, my luvvy,’ said Penny warmly. ‘I do hope so.’

TammyLee put me down reluctantly and I wove myself around her legs as she and Penny went out through the two gates.

‘Bye for now, Tallulah.’ TammyLee looked down into my face. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I’ll see you soon, magic puss cat.’

I bounded up to the highest perch and saw her walking away down the farm track, getting smaller and smaller. She turned once to blow me a kiss and her bangles flashed in the sun. I watched her get on the bus that came grinding up the hill every day, and I followed it with my eyes so that I would know which direction to take to find her, if I had to. The bus turned right, away from the mountains, and headed along the road beside the river, the road that led into the town where I had lived with Gretel.

I ran round and round the pen, meowing, searching for an escape route. And again, I was distraught. TammyLee had come to find me, and Penny wouldn’t let her take me!

Learning to wait, learning to trust, was a hard lesson for me. The pen seemed to be getting smaller, and my panic was like a whirlwind, engulfing me. When it reached an unbearable intensity, I noticed the black tomcat sitting close to his fence, watching me in concern. He meowed and reached out a paw to me. We touched noses through the fence, and it was the first time I’d communicated with him. I’d dismissed him as a boring, fat, switched-off cat.

I sat still for a moment, to see if he would communicate, and he did, telepathically. First, he leaned his solid black body against the fence, so that I could feel his warmth, and encouraged me with little purr-meows in his throat. We pressed against each other through the wire, and I sensed the words he was sending me.

‘Be still,’ he was telling me. ‘Be still and listen.’ Hearing and listening are different things for a cat.

Hearing is physical– hearing the wind in the trees, the traffic, the footsteps, the creak of doors. Listening is going inside a balloon of silence, sitting perfectly still and waiting.

The black cat joined me in this, and I felt his serenity and his wisdom. Why hadn’t I done this before? All I’d done in that pen was sleep, play and panic, sleep, play and panic. In the black cat’s benevolent presence, I was aware of him staring at my aura. What was he looking at?

Colours. He was showing me colours that flickered through my aura like those of a dragonfly in the sun. He was staring at a light in the air above and around me. He was showing me my angel!

‘Wow,’ I thought. ‘It’s been so long.’ It seemed a lifetime ago when I was ‘Fuzzball’, that I’d talked with my angel. Well, I didn’t talk; I listened, soaking up her words like the soothing heat of the sun.

‘Tallulah,’ she said, and it sounded like a song. ‘Tallulah! All is well. You will go to TammyLee on the right day, when the sun is a deep gold. But first, you must wait, and trust. We have set this up for you so that you can begin your true work as Tallulah – a strong, wise and loving cat. The work will take many years, for TammyLee is a beautiful soul caught in a difficult life. She and her family will need you.’

‘I wish I had a friend,’ I said, ‘like this black cat, or like the dog, Harriet, who rescued me when I was tiny. I’ve never had a friend, only a human. I’ve been lonely.’

‘You will have a friend: Amber. Wait and see. Amber is waiting for you, and she is lonely too.’

‘Who is she?’ I asked, but my angel wouldn’t tell me. She wanted to say something else.

‘I’ve tried so often to talk to you, Tallulah,’ she said. ‘And you’ve always been too busy. Your life will spiral out of control if you don’t practice stillness regularly.’

I agreed that I would and, as the colours of my angel muted into the night, I slept, right there against the wire, with the black cat still pressed against me on his side of the fence.

The sun was golden as Penny drove me past the fields of sheep, along the babbling river towards the town. I sat up smartly in the cat cage, noticing everything, my whiskers quivering with excitement.

‘Here we are, Tallulah – your new home.’ Penny swung the car away from the big roundabout, down a leafy lane and into a driveway. As soon as the tyres crunched over the gravel, I heard a dog barking deep inside the house. And I could hear another sound – the burble of water rushing over stones. The river was very close.

TammyLee came running across the lawn. I meowed as she reached the car, breathless, and full to the brim of love for me. I kissed her bangled arm through the wire mesh.‘Don’t let her out yet,’ warned Penny as she took my cage out of the car. The air smelled of sweet apples, and sheep and the briny river. After my time in the pen, I so needed to be on the grass and in the trees.

‘I’ll bring her in.’ Penny seemed reluctant to let go of me. ‘I want to see her reaction to Amber. And there’s some papers to sign.’

She carried me into this awesome house, which smelled of roast chicken and oranges, and, yes, it smelled of damp dog as well. The barking started again, a man’s voice yelled, ‘QUIET,’ and it stopped.

‘Here she is,’ said TammyLee. ‘This is Tallulah. Isn’t she a darling?’

A man and a woman were looking into the cage at me, and I immediately observed that the woman was ill. Her aura was bright but fragile, and she sat in a wheelchair.

‘This is Mum,’ said TammyLee, and I did my best to smile there in the cage, giving a little purr-meow and dancing my eyes at the poor sick woman with the sweet face. ‘Her name is Diana.’

Penny unfastened the cage door. I paused, fluffed my fur, and swanned out, looking round at everyone with my golden eyes full of joy. My family!

‘And this is Dad.’ TammyLee showed me the man, and he looked at me kindly under bushy eyebrows. He was obviously important, and powerful, his aura had an orange glow. I rubbed myself around his legs and felt him touch the tip of my fluffy tail.

‘Hello, Tallulah,’ he said, ‘I’m Max,’ and immediately I sensed he was holding something back, some secret he was bursting to tell me.

‘Shall we do it?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Shall we introduce them?’

‘No time like the present,’ said Diana in a thin squeak of a voice.

‘Best get it over with,’ said Penny.

Max got up and opened a glass door into the conservatory.‘Now you be a good girl, Amber. Don’t you dare even THINK about barking.’

I stared in utter joy. A dog! My own dog! And what a beauty. Amber was golden, silky and magnificent. She stood in the doorway with the light shining through the silver plume of her wagging tail. Her eyes were anxious and she went stiff when she saw me there with my tail up. I ran straight to her and kissed her on the nose.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ cried Penny.

Amber looked down at me like a goddess. Then she lay on her belly and sniffed at me, and whimpered.

‘It’s all right, Amber,’ said TammyLee. ‘Tallulah wants to be friends with you.’

Amber turned her head away from my kisses. She shivered all over and started creeping along the floor towards TammyLee.

‘You great big coward.’ Max laughed at Amber, loudly, and the dog looked hurt.

‘Don’t laugh at her. Poor Amber,’ said TammyLee, ‘she’s frightened of doing something wrong.’

I was impressed with her intuition. Amber seemed terribly uncomfortable with me rubbing against her throat and kissing her. She lifted a paw and put it on my back, and when I twisted out from under it, she jumped back as if she expected me to scratch her.

‘They’ll be fine,’ said Penny. ‘Tallulah’s so laid-back.’

But I was disappointed. I’d fallen instantly in love with Amber and I felt rebuffed. I jumped up into TammyLee’s arms for a cuddle, and she carried me slowly round the room, whispering to me, telling me what everything was. She carried me into the conservatory and showed me the garden, and Amber’s bed. Amber followed us, her tail down, her eyes worried. She got on to her beanbag bed and stamped it round and around with a loud crunching noise, then slumped down on it and lay staring at the floor.

I needed time alone with Amber, and it didn’t happen until early the next morning. I’d slept in three places: first, in the cat bed, ten minutes, then I tried all the chairs and found a little old one with a saggy seat, which was perfect. Two hours later, I got up, stretched, and explored every corner of the downstairs, up over the bookshelves first. I even took out a book with my paw and opened it, thought about shredding it, but there was too much else to inspect: over the mantelpiece, up the thick curtains and along the shelf at the top, where I found a spider to play with; under the massive sofa, where I practised being a flat cat. A lot of stuff was under there: slippers, a soggy tennis ball, a revolting old bone, a plastic rabbit, a tweed cap that smelled like a car. Obviously, these were Amber’s treasures, and she was too big to get them out. Respectfully, I reversed out and went to the closed door of the conservatory, to look at Amber through the glass. Curled up in a ball on her bed, she was having a nightmare. Her paws were twitching and she was making squeaky little woofs in her throat.

I felt lonely and wanted to be with her, but she didn’t like me. Upset and alone in the strange house, I crept through the hall and sniffed the night through a crack in the front door. I yearned to go out and taste the summer night, lie on the cool soft grass and watch the stars above me. My entire life had been doors and cages. I looked at the stairs, wanting to communicate with TammyLee. She had to understand my need for freedom.

So I ended up slinking upstairs and into her bedroom. It smelled like flowers, and there were piles of glittery clothes and beads and hard shoes everywhere. A line of teddy bears patrolled the shelf above the bed, and I’d never really seen teddy bears before. They weren’t asleep, and their glass eyes spooked me so much that I wailed in fright.

‘Come on, darling, magic puss cat.’ TammyLee was awake instantly and patting the bed quilt. I’d never been allowed on Gretel’s bed, so I hesitated.

‘Come on, Tallulah. It’s OK. You’ve got me now.’ She reached down and scooped me into the softest pillowy place I’d ever experienced. It smelled of pansies, and felt softer than the deepest grasses. I sank my paws into it, dough punching and purring, and went to sleep, a happy cat, withTammyLee’s hand on my fur.

TammyLee was fast asleep when I heard the dawn outside. Pigeons were cooing and jackdaws chack-chacking. I jumped onto the windowsill and sat in the pink sunlight, watching the swallows, tiny and fast, zooming in wide arcs through the sky, and their high pitched voices sounded free and joyful. I wanted to be out there, prowling on the lawns, exploring, climbing the fence and inspecting the garden next door. I wanted to feel the earth under my paws, and taste the grass, and hear the bees waking up as the sun rose.

The smell of toast and bacon wafted up the stairs, so I padded down with my tail up and found TammyLee’s dad at the table in the kitchen with Amber leaning against his legs. She turned when she saw me, but only her ears moved, and the very tip of her tail wagged. I longed to pounce on it and play, but it was too early to take liberties like that.

‘Hello, Tallulah.’ Max didn’t move but kept his arm protectively around Amber, and his coffee mug in the other hand. I rubbed myself adoringly on Amber’s creamy gold chest and she stuck her nose high in the air to avoid me.

‘I must get off to work now.’ Dad got up and took his plate to the sink, giving Amber a scrap of bacon rind, which she snapped and swallowed. Then he gave me some milk and wagged his finger at Amber. ‘Don’t you TOUCH it. That’s the cat’s breakfast. Leave it.’

I lapped it up quickly, while Amber sat watching me. Max headed for the door, a black case in his hand.‘No, Tallulah,’ he said. ‘You’re not allowed out yet. You get to know Amber.’ And his soap-scented hand pushed me back gently as I tried to go out.

Was I still a prisoner?

Miffed, I sat washing, and Amber must have sensed my sadness, for she crept towards me and touched me with a big soft paw. I deliberately continued washing. I could manage perfectly well without a dog who didn’t like me, thank you.

Amber listened to the sound of Max’s car rolling over the gravel, then leaving with a smart zippy sort of roar. The house was quiet, and I was alone with my beautiful goddess of a dog, and she didn’t like me.

Once the car had gone, Amber relaxed. She started sending me messages, in the way that animals do, by telepathy. It’s so much easier than trying to actually speak like humans do, and it changes so smoothly from images to words and back again.

The first message Amber sent me was that she loved Max, but he dominated her too much. She was a more confident dog when he wasn’t there telling her what to do. She did want to be friends with me, but she’d never had a cat friend before, and she was nervous.

She gave me an experimental lick on the top of my head, and I stopped being huffy and let her lick my back the way Harriet had done. When I’d had enough, I gave her a pat on the nose, being careful to keep my claws retracted. She lay down on her side, and let me cuddle up to her and she wanted me to purr right next to her ear. She lay there, thumping her tail, and I even dared to play with it.

Suddenly, Amber sat up and listened attentively, her nose twitching. It made my hackles rise and my tail bush out in the spooky silence, not knowing why she was listening. Something was going to happen. I heard a bleeping noise from upstairs. Then I was almost knocked over as Amber took off in a whirl of wispy fur. She skidded through the hall and thundered up the stairs, her tail wagging furiously. I heard a squeal from TammyLee’s room, and Amber reappeared with her aura on fire, her ears flying and her mouth smiling. She charged down the stairs, grabbed a shoe from the mat, and did a wild circle with her back all bunched up. I leaped out of the way onto the back of the sofa with my bottlebrush tail kinked in the air.

I watched in disbelief as Amber lolloped upstairs again. I peered up there and saw her skid round the doorway into TammyLee’s room. I heard the clonk as she dropped the shoe and loud laughter from TammyLee. The laughing seemed to add fire and speed to Amber’s performance. She lolloped down again, did another mad circle, pausing to snatch the other shoe, before belting upstairs again like an earthquake. By the time she had done it about six times, my fur had gone flat again, and I understood this was a game she played. Every morning, she told me as she flashed past, every morning she heard TammyLee’s alarm clock and galloped up the stairs. It started the day with peals of laughter, even the china in the kitchen was ringing with it.

It filled me with joy. Before long, I knew, I would join in the game, if I could keep out of the way of those flying paws. I’d hide under the stairs and leap out at Amber’s tail as she soared past. Ah, I was going to have fun in this house!

I wondered if there would be a postman.

I waited until Amber ran downstairs for the final time, puffing and snorting, and too hot. She flopped down on the cold tiles in the kitchen, and I arranged my fur, put my tail up and walked upstairs nicely, to say good morning to TammyLee.

She was sitting in front of a mirror, fixing her hair, dragging some of it back and some of it forward, then pulling out curly strands to hang round her face.

‘Tallulah!’ she breathed, and picked me up as if I was the most precious treasure. She put down the comb and the funny-looking strand of pink hair that she’d been trying to add to the hairstyle.

I sat on her lap and stared into her eyes, and what I saw there told me it was time for serious stuff. It wasn’t the time to purr, or to play. It was time to listen.

TammyLee said some nice things to me first, the sort of blanket comments people offer to cats, like,‘Aren’t you beautiful?’ and ‘You’re SUCH a lovely cat.’ Then it moved on to, ‘I can’t believe I found you again. I knew it was you, and I saw you on TV.’

I maintained my searching stare, and her voice dropped to a whisper.‘I don’t deserve you. I’m a bad girl. And you know, don’t you, Tallulah? You were there when I … did what I did.’

I responded with a mini purr-meow, and sat still, watching and waiting.

‘You know what I did … that terrible night.’ TammyLee was stroking me with her hands, one each side of me, her slim fingers buried in my fur. ‘And you went back, didn’t you? You saw my baby – my Rocky. I think about him all the time.’

I licked the tears from her cheeks, but more and more came and she moved her hands to press hard against her temples. I watched the deep, dark pain rise to the surface, and sink back again into the green depths of her eyes.

‘I knew I was pregnant, and I didn’t dare tell Dad – he’d have killed me – and I had mum to look after, and my school stuff. I kept hoping I’d miscarry, and I hid my bump under loose clothes, ’cause I’m fat anyway. I told people I was bingeing on cream cakes and stuff. Oh, you’re a gorgeous cat, Tallulah …’ she paused to give me an extra cuddle, and gazed into my attentive eyes. ‘Even when he started moving, I kind of convinced myself it wasn’t true – I was in TOTAL denial, and so, so scared. I went into labour on the way to school and I was terrified, Tallulah – I ran away and sat in the churchyard. I thought about topping myself. I stayed there all day, until it got bad – really bad. I went in the toilets and he was born so quickly,’ her voice dropped to a whisper – ‘and the placenta came out too – it was terrible. Thank God no one wasin there, ’cause I was screaming and so was he. I thought I was gonna die. Then I cut the cord with nail scissors – it took ages – and all I had to wrap him in was a scarf … and he … he looked at me, and I can’t get his little face out of my mind. I panicked then, didn’t thinkabout anything except how I could get rid of him. I’m so wicked, Tallulah. I’m evil. I’ll never forgive myself … and I can’t tell anyone, only you.’

I listened and listened, and for the first time in my life, I felt needed. I was aware of an angel who was holding TammyLee in her shining arms.

‘I was fourteen,’ she whispered. ‘I was desperate … and I’m still desperate, Tallulah … I’m a prisoner, you see. Like you were, in that pen. I’m a prisoner.’

She rocked herself to and fro, her aura flooded with the memories. I tasted the intensity of her secret pain. But I was puzzled. Why was she a prisoner? And did that mean I would be one too? I put my paws around her neck and hugged her, purring a loud vibrational purr. That pain inside her needed to come out and, over time, I would coax it out with my purring, healing love. She hugged me back, and rocked me, and whispered,‘You’re a wonderful, fantabulous, gorgeous cat.’

I chose that moment to send her a strong message, that I wanted to go outside. She didn’t get it, so I jumped on to the windowsill and meowed, looking down at the tantalising garden.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked TammyLee.

I looked at the garden again and back into her eyes.

‘Oh, you want to go out? Of course you can, darling. Penny said to keep you in for a few days, but you’re not going to run away, are you, Tallulah? I’ll take you out after breakfast … but first …’

As she spoke, I heard Diana’s thin voice calling out:

‘I’m awake dear. Are you coming?’

‘Yes, I’ll be right there, Mum.’

TammyLee picked me up.

‘You can come and watch,’ she said. ‘I look after Mum. I’m her carer. I’ve gotta do everything for her. Get her up, help her wash and dress, then I do the housework and stuff. Then I go to school, but not today, ’cause it’s holiday, whatever that’s supposed to mean!’

She sounded bitter and tired, but as she carried me down a corridor and into her mum’s bedroom, everything changed, and, if I’d been a human, I’d have gasped in surprise.

The room she took me into was full of angels. One at each side of the bed head, and one on each side at the foot of the bed– they were still as water lilies, their colours lemon and white. They were so dazzling that I could hardly see their faces, or anything else in the room.

In that wonderful moment, I became my true soul self again, the Queen of Cats. I puffed out my fur, and my aura became huge, my eyes like bright suns as I sat soaking up the light from the angels, and purring so loudly that the vibration sent stardust whizzing through my aura. I looked round at each angel in turn, and realised that these were‘comfort angels’. I’d seen many of them in the spirit world, and they rarely moved, but just emanated love and stillness. Sometimes, they sent out tendrils of healing colour, and I noticed they were doing this to TammyLee as she stood by the bed. They were wrapping her in ribbons of love.

Then it hit me.

TammyLee couldn’t see the angels.

She couldn’t feel the waves of light from their love.

She was earthbound.

‘What a funny cat.’ TammyLee’s mum was saying. ‘Why is she sitting with her back to me … and what is she looking at?’

I turned round and saw Diana sitting up in bed, her cheeks hollow, her eyes dancing, her white hands stretching out to stroke me. I loved her straightaway.

‘I’m Diana,’ she said, ‘but you can call me Mum.’

She was a beautiful soul, and I decided to call her Diana, not Mum. I walked up to the bed and made a fuss of her, kissing her thin face.

I settled down in the corner of the bed under one of the angels, and watched TammyLee in surprise. When she was helping Diana, she seemed like a different person from the crying, desperate girl I’d seen. She acted like a cat lady, being calm and cheerful, doing everything, even the awkward jobs, with kindness and skill, her bangles jangling as she washed and dressed Diana. The two women talked happily, mostly about me and Amber and the garden. It was obvious to me that TammyLee loved her mum very much. I felt a twinge of envy. If only I’d had my mum, Jessica, in my life, I might have been a better cat.

TammyLee helped Diana to walk with a frame, to the top of the stairs, and sat her in a chair. She flicked a switch and the chair glided down the stairs to Amber, who was waiting at the bottom, her tail wagging, her front paws quivering with excitement.

We all had breakfast together, and TammyLee did everything, hardly sitting down herself, but marching about with toast in her hand.

‘Hasn’t Tallulah settled down well?’ remarked Diana. ‘What a GOOD cat!’

I glowed. After the names Gretel had called me, hearing that was like a healing touch on my soul.

Chapter Seven

SOLOMON

The room with the angels soon became one of my favourite places to curl up during the day when TammyLee had gone to school. I loved the softness and the colours of Diana’s room, the wind chimes tinkling in the open window, the wide windowsill with velvet cushions, the way the sun streamed in and gilded the sparkly scarves hanging on the back of the door. A glass crystal in the window splashed rainbows over everything, and once, for a magic moment, I had one onmy fur. I lay very still, squinting at the intense colour as it rose and fell with my breathing, feeling it healing something deep within me, a part of me that had been damaged by the time in Gretel’s hot car.

Amber acted strangely in Diana’s room. She wouldn’t stand up and wag her tail. She’d hover in the doorway and then creep in on her belly to see Diana, and sit with her chin on the bed and just the tip of her tail flipping as she offered Diana first one paw, then the other. From my lofty perch on top of the bookshelves, I studied her weird behaviour and the way she and Diana gazed at each other. If Diana closed her eyes, Amber would whine and push her nose into the limp hand hanging over the side of the bed.

‘It’s all right, Amber. I’m not going to snuff it yet,’ she said, opening her eyes, and I watched the relief flood through the dog’s soft face. Sadness, and intense anxiety, I thought – I have to get to know this dog, she’s such a complex being.

Later, I lay on the doormat next to Amber’s shining warm body.

‘Why are you so sad around Diana?’ I asked.

Amber gave a deep sigh and I could see her processing the reply. I waited.

‘Diana is ill, and I don’t want her to die,’ she said, and a tear rolled out of the corner of her left eye.

I made a fuss, purring and rubbing my head against her and she seemed to like it now. She left her head down for me, then rolled onto her side and let me walk all over her, stepping over her paws and along her back, and purring into her ear.

‘I’m Diana’s dog,’ said Amber. ‘She came and chose me when I was a puppy, and she taught me everything, even how to cross the road safely. She used to take me for lovely walks along the river and up into the hills, and she was never in a hurry like TammyLee and Max. She liked to sit forages and listen to the water. She said it had a heartbeat.’

‘I’d like to hear that,’ I said. ‘Next time you go to the river, I’m going to come.’

‘You won’t like it,’ said Amber. ‘We go through a park with big dogs racing about. It’s no place for a cat, believe me.’

‘I’ll find a way,’ I said, visualising myself on TammyLee’s shoulder or running through the treetops like a squirrel.

‘And there are lots of people,’ Amber said, ‘but, when I go with TammyLee, she takes me out of the park and up to the waterfalls and it’s quiet. We go to a pool and she likes to swim with me.’

‘Swim?’ I was horrified. ‘I shan’t be doing THAT.’

TammyLee tried to discourage me from going on her walks with Amber, but I passionately wanted to go. So I learned to anticipate when it was going to happen, and slipped outside to hide in the garden, then belt after them with my tail flying.

The first few times, TammyLee tried to take me home, but I wouldn’t let her catch me, and, eventually, she understood my need to go with them, and realised I was well able to look after myself. Avoiding the park, she headed down a footpath, which led straight to the river, close enough to home for me to go on my own! I couldn’t wait to do some private hunting.

We had a wonderful summer, and when the chill of autumn came and the river glowed with floating leaves, TammyLee dragged lots of wood logs inside and lit a cosy fire. Amber and I sat watching the flames and warming ourselves, while TammyLee marched around, cooking, cleaning and caring.

‘She’s a real angel,’ Diana said as I dozed on her lap. ‘I’m so lucky to have such a kind daughter. I wish Max wasn’t so hard on her. But we love her, don’t we, Tallulah?’

I looked at Diana’s expectant eyes and wondered if she knew about Rocky. No, my angel said. But I wished TammyLee would tell her. Diana was her mum. She should know her daughter cried every single night before she went to sleep, and the tears were tears of regret and longing for her lost child.

‘I would have loved him, Tallulah,’ she wept to me. ‘I do love him, but I’ll never see him again, and when he grows up, he’ll never forgive me. How would you feel if your mum dumped you?’

I knew the pain of abandonment, but I couldn’t tell her how bad I’d felt when Joe dumped us in the hedge, and again when Gretel threw me out for wrecking the Christmas tree.

I worried about Christmas. When was it? Would there be a tree that I mustn’t play with? I asked Amber.

‘It’s soon,’ she said. ‘I know it’s in the winter when the nights are dark. Max takes me out in the night and the frost burns my paws. He leans on the railings and looks at the stars, and I’m not allowed in the water. And sometimes he walks me into the town and we admire the coloured lights on people’s homes.’

That gave me a clue. As the nights got longer, the afternoons gloomier, I noticed coloured lights appearing on the houses and in the trees. I worried and worried, and when I heard a rustling noise and saw Max dragging a Christmas tree through the door, I panicked.

I was on the hearth rug with Amber, nice and warm in front of a blazing fire, and I was in the middle of washing. When I saw the Christmas tree, my eyes must have turned huge and black, for TammyLee said,‘What’s the matter, Tallulah? Tallulah! Don’t run away!’

I didn’t wait for her to catch me. I bolted, like a squirrel crossing the road, into the kitchen, past my supper, which I hadn’t yet eaten, and charged through the cat flap, up the frosty garden and into the road. Without stopping to think, I sped down the footpath towards the river.

When my paws started to burn from the frost, I thought about Amber. I had to find a hiding place where she wouldn’t find me, because I wasn’t going back. No, I’d hide out there for the winter, until that Christmas tree had gone, and then I’d creep back. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had a thick luxurious coat to keep me warm.

My angel’s voice whispered in my mind: ‘Don’t do this, Tallulah.’ But I ignored her, and ran on, following the river upstream, until I reached the stone bridge where TammyLee had often taken me. I hoped the stones would be warm from the sun, but they were colder than ice. The whole earth ached with the chill of winter; down in the roots of grasses, the frost crackled and puddles creaked with ice.

Nearby was a good place to catch mice, a bank of mossy tree roots with numerous holes. Usually, it was easy. I only had to wait, watch and pounce. On this bitter night, not a single mouse appeared. The birds were silent. The air was still, and my breath was making tiny puffs of steam in the moonlight. I sat down to watch for mice, but found myself hypnotised by the enormous silver-gold moon, which was rising over the mountains, its light glinting on the flowing river and glazing the frosted stones of the old bridge. The moss and the bare twigs were coated with ice, and nothing moved. I felt like the only living creature out there, and yet … something was watching me, making my fur stiff with fright. A fox? A prowling dog? Or some other strange creature of the night?

I listened for its footsteps.

The murmur of the water, the metallic tinkling of frosted reeds and the cracking of ice along the riverbank. My whiskers glistened, my fur puffed out like a halo, and the tips of it had a haze of hoar frost. I seemed like a cat frozen in time, locked in a cocoon of magic moonlight, where something, some presence, was waiting for me.

I looked up at the bridge, and there he was, high on the top. A cat! My whiskers stiffened, my tail twitched in alarm. Was he real? He didn’t look real. Even though his eyes shone green in the moonlight, he looked transparent, like a ghost cat. His presence was magnetic. I found myself creeping towards him, wanting his warmth and his company, yet knowing that wasn’t what he could give me. He was a phantom, unmoving, but staring at me with calm intelligence.

I padded closer, my heart racing, and sat down at a respectful distance. Still the cat didn’t move. I observed the curve of his whiskers, and the faint iridescence that came from his fur. It was blacker than the night, but he had a white chest and paws.

Something shifted in my memory. A time of being a baby kitten, under a bed, and this same cat had been there, watching me proudly, protectively.

My dad. Solomon!

Overwhelmed, I kept still and waited for him to speak. I wanted to run to him and touch noses, but something held me back, some invisible force between me and him.

‘Tallulah!’ he said at last, and a feeling of relief settled over me. ‘I’m not a spirit cat, and I’m not really here. I’m with you in my thoughts, and I know you’re in trouble. You must go home.’

‘I can’t,’ I said.

‘You can, and you must. You are too precious to live wild in the winter. It’s your mission to be with TammyLee. She is calling you now. Listen!’

I did, and through the silvery night came the distant voice:‘Tallulah. Tallooolah!’

‘It will be all right,’ said Solomon. ‘You can play and be joyful, and no one there will make you afraid. Take back your trust and your joy, and go home to the people you love.’

I cried to him, in gratitude. Even my angel hadn’t found the right words like he had done.

Then I heard his purr, and it was louder than mine. It filled the echoing shell of winter. I gazed at Solomon and then he was gone, leaving only the purr in my heart. I turned and trotted homewards along the river, with the words ringing in my mind:‘Take back your trust and your joy.’ He was right. Who had taken those treasures of the soul away from me? Gretel! I’d forgiven her, but I hadn’t taken back my right to play and be joyful.

I paused, to look back at the bridge. It was dark against the moonlit river, and the mysterious cat had vanished. He’d left me a picture of where he really was on this winter night, curled up on the lap of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair who sat by a bright warm stove, stroking him and dreaming.

Solomon. I’d seen Solomon. My dad. My homeward trot quickened to a gallop, the mad dash of an ecstatic cat. I streaked along the riverbank, skidded round the corner and into the footpath, where I saw a torch shining at me and heard TammyLee’s cry of joy as I ran to her with my tail up.

She carried me home, her cold cheek pressed against my fur. Through the gate, up the path and into the warm kitchen. My supper was still there, untouched.

‘You wait till you see our Christmas tree,’ she said, and I followed her into the lounge. I sat down next to Amber and gazed at the sparkling tree. I made up my mind not to touch it, only lie on my back under its branches and watch the reflections in the baubles. I was glad to be home.

Winter passed and it was spring again, and by then I was a confident and contented cat. I was even a bit fatter, which only added to my magnificence.

Every afternoon, Amber and I waited in the garden for TammyLee to come home from school. Amber’s sensitivity was awesome, and she knew when the bus was coming, even if it was far away. She’d run to the gate, put her paws on top of it and bark, nearly knocking me over with her tail. I rearranged my ruffled fur and slipped under the gate, to run down the road and meet TammyLee. It always made her smile to see me welcoming her.

But one afternoon in May, it was different. Amber’s tail went down and her ears drooped, as we waited. The bus came. We saw it trundle past the end of the road, and it didn’t stop. Where was TammyLee?

I sat on the hot pavement, waiting, but she didn’t come.

Something made me look up at the trees overhanging the next-door fence, and one was full of light. It swerved and danced, then settled into a familiar shape. My angel.

‘Remember the tree, Tallulah,’ she said, ‘like this one.’

The perfume hit me. Elderflowers. My angel was showing me something important.

‘It’s an anniversary,’ she explained. ‘Humans count events in years, and when the time comes round again, they remember. The feelings return, stronger than before. Today is Rocky’s first birthday, at the time when the elder tree flowers, as it will always be.’

Amber was whining behind the gate, and Diana was calling me from her window, but I hurried down the road. I knew exactly what I had to do. Follow the river. Go through the scary park with all the dogs, run beside the river towards the town, until I came to the elder tree where TammyLee had abandoned baby Rocky.

I’d wanted Amber to go with me, but instead, I found myself on a lone mission. The river shimmered in the heat, and a family of ducks were sleeping on the bank. When they saw me, they plopped into the water and swam across to the other side. It gave me an idea. Why not cross the river and be outof the reach of dogs, and people? I climbed the sturdy trunk of an oak tree and followed a curly branch with little ferns growing on it. Soon I was above the water, looking down at the swirls and the green of it flowing below me. The branch was getting thinner and thinner. I hesitated, then realised I couldn’t turn round without falling into the river. Looking down at it made me dizzy.

Frightened now, I clung to the thin branch, thinking about the logistics of turning round on it. A bunch of sheep stood on the opposite bank, looking at me, as if waiting for me to fall in. I meowed at them and they bleated back, and more sheep came skittering across the field to stare at me, a cat in a tree. I tuned in to their communal mind-set and found they were expecting me to jump. I thought about it. If I crept a bit further along the branch, I might risk a flying leap onto a green tuft of the bank that stuck out into the river. In a way, the hundred eyes of the sheep were encouraging me.

‘Tallulah,’ said my angel. ‘Think about your name. Tallulah.’

From far away, Diana’s clear bell-like voice was calling me from the window. ‘Talloolah. Talloolah.’ My name seemed to be woven into the whisper and burble of the water. The river’s colours were the colours of my fur – silver and black with tinges of gold. Roxanne had given me my name, and it meant ‘Leaping water’.

As I hyped myself up for the jump, my name echoed up and down the river valley. Even a pigeon was cooing it from a tree, and a black bird, and angels from beyond the glistening edges of the world, all singing my name, inviting me to jump.

There was a moment of balance when I wobbled a little, and the branch dipped and creaked. A woman walking along the path gasped,‘Look at THAT CAT! It’s not going to …’

I was a cat on fire. I took off in a spectacular swoosh of oak leaves, my back arched, my paws akimbo, my tail snaking. I held my breath. I was in the air and, in that moment, the sheep wheeled around and fled with a rumble of feet, and the woman screamed,‘It’s going in the river!’ Back in the garden, Amber was barking, and her barks were giving me energy.

Phew! I landed precisely on that green tuft with my heart racing, and Amber’s barks changed to a howl as if she was saying goodbye. My angel turned up again, and she was laughing with joy, sending sparkles over the grass.

‘Fuzzball could never have done that!’ she said.

It was true. My name had power.

It seemed a good time to wash, so I started on my paws, which felt gritty. It’s a privilege to be a cat. We don’t gallop about, knocking things over like dogs. We stop to contemplate and take time to enjoy life.

While I was picking bits of moss from between my pads, I kept an eye on the sheep, who were now standing in a circle, looking at me with their hundred eyes. I wanted to touch noses with a sheep, so I pretended not to notice them as they tiptoed closer, blowing hot breath out of their nostrils. When they were right up close, I stretched elegantly, and walked towards them with my tail up. A shiver rippled through the flock. They hesitated while the ring-leader came forward and reached out to me with her velvety face. There was a glint in her yellowy eyes as we touched noses, and some of her steam got onto my whiskers. I sent her a quick message:‘If ever I’m lost, I might need you to keep me warm at night.’

She might have said,‘Yes,’ but the moment of contact was brief. Obviously, she was spooked by me, and her courage ran out. She sprang back, and that fired up the rest of the sheep. They took off again, some of them leaping in the air, and fled to the far corner of the field, where they turned and stared back at me with their hundred eyes.

Mildly annoyed, I finished washing my paws and set off along the springy turf of the riverbank, towards the town. Through the next field, and the next, through tall grasses and flowers so rich with pollen that it made me sneeze. It was hard for me to remember where I was going, and not get distracted by the new places I was discovering; places where tantalising butterflies flitted and bees hummed. There would be voles and mice hidden in that grass. I put it on my‘places to go’ list, for when I could slip away and do some private hunting.

My angel was ahead of me, glistening like a dragonfly, leading me on an ever more challenging path, through back gardens that sloped down to the river, over fences and compost heaps, through tangles of honeysuckle and briars. At last, I came to a road between the gardens and the river. There were wheelie bins, boxes of cardboard and empty tins that smelled of cat food. More temptation.

A perfectly good piece of cheese was lying on the gravel next to one bin. I picked it up gingerly and dived under some bushes to enjoy it in private. The cheese was chewy but deliciously salty and it took me a while to eat it. My mind was on TammyLee, imagining her sitting under that elder tree by herself, remembering Rocky and breaking her heart. I should be there.

Even as I had that thought, I heard the clonk of shoes on the other side of the river and there was TammyLee, trudging towards home, her school bag slung over one shoulder, her head down, her cheeks red from crying. I was too late. Gretel’s words rang in my mind: ‘You BAD CAT.’ I’d got distracted by the sheep and the piece of cheese. What a disgrace after doing that magnificent jump.

And how was I going to get back across the river?

I meowed at TammyLee but she didn’t hear me. She had those little black earphones in her ears, listening to music. I started back the way I had come, wanting to go with her, but then a worse thought came to me. Even if I did go back along the bank and through the sheep field, I couldn’t possibly jump up onto that branch. I sat down to think, and my angel came again, hovering over the water.