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So I sat outside the gate in the middle of a lemon-scented patch of wild camomile, and once the bullocks had seen me and done some snorting and stamping, they got bored and wandered away. My only chance was to wait until they reached the far side of the field, then make a dash for it.

I had to believe that I could run that far, that fast, on tired paws at the end of the day! I waited ages for the cattle to retreat, and I was getting more and more agitated.

When the last bullock reached the far side, I made a run for it. Low and fast was how I wanted to go, but the turf was covered in thistles and cowpats, so I was jumping and dodging.

I was out in the open when I heard their roar and felt the thunder of their hooves. I ran for my life, my paws splashing through mud. The bullocks crossed the field in seconds, their tails in the air. I was going to die, horribly, in the pungent stench of them and the mud. I tried and tried to run faster, but there was no place to hide. Bewildered, I turned and found myself surrounded by steaming red-brown faces.

In my moment of need, Vati flashed into my mind, and I remembered the way he used his winsome little face and kinky tail to bewitch any creature who threatened him. The power of the cat! Come on, Timba, use it!

I sat down in the middle of those red-brown faces, and scrutinised their minds. Actually they didn’t WANT to kill me. They were just having fun. If they killed me, it would be by accident, not intention.

I was terrified, but in control. The intense power of my absolute stillness shone like a dazzling star. Stiff whiskers gleaming, my aura fierce with light, I focused on one particular bullock. Eyeball to eyeball, we exchanged an animal rights agreement.

I, Timba, have a right to occupy my bit of Mother Earth, even if it’s smaller than your bit. I, Timba, am a cat, and cats have been here longer than cattle. You are going to end up on someone’s plate, covered in gravy and next to a potato. Whereas I, Timba, will become an indispensable, pampered cat with supreme influence over my humans. Therefore, you will grant me free exit from this field, at my own pace, with my tail up.

Then I did something VERY brave. I walked towards the ring-leader and kissed his outstretched nose. I visualised myself as a shining cat, my light so vivid that no one would harm me.

With deliberate slowness and calm, and with a flagrant wave of my tail, I walked away and on towards the forest. The bullocks trailed behind me, clumped together and at a respectful distance. Keep it slow, Timba, keep it slow, I was thinking, and finally… finally, I was out of the field. I even turned and blinked my golden eyes, a cheeky goodbye to the bemused red-brown faces.

After that, I had no more trouble from cattle, ever again.

It’s important to have fun, even if you’re miserable, I thought as I strolled into the towering twilight of the forest. My paws were sore, my once lovely fur matted with burrs, my heart heavy with the weight of Vati’s mysterious problem. Added to that, if I sat thinking for too long I got homesick and wanted to turn back. But I was a young cat, bright-spirited and strong, and there was power in being totally alone in a place of magic.

Magic was everywhere in this forest. I sensed it shimmering between the leaves, teasing me with dancing patterns of light. Crisp autumn leaves floated down, twirling through the stillness, and landed light as cheese puffs. The urge to play with them tugged at the edges of my misery until I gave in and went totally mad, diving and sliding into them, leaping high in the air, my paws akimbo, my tail flying.

I felt brilliant. I was Timba again. My play got more and more creative. I hid behind the stout oak trunks, and leaped out, wild-eyed, my back and tail arched as I sped across the glade. Charged by the magic, I ran into another dimension. The joy was re-creating me: I was a spirit cat being born again from the tatty remains of a tired black cat with burrs in his fur.

I felt that Vati was there with me and my playing was drawing him out to the bright margins of his darkness.

Liberated, I whirled and capered until I heard laughter. At home I loved to generate laughter. Nothing made me happier. So, who was laughing at me, here in this lonely forest?

I paused, and found myself doing exactly what the Spirit Lion had told me to do: stretching out and touching the earth with the whole of my being. And listening.

My eyes had closed from sheer exhaustion, but I was in a state of trance. The laughter was high-pitched and silvery, and it was coming from hundreds of exquisite beings of light. Their eyes flickered as they laughed, not at me, but with me. These were beings of pure joy. Clustered high up in the trees, they too were listening to some finer, higher song from the Universe beyond.

I kept still and the tiny beings began to descend like glitter falling through the forest. They came closer and closer until I saw their colours, and felt their love cover me in a canopy of stars. And then I slept, like a dead cat sprawled across the forest floor, and I dreamed of a straight and secret path that would lead me to Vati. The path had the softest, most luminous green grass that healed my paws, and on either side of it rose tall plants with straight stems, growing densely and protectively together, like a guard of honour for me.

Day after day I trotted through the trees, sometimes running and leaping over clumps of plants, sometimes following narrow paths which looked promising as they wound between ferns. There were plenty of mice and voles for me to catch, as well as starlings, who descended in twittering flocks to feed on the berries, stripping whole trees bare in one sitting. They were easy prey as they paraded around the forest floor, driving their beaks into the ground to find worms and grubs. Mysteriously they moved as one mind, their plumage glistening with rainbows, their wings whirring as they took off in unison, darkening the sky with their swirling clouds.

The forest had hilltop places almost touching the sky, and I was drawn to them. Each time I expected to see the shining river, and the far-off land where Vati waited for me. I wanted to see the end of my journey. But each hilltop only gave me a view of another wooded hill, and another beyond. It was never-ending, and I started to feel downhearted. The nights were cold now and I chose to travel in the moonlight, sleeping in the daytime when the sun warmed my fur.

One night the moon seemed to be bobbing alongside me, silver white behind the black trees. The night was a dark crystal, sharp with frost, and all I heard was the whisper of my paws trotting through the cold. Ahead of me was a hill without trees, and the sky above it was coppery and alive with moving lights. At the top, I sat, spellbound, my tail twitching with excitement. Far away the river shone white in the moonlight, and the long bridge sparkled orange, like a necklace of beads strung across the water. There was the taste of traffic fumes in the frosty air, the hum of cars and lorries, their lights reflected in the water as they crossed the long bridge.

So far away … it both encouraged and frightened me. How could a little cat get safely across that busy bridge? I’d have to try.

On the forest floor the air was still but the west wind roared in the high branches as I spent many days sheltering miserably from a storm. I lost all sense of direction, and began to wonder if I was wasting precious time while Vati was edging closer and closer to death.

Utterly depressed, I curled up in the leaves, and tried to sleep, switch off, forget I was now a homeless, nameless cat on a mission. Rain glazed the surface of my fur, but I didn’t bother to move. Starlings flew down, but I didn’t bother to catch one.

Why bother? I was seriously lost.

My fur, which I’d been so proud of, was driving me mad. Itching, full of burrs, matted beyond belief, and, despite my efforts to groom myself, I ended up being sick from the hairballs I had somehow swallowed. There was even a piece of bramble caught in my tail.

So intense was my anxiety about Vati that when I finally saw the bridge again I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t stop and try to work out how best to cross it. I thought, Go for it, Timba, and soon I was trotting along the grassy edge of the slip road that led onto it.

I didn’t expect it to make me ill, but it did, right from the start, down there in the haze of pollution that hung over the tarmac. The winter afternoon was dove grey and still. A yellowish white mist drifted over the river, mixing with the traffic fumes.

The slip road was easy, but once the grass disappeared there was nothing but iron and tarmac between me and the traffic. The lorries towered over me. The rush of air and the vibration threw me sideways. Each time it happened, I ended up crouching, pressing myself against the metal with my eyes closed. The noise was thunderous and relentless. It rang in my skull. The whoosh of each vehicle blasted gritty air through my fur, almost lifting me off the ground.

I glanced up a few times at the drivers, hell bent on crossing that bridge as fast as possible. Didn’t anyone see me? Didn’t anyone care about a fluffy black cat, all alone, trying to survive? Surely someone would stop and pick me up, wouldn’t they? I was getting unbelievably tired. It needed every bit of my strength just to stay on the road and not be blown off balance, or knocked intothe river far below.

Nobody stopped for me. I thought about the love I had given to humans. Was I invisible? Did I actually look like a cat now, or like a piece of rubbish blown into a corner? I had a go at putting my tail up and trying to look like a successful cat, but it was impossible. The next thundering lorry sent me rolling sideways until I hit the iron and scrabbled desperately to get back on my feet. And then a man shouted at me from a speeding car.

‘Get off the bridge, you stupid cat! Go back. You’ll be killed!’

The tone of his voice cut into my consciousness. I paused, realising I was not making progress. I was surviving, but only just, and for how long?

Turning to face the oncoming traffic, I saw the pathetic little distance I had covered, and realised how ill it had made me. My eyes stung so much it was hard to keep them open. My paws shook. My tail dragged in the oily dirt. Even breathing was painful.

In a moment of despair, I curled into a ball and pressed my face against the cool of the metal. What a place to die, I thought, here on this terrible bridge, alone, with no one to love me. I wanted to die on Angie’s lap, or in her beautiful garden. Not here. Not like this.

That one thought made me decide to give up. I couldn’t cross the bridge, but I could try to go back. Even to live again in the green forest with my matted fur and lonely heart had to be better than this. So, as long as I breathed, I would drag myself to a quiet haven where I could die in peace.

A blessed break in the traffic gave me a minute to recall a healing place. With absolute clarity I remembered the owl woman, Mrs Lanbrow, who had rescued me from the trolley. I saw her, and felt her, as if she was really with me, holding me in the glow of her hands. The memory encouraged me to try and save myself.

I didn’t dare stand on my wobbly legs, for the rush of air from the rumbling lorries would have bowled me over. So I crawled on my belly, my fur dragging on the dirt. Long reaching steps, like a panther stalking, my mouth open now gasping for breath, tasting the acrid smoke from the vehicles. The owlwoman seemed to be in front of me, guiding me with the power of her voice, teaching me to wait for gaps in the traffic when it was possible to run, low to the ground. Each time a lorry came I lay flat and clung to the road while the huge grey wheels trundled past.

At last I reached the slip road and the welcome softness of the grass. Had it not been for the owl woman constantly telling me to move on, I would have collapsed and probably died.‘You must get away from the road, Timba,’ she kept saying. ‘Get back into the clean air of the forest. Find some water, and rest.’ I wondered how she knew I was in trouble.

It was dark when I reached the soothing canopy of trees. The damp moss had never felt so beautiful. I licked the moisture from leaves and grass. I wanted to wash, but my fur tasted poisonous, so I drifted into a deep sleep, only vaguely aware that rain was falling, cleansing me.

When I woke I remembered the owl woman helping me. She wasn’t there now, but she’d said, ‘Before long you will meet me again.’ Did she mean meet her in my memory, or for real?

My fur was soaking wet. Cold, but clean! And I could breathe again. I stood up and stretched.

The longing to go home overwhelmed me. To hear Angie’s voice and have her brushing me so caringly, to see Leroy’s bright smile and hear him say, ‘Hello, Timba.’ I loved my humans. What they did for me was awesome, and I enjoyed giving in return. It was an easy kind of giving … purring and entertaining and comforting.

I seriously considered turning back, across the miles of fields and lanes, through that nightmare maze of streets. Could I find my way?

Thoroughly miserable, I crawled into the solid arms of an ancient oak and found a dry place, protected by overhanging branches. I stayed there for most of the day, occasionally bothering to open my eyes and watch the sparkle of raindrops over the white sky.

The creatures of the forest were disappearing from my life. Winter sent them deep into the earth to sleep, and my sensitive pads told me where they were. Hungry, I circled the mouse holes and waited, but only the odd one popped out at the zenith of the day. I became dependent on the starlings. If they didn’t come, I had nothing.

I was getting thinner. My fur felt loose, and so did my bones. My whiskers drooped and I no longer had the energy to play.

My telepathic‘chat line’ to Vati seemed dead. Gloomily I speculated that Vati had actually died. Had he gone home to the spirit world, leaving me alone, the last of Solomon’s kittens? Was I too late?

But there was a voice in my mind. Why did I keep ignoring it? It was insistent.‘Timba. Timba. Where are you, Timba?’ Suddenly I came alive. I listened, not with my ears, but with my spirit.

‘Timba. Timba,’ the voice called huskily. Then it cried, and it prayed. Who was praying for me in that gruff voice? I sat up. My whiskers twitched, and my wet fur quivered as if an electric current had shot through me.

Leroy!

Was he searching in the forest? There was no smell of him, no running footsteps. He wasn’t there. Leroy was talking to me by telepathy. My heart leapt with hope.

‘I know you’re not dead, Timba,’ Leroy was saying. ‘Angie and I made posters and put them up everywhere. We are searching for you every day, and Angie taught me to meditate so I can talk to you. I’m talking to you now. Are you listening, Timba? I miss you, Timba.’

I was listening. My spirits lifted, and I sent a message back.‘I’ve gone to find Vati. It’s a long journey, but I will come home one day soon. Hang in there, Leroy.’

I sensed that he was crying hard. Had he got my message? Momentarily the crying stopped, and he said,‘Don’t forget the White Lion, Timba, and the lion in the sky. He’s made of stars and he’s in the south.’

The lion in the sky! Something clicked in my mind, and I remembered a starry night in the garden when Angie had shown Leroy the constellation of Leo, and on his paw was one of the brightest stars in the universe. Leroy had nearly burst with excitement, and every starry night he’d carried me into the garden and we’d faced south to find the star lion in the sky.

I yawned and stretched, and padded out into the glade. The rain had stopped. The magic was back. Between the bare trees I saw a blue-bright star. Was that the star on Leo’s paw?

I walked towards that star, and my tail was up for the first time in weeks. The tiny beings of light glimmered in the wet grass, lighting the way for me, their eyes winking from the darkest places. I walked a different way out of the glade. I paused and felt the energy with my pads, the way the Spirit Lion had taught me. It was strong. A definite subterranean tingle. Mindfully I followed it between the trees, and came out on a long straight track, leading south towards the star.

I had found a golden road.

Chapter Fifteen

CROSSING THE BRIDGE

In the morning I was on the golden road, the easiest journey so far. I relaxed and followed its arrow-straight track which cut through the forest, uphill and downhill. It wasn’t visibly golden. The ‘gold’ was a kind of song, deep in the earth, a song that tickled my pads with its own particular frequency. It reminded me of the way Graham sang one note for a long time and the glass and china rang with it for an even longer time.

Vati had told me certain notes were healing. So why wasn’t he being healed now, in Graham’s house? I knew the answer. Vati had closed down. He didn’t eat, he didn’t purr, he didn’t play. Vati was like a frozen cat. Dangerously close to the point of no return. The thought drove me on, even when I was tired.

Rain had plumped domes of moss to springy softness under my paws. In places there were clear, shallow pools of water that tasted good and rinsed the dust from my pads. Altogether a paw-restoring experience. I began to feel kittenish and joyful again. The winter sun glinted on my whiskers, and warmed my back as I reached the top of the first hill where a group of deer were lying in the sun.

In places the track plunged downhill steeply and became a sunken road with high banks and overhanging ferns. The magic was there, and the tiny beings of light watched me with eyes that gleamed like raindrops.

On the third hill, my fur bushed out suddenly. I sensed danger, and couldn’t identify what it was. I sat close to an oak tree, ready to climb into the safety of its branches if I needed to escape.

What spooked me was a change in the earth energy of the track. Something intrusive, a coarse thud-thudding vibration. Footsteps! Men, with heavy, stealthy boots, invading the forest. I could smell them, a leathery, fusty, smoky tang, and I could smell dogs too. Silent dogs, quivering with excitement.

Two rabbits shot past me, closer than a rabbit would normally come to a cat, and fled up the track, their tails bobbing. Wood pigeons with their loud, flappy wings were flying out of the trees in a panic. The deer sped past, scudding as if blown by the wind, their dark eyes afraid. Bewildered, I stayed by the oak tree, watching more and more creatures fleeing.

When I identified the smell of fear, I climbed the oak tree and crouched up there.

The first gunshot was so close that I nearly fell out of the tree in fright. It was followed by a volley of shooting, the bangs so loud that the shock of them jolted the delicate bones of my skull. My ears hurt and hurt and I began to tremble all over. I wished I’d found a safe hole, not this very public oak tree.

More shots, and more, and to my horror I saw a pheasant falling out of the sky, somersaulting horribly, its bright wings flailing. It crashed to the floor close to my tree, and then, even worse, a brown-and-white dog came leaping through the bracken, its tail wagging manically. With elaborate care it picked up the dying bird and carried it away.

The shooting went on and on. Death had come to the wood; the wild creatures who had made it their home were being blown out of the sky. Terrified and upset, I clung to the oak tree and tried not to move. Two men came striding up the track, and I smelled blood. Hanging from their belts were dead pheasants and dead rabbits, swinging limp and upside down, their feet cruelly tied together.

What if they did that to me? The dogs had smelled me. One of them ran round and round the tree, looking up at me and barking.

‘What’s up there?’ The two men stopped under the tree. They peered up at me. I saw the glint of their eyes and their auras were a grubby red.

‘It’s a cat!’ said the younger man, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Bloody feral cats. I hate ’em.’ He raised his gun and pointed it at me. I stared down at him. He clicked something and his eyes squinted along the shining metal at me.

‘No!’ cried the other man, and he raised his arm and knocked the gun sideways. ‘Don’t shoot the poor devil. He might be someone’s lost cat.’

I heard kindness in the voice of this leathery man who had dead birds and rabbits hanging from his belt. I did what came naturally to me. I meowed at him. He looked pleased.‘There you are, he’s friendly,’ he said. ‘Feral cats do not meow at people.’ I meowed again, louder. I wanted to tell him how frightened I was, and how I was a cat on a journey.

‘What are you doing so far from home, puss?’ he asked. ‘Are you lost?’

His concern touched my heart and I did an extended-meow which echoed into the tree. At the same time I eyeballed the dog who whined and retreated behind his master’s legs. Once I’d done that, I wanted to make contact with this man who shot birds but had a heart. I worked my way down to a lower branch and walked along it, nicely, with my tail up.

‘My missus would love you,’ he said, and even though I was tatty and had burrs in my fur, he added, ‘Aren’t you beautiful?’

My spirits soared. This man was going to help me, I knew it. The words of the Spirit Lion came back to me. Be smart, he’d said. We touched noses, and I had him.

‘You need a bit of TLC, old fella,’ he said, and turned to the younger man who’d been going to shoot me. ‘You take the dogs down and put them in the truck. I’ll bring the cat, if he’ll come.’

‘You’re not seriously going to catch a scruffy old thing like that, Alf,’ protested the younger man, clipping a lead onto Alf’s dog. ‘Look at him. He’s a flea bag.’

Alf sighed.‘It’s payback time,’ he said, patting the orange-red plumage of the dead pheasants that hung from his belt. ‘You should try it some time.’

‘You’re an old softie.’ The young man shrugged and set off, laden with his dead birds and his guns. ‘See ya.’

Alf sat down heavily at the foot of the oak tree. He unclipped the dead pheasants and laid them on the grass. The gunman’s footsteps faded, and peace settled back into the forest. Tiny movements restarted in the leaves and branches, a robin hopping, the twitch of a mouse’s whiskers as he peeped from his hole in the grass. A green woodpecker flew down into the turf and stabbed at an ants’ nest with his red-rimmed beak.

Alf didn’t move. He didn’t invite me down or look at me. He just sat, with his blue eyes on the distant hills and trees. He didn’t shoot the woodpecker, but seemed to be enjoying his company.

Observing Alf from my branch, I saw that his aura was not such a grubby red colour now. It was filling with light, the kind of light a wise old soul would have around him … blue, white and gold. He looked up at me.‘You coming down, puss?’ he asked, and waited until I felt confident that the guns and dogs had gone and we were alone on the golden road. Cautiously I climbed down, eager for a cuddle with Alf. He was the first human I’d been close to for weeks.

I stepped carefully around the dead pheasants and put an exploratory paw on Alf’s knee. A smile glistened in his eyes. ‘Come on then,’ he said, and patted his heart where he wanted me to sit. I crept up his tweedy jacket and arranged myself, stretching out, resting my chin over his sturdy old heart so that he could feel my purring. I wanted to cry like Leroy. After my long, lonely journey, it was such a relief to be close to another being.

‘Oh … you’re a healing cat,’ he murmured and his hand stroked and stroked my fur, giving me a beautiful head-to-tail massage. We were healing each other. He didn’t care that my fur was in such a state. He loved me for who I was. Timba.

Alf stroked the dead pheasants with his other hand, his eyes sad.‘Sometimes I wish I hadn’t shot ’em,’ he confided. ‘Sometimes I wonder if, when I die, they’ll all be waiting for me at the pearly gates … all those birds I shot.’

My greatest gift, as a cat, is unconditional love, so I turned the purring up a notch and, when Alf looked down at me, I did a cat smile right into his soul. Then Alf said something amazing.

‘I tell you what, puss, since you’re so loving … I’m going to drive you across the bridge and take you home to my missus. Will you come?’

I felt like royalty as Alf drove me down from the forest across the bridge, despite sharing his magnificent car with some dead pheasants. They were dumped in the back and I sat on the front seat. Alf didn’t seem to care that he hadn’t got a cat cage for me. He asked me to sit still, and I did. The car was quiet and high up off the road so it didn’t vibrate like Angie’s car.

This time the river crossing wasn’t so scary. I’d watched the bridge from the hills at night when it was all lights, and nobody fell in the river. The water was so far below that it seemed we were flying across the sky like the starlings I’d envied. I thought of Vati, and felt he would be proud of me for getting myself a lift. Smart cat!

After the bridge, Alf drove on over the next hill, and the next, and my heart leapt when I saw the tall metal tower that Leroy had wanted to climb. In the dark afternoon, it had a light flashing at the top. It would guide me, night and day, nearer and nearer to Vati.

My intention was to say goodbye, nicely, to Alf when he let me out of the car. Then I’d run on, across the blue-green countryside towards the metal tower. Surely my journey would soon come to an end.

It didn’t work out like that. Alf swung the car into a yard with straw and chickens. He picked me up and carried me in his arms to the open door of a house.

Immediately my fur started to bristle, and a voice rang through my mind.‘Don’t go in there, Timba.’ It was insistent, and it was the voice of the Spirit Lion. I wanted a meal so badly. Something easy and tasty on a plate. I wanted a fire to warm my belly on that chilly day with the twilight deepening over a land that was strange to me. I deserved a bit of comfort. So I clung to Alf’s shoulder as he carried me inside. A woman was sitting in a chair by the fire, knitting, but I hardly saw her.

I froze, and dug my claws into Alf’s jacket.

A fox was looking at me. A real fox with his eyes glassy and his teeth bared. He wasn’t moving, but I swear his fur was bristling and his black nose smelling me.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Alf. ‘He’s been there twenty years. I call him Bert. Don’t worry, he’s only stuffed.’

Stuffed? I didn’t dare move in case the fox leapt down and savaged me.

‘Oh what a lovely cat!’ I heard the woman saying, but I heard her through a glaze of terror. It wasn’t just the fox. All over the walls were the glassy-eyed heads of creatures, a stag, a hare, and more foxes.

I couldn’t stand it.

With a thrust of my back legs I escaped from Alf’s grip, and landed on the floor. In my terror I hadn’t noticed where the exit was, and I ran through an open door into another room. On the floor was something even more horrific: it made my back go up and my eyes turn black with fright.

‘Leave him. He’ll get used to it,’ I heard Alf say.

If Angie had been there, she would have screamed.

Stretched out in the middle of the room was an enormous tiger skin, lying flat with the beautiful colours glowing. At the far end was its head. Compelled to see its eyes, I inched my way round it, my back arched, my ears flat. And when I saw the tiger’s face close up with its gleaming teeth and outraged golden eyes, I hissed and growled. The tiger didn’t react. Like the fox, it had been dead for years. Overwhelming grief was for ever locked into its hard glass eyes.

I looked sadly at its paws. The sensitive pads were gone, and the claws. Only the skin with its lush, richly coloured fur was splayed across the carpet, never moving. And it was a cat. It hadn’t been rescued and pampered like me. Why? I wondered. The question ruffled my fur like a freezing wind.

Alf was standing in the doorway, watching me.‘It’s OK, puss,’ he said, ‘it’s dead … been dead for years … it’s a rug now, you can walk on it … look.’ He strode forward and placed his muddy boots on the tiger’s beautiful coat, where the colours were so achingly bright. I was appalled.

My terror became a fragment of the global sadness that engulfed me, along with the bewilderment. How could humans be so disrespectful? I glanced at Alf, and saw guilt deep down in his soul, simmering, seeking a way out.‘I didn’t shoot him,’ he said to me. ‘Bought him, years ago, at an auction. Splendid, isn’t he? We love him.’

Love him! I couldn’t stay in that house for another minute.

Running scared and low to the ground, I escaped through the open door, and saw the woman, who held a dish of cat food in her hand.‘Here you are, puss,’ she crooned. I flattened my ears and shot past her into the yard. Chickens flew everywhere, and the dog chased me triumphantly as I streaked across the yard. I ran hard, into unknown country, high hills covered in heather and gorse. The sky was starless and alive with big soft snowflakes, the first snow of winter. Alf’s words rang in my head. ‘It’s OK, puss.’

It wasn’t OK. It wasn’t. It never would be.

Day after day I ran on through the snow, my paws wet and icy cold. Hunger ached in my belly. Food was hard to find … the mice were tucked up sensibly under the ground, and the birds I stalked saw me too easily, a black cat against the snow. I was getting even thinner and weaker.

When I reached the metal tower, I was exhausted. Its winking light had guided me on starless nights and cloudy days. How long since I’d eaten? I didn’t know, couldn’t remember, and didn’t actually care.

The snow had made a thick crust over the gorse and heather, like a roof. Once I found a way in, there was a different world, a twilight of roots and dry branches, dimly lit under the crystal covering of snow. It was surprisingly warm and spacious, and lots of creatures were getting on with their lives in there: mice, slow-worms and hedgehogs. Grateful for such perfect shelter, I stayed under there for days. Long days when I didn’t see the sky, but if I listened I could hear the snowflakes softly landing on the canopy, making it thicker and thicker. I knew when the sun was shining by the shafts of yellow light beaming through cracks. It tempted me out.

The morning was icy blue and clear, a bitter wind singing through the tall tower. I found shelter under an overhanging clump of bracken, a dry haven the snow hadn’t reached. I dozed and slept through the morning, aware that sleep was not restoring me. I needed food.

After the experience with Alf, I’d chosen to avoid villages, and stay in the open countryside. But now, hunger drove me down over the crisp snow to a row of houses. I mustn’t get caught. I waited until dark, then raided two of the cat flaps, hungrily eating what those lucky cats had left, mostly cheap fishy stuff and hard little rings of dried cat food which took too long to eat when I was thieving.

I felt better, but missed being able to sit and have a leisurely wash in a warm place.

I inspected my paws which were sore from the wedges of hard snow stuck between the pads. Sitting under the heather I managed to wash my face, but trying to clean my thick fur was impossible, and the hairballs made me sick. I felt like giving up. It would have been so easy to turn up on a friendly doorstep with my tail up, and get invited in to sit by a warming fire.

At noon that day, I tried to talk to Vati.‘I’m not far away, but it’s so hard. I’m cold and hungry, and my fur is in a mess. Couldn’t you come to meet me?’ I asked. Silence. The black, haunted eyes looked blankly into my soul. Nothing had changed. ‘Why can’t I reach you?’ I sent the question, but it hung in the air unanswered.

And then, white as snow, the Spirit Lion padded back into my life. This time he didn’t lie down and wrap me in his love. He simply asked me to follow him through the snow. I trotted after him, focusing on his shining light, and he took me to a ridge where the snowdrifts twinkled in the sun.

‘Look, Timba,’ he said. ‘You’re nearly there.’

I sat beside him, gazing at the land below the hills, and my heart leapt when I saw that it was green. Green like summer. There was no snow down there!

Eagerly I ran to sit between his paws, but he wouldn’t let me rest. ‘Look for the stone tower,’ he said, and immediately I saw it, far in the distance, floating like an island in the hazy landscape. My pads tingled. That same sacred energy, deep in the earth, was there, even in the snow. It cut through the land like a silver sword, and rightat the end I could see Vati, sitting in his barrel … waiting for me, his eyes just a breath away from a sparkle.

‘You must go now,’ the Spirit Lion said. ‘More snow is coming, thick snow that will cover the green earth for many weeks. You are weak, Timba. Go now … NOW … while you still have strength.’

He was trying to tell me I could die in the snow if I didn’t move fast. I dumped the depression and the despair, and raced down the hill, through the blue shadows of hedges and gates, across lanes and through copses. By the end of the day I was down there in the green grass, and there were still mice around!

The golden road became a real road and this time it was raised on a high bank as it led through the levels. Deep ditches and knobbly willow trees lined the route and there was no traffic. Only the occasional loud tractor bounced past while I hid in the dead clumps of reeds. A few fields away was a busy road with lorries and cars.

When I paused to look back at the snow-covered hills with the metal tower, slate-coloured clouds were rolling, and the north wind howled through the willow trees. The blizzard was chasing me. The Spirit Lion was still with me, a flare of light brighter than the white snow. He was watching me, and that was comforting. Encouraged, I ran on, searching for signs of home. I still thought of Graham’s house as ‘home’. It had been my first real home and I loved it.

The longing and the ache of loneliness kept me moving, imagining the blissful sleep I would have by the fire, the plate of Whiskas rabbit in the cosy kitchen. And the welcome! The joy of being in Graham’s huge arms again, the warm comfort of the sofa, the sparkle in Vati’s eyes as he welcomed me. The touch and smell of my beloved brother.

I was SO looking forward to being home that I ran faster and faster, only stopping to shake the wet snow off my fur. My paws stung with cold, and I felt wretchedly tired. But Vati was close. I could feel him.

I crossed a field into a lane. Everything was different and muffled under the fresh snow. I followed one of the hard, slippery wheel tracks, finding it easier on the hard-packed, yellowish snow.

With one paw in the air, I paused by a gateway to listen. All around me was the muted patter of snowflakes, and the crack of twigs as the north wind tore through the trees. A child’s voice crying. A woman’s voice. And then … an old familiar sound that told me I was home.

‘Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, AH.’

I belted across the lawn with snow flying from my fur, and charged through the dear old cat flap.

And in that moment I was a kitten again, full of hope and unconditional love. I shook myself, put my tail up, and swanned into the lounge.

Chapter Sixteen

YOU SMELLY OLD CAT

Vati was hunched in the corner of the sofa. His fur had lost its gloss, and his hip bones stuck out either side of his spine. His face was pixie-like and thin, his eyes black and frightened. He saw me, but he didn’t come to greet me. He didn’t move at all.

I jumped onto the sofa, my fur and paws soaking wet. Did Vati even know it was snowing? Why wasn’t he sitting in the window watching? I was overjoyed to see my brother again, and happy to be in the warm house which had once been my home. I wanted to give Vati lots of love and healing, so I immediately set about licking him, rubbing cheeks and purring. He didn’t respond.

‘I’m here now,’ I said. ‘I’ll take care of you.’ Telling him about my long journey didn’t seem appropriate. Vati was traumatised, and maybe I was the only person who could bring him out of it. Words were pretty useless, so I purred and made a fuss of Vati. He lay there unmoving, like a china cat. I looked at his eyes, and they had a flat frowny line over the top lids. In the end I lay down and leaned against him, wrapping my tail round his back and letting my loud purr fill both our bodies.

Vati did look at me then, hesitantly, as if he didn’t dare to move. Then a chubby little girl toddled into the room. She squealed with delight when she saw me, and ran to stroke me. ‘Big new pussy cat!’ she called, and Lisa appeared from the kitchen.

She gasped when she saw me on the sofa with Vati.‘Don’t touch him, Heidi,’ she snapped and pulled the little girl away. Then she screamed at me. ‘GET OUT, you smelly old cat!’

Astonished, I looked at her and purred. I even gave her a cat smile. But she went berserk, picked up a newspaper and swiped me as if I was a wasp.‘Get OUT!’ she screamed. ‘OUT…!’

I didn’t move, but I was shocked at being hit like that. Surely she hadn’t meant it. Had she?

She shrieked for Graham.‘There’s a dreadful smelly old cat on the sofa, and it won’t move.’

I assumed Graham would come in and be pleased to see me. We’d been buddies, I thought proudly.

‘Sorry, love. I’m late now and it’s snowing. I’ve got to go,’ he called from the hall. ‘You deal with it. See you later. Bye.’

‘MEN,’ said Lisa angrily. ‘NO, Heidi … leave the cat alone. You are not to touch it. NO.’

Heidi began to cry like Leroy, and Lisa picked up the screaming child and dumped her in a round playpen in the kitchen. When she came back she had a broom in her hand.

‘OUT,’ she insisted and tried to sweep me off the sofa! I was appalled, and a bit frightened. I wasn’t going to leave Vati now that I’d travelled so many miles to find him. I crouched against the back of the sofa, shut my eyes, and clung on with my claws.

‘You’re wet and disgusting. WILL YOU GO OUT!’ Lisa screamed. ‘I don’t want you here. Have you got that, you stinking old feral cat? I don’t want you.’

Vati didn’t move. He seemed resigned to this sort of behaviour. I looked steadily at Lisa’s eyes and saw that she was afraid to pick me up or touch me. She was making a pantomime with a broom to scare me out.

I stayed put, and felt a glimmer of something resembling gratitude from Vati. He needed me. I had come to be his support cat. I radiated that thought to Lisa, and when she found I wasn’t going to let her chase me out, she gave up and threw the broom against the wall. ‘You wait till Graham gets home,’ she warned. ‘He’ll deal with you,’ and she took Heidi upstairs.

Meanwhile, Vati had gone back into his shell. The moment of response I’d worked so hard for had been crushed by Lisa’s hysteria. I’d have to start all over again, coaxing and encouraging my frozen brother.

First I needed to eat, so I headed for the kitchen where I found a cat dish with the dreaded dried food in it. So boring. I needed something succulent and sustaining, so I picked at the fridge door with both paws, pulling and pulling until it swung open. I stood there, sniffing the cornucopia of delicious smells. I pulled out a slab of cheese, but it was tightly sealed in plastic, so I left it on the floor for later. Standing up on my hind legs I inspected the next shelf, and pulled at some tin foil with my teeth. It floated, crackling, to the floor. Under it was a plate of cooked chicken. WOW! I meowed at Vati, but he still sat there like a china cat.

I pulled some chunks out onto the floor, and tucked into the best meal I’d had for months. I ate until I was satisfied, then picked up a really choice piece of chicken and carried it through to Vati. A fleeting look of surprise passed through his eyes. He sniffed the chicken, and gave it a lick. Then he pushed it away with his nose. It fell on the carpet and he resumed his frozen cat pose.

I felt like swiping him.

Instead, I sat beside him, washing and purring. Then I wrapped myself around him and drifted into sleep, warm and comfortable for the first time since leaving my home with Angie and Leroy. The north wind was blowing snow against the windows, and Graham’s mother’s clock still ticked and chimed. I could hear the beat of my heart and the anxious beat of Vati’s. We’d always slept intertwined. Now it was me doing the twining, and Vati sitting there like a stone.

Surprisingly, it was my sleeping and my silent presence that slowly began to unlock Vati. There was a magic moment when I felt him relax against me. He snuggled into my fur with a little sigh, as if he’d waited through a long hard time for the comfort of my brother love. Half asleep, I did a mini purr-meow to encourage him, and I felt his paws reach out and slowly wrap themselves around me.

The magic of the forest seemed there as we slept deeply. The tiny beings of light had somehow stayed with me, and blessed me. Now they clustered over both of us, and the warm radiance of my aura flooded into Vati’s pale thin rim of light, energising and restoring him. I didn’t have to do anything. Only love. And love brings light in all its myriad forms.

Loving Vati back to life was the easiest, most beautiful and nurturing experience. After the long hard journey, it was a sacred gift of contentment, and I knew that, no matter what the humans did, they couldn’t take that away from us. We were twin souls, Timba and Vati, named after the White Lions who had come to save the world.

I woke briefly and saw Vati nestled into me, his face turned upwards in a smile, and I asked for time. Time for the healing to be complete, before the humans came back and tore our lives apart. I longed for Angie and Leroy. Here, with Graham and Lisa, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

Lisa had called me a smelly old cat! Maybe she was only seeing my matted fur, not ME. It hurt. A lot. But I tried not to think about it. I focused on remembering Vati. He’d been such a bright spirit, such fun to play with, and full of mysterious knowledge. He was a hypersensitive cat, a gift of pure gold to the human race … so what had happened to him? I still didn’t know.

I was glad it was Graham, and not Lisa, who came in at the end of the afternoon, stamping the snow from his shoes and leaving them on the mat. He padded into the lounge, and recognised me immediately.

‘Timba!’ He stared down at me, and I gave him a cat smile and a purr-meow. I didn’t want to disturb Vati.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Graham said incredulously. ‘How did you get here, Timba? Surely … surely you didn’t find your way from South Wales!’

I did one of my yes-meows, and because Graham knew me so well, he understood. He sat down on the floor and looked at me with respect and compassion. Very welcome, after the way Lisa had treated me! I wanted to touch noses with Graham, but I felt committed to keeping still for Vati’s sake. I appreciated Graham bringing his face close to me so that we could touch noses. I felt emotional, so did he, judging by the tears in his eyes. He stroked my fur tenderly, his fingers touching the burrs and tangles. ‘You ARE in a sorry state, Timba,’ he said. ‘And you came through all that snow! Poor fellow. And how did you get across the river? Oh Timba! All that way. What a brave, clever cat.’

Graham was talking to me so kindly, I wanted to cry. I kept doing my yes-meows in response. He looked at Vati who was still curled like a seashell, his chin upwards, looking blissful as he snuggled into my thick fur.‘Vati needed you,’ Graham said, ‘and you knew, didn’t you, Timba? Poor little Vati. I feel so, so guilty … I wish …’

He was going to tell me what had happened. I tensed, hearing Lisa coming down the stairs. She opened the door cautiously, peering through.‘Have you got rid of it?’ she demanded.

Graham looked sheepish, but he kept stroking me.

‘Lisa, this is Timba,’ he said. ‘He’s found his way here, alone, from South Wales for goodness’ sake! Two hundred miles.’

‘I don’t care, Graham. He’s DISGUSTING. I want him out of our house.’

Graham kept his hand on me protectively.‘I am not going to chuck Timba out in the snow,’ he said steadily. ‘He can’t help being a bit scruffy after a journey like that.’

‘A bit scruffy!’ Lisa looked at me angrily. ‘He stinks to high heaven, and he’s got fleas, and he’s made the sofa such a mess, Graham, and what about Heidi?’

‘What about her? She’s OK, isn’t she? Is she in bed?’

‘She’s asleep, thank God. Otherwise she’d be all over that filthy cat. Graham, it’s a health hazard, and I want it out.’

‘You’re overreacting, darling. I repeat … I am not going to chuck him out. He’s staying right here until Angie can collect him.’

‘Have you phoned her?’

‘No … I’ve only been here for five minutes. I’ll phone Angie in the fullness of time.’

‘The fullness of time! And meanwhile our home … your daughter’s home … is being messed up and … oh my God … is that a piece of chicken on the floor?’

‘Where?’

‘You’re nearly sitting on it.’

Graham turned and saw Vati’s piece of chicken where he had dropped it. He picked it up and put it on the sofa.

‘Don’t put it on the sofa! It’s made enough mess on the carpet. We’ll have germs everywhere. Do you want Heidi to get salmonella?’

Graham refused to get ruffled. He waggled the piece of chicken and winked at me.‘Who raided the fridge then?’ he teased. ‘Tut tut! You know what, Lisa? This cat can actually open the fridge. He’s brought Vati a meal. Isn’t that sweet?’

‘Stop being so infuriating.’ Lisa’s aura was hanging in shreds. She stamped her foot and yelled at Graham. ‘OK … either you sort these cats or I’m packing my bag, taking Heidi to stay with my mum. Right now.’ She turned and went out, slamming the door and making Vati jump. I purred into his ear and gave him a lick on the top of his head, and he settled back into sleep.

Graham sighed and rolled his eyes.

‘I’d better ring Angie,’ he said. ‘She’ll be ecstatic.’

In the deep of the night I found out what was wrong with Vati, and it was worse than anything I could have imagined.

As always, I awoke at midnight. I heard Graham’s mother’s clock chiming all of its chimes. I disentangled myself from Vati and climbed up to my favourite windowsill. The snowstorm was over, and a yellow moon shone on the silent snow. Each twig and branch of the apple tree was encrusted with glitter.

It occurred to me that, in the morning, I wouldn’t have to be on a journey. I was free to eat and play! First, I raided the fridge again and found the rest of the chicken. I took the best, most succulent chunk to Vati. This time he looked at me, and he did eat a little bit. Once he’d done that, he ate more, then he sat up and stared at me.I stared back and saw that he wanted me to notice the pain in his mystic eyes.

‘So what happened?’ I asked.

Silently Vati held out his front paw to me. It looked strange, and there was a sense of heat and pain. I sniffed it, then Vati silently held out the other one. It was the same.

‘What happened?’ I asked again.

I waited, and Vati began to cry and cry, the way a very distressed cat cries, in little squeaks and growls. His pain was beyond words, and it wasn’t physical pain, from an accident or illness. Vati had been assaulted. His beautiful paws, such a tender part of this sensitive little cat, had been deliberately damaged.

My dreams of playing in the snow with Vati disappeared under a black cloud. I let him cry, and sat close, licking and comforting him as best I could. When he had cried enough, he did manage to tell me the appalling truth.

‘They took my claws away,’ he said, and flexed his toes so that I could understand. His magnificent claws had gone. Just gone! And to Vati it felt as if his whole life had been ruined. He was no longer joyful and free to play and climb. He couldn’t defend himself. And he felt violated.

No wonder I had sensed that Vati was willing himself to die.

‘Why?’ I asked, devastated.

‘Heidi pulled my tail, really hard,’ he said. ‘It hurt all along my spine, and she wouldn’t stop it, so I scratched her. Then Lisa got the broom and chased me outside, and the next day when I was eating my breakfast, she grabbed me and put me in the cat cage. She took me to the vet and told him she wanted me de-clawed. Rick refused to do it, so she drove me to another vet and he did it … put me to sleep, and when I woke up my front paws were burning with pain. I couldn’t walk, and I couldn’t balance. I couldn’t believe what they’d done to me.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I said, and felt his pain intensely in my own paws, and in my heart.

‘And it’s for ever,’ Vati said.

I felt powerless and angry. Was this what the Spirit Lion had felt? Shocked beyond words at the cruelty imposed by humans. I seriously considered taking Vati off into the wild. We would travel on the golden road and live in the forest, in secret, away from humans, for the rest of our lives. I pledged never to leave my brother again.

The instant I thought about him, the Spirit Lion appeared. Vati’s eyes grew luminous and round and his aura brightened around his sleek fur. We were lying side by side, and the lion cupped us both in velvet paws. A lion purrs differently to a cat, only on the out-breath, but the purr is loud, like a drum roll. We snuggled together in the bliss of his light. I sensed that Vati had not purred since losing his claws, but he did now, and hearing his economical little purr blending with my loud one was calming and uplifting.

‘You are not powerless, Timba,’ breathed the Spirit Lion, ‘because you can love, and it’s never too late for love.’ He looked at Vati tenderly. ‘You two cats have a destiny. You must stay together now, but not in the wild. Vati needs care. He can’t get his claws back, but he can learn to live again with your encouragement, Timba … something you’re so good at.’

I glowed with joy. To be praised at such a time was brilliant.

‘Both you cats can teach and inspire,’ added the Spirit Lion, and he showed me Leroy who was far away in South Wales, awake and at the window watching that same yellow moon on the snow. ‘Humans cannot teach Leroy. He has encrypted knowledge and courage to follow his dreams. He needs love inabundance, for he has chosen a lonely path. Every day of his life he faces bullying and hostility from those who seek to disempower him, yet he keeps a cheerful heart.’

‘So what can we teach him?’ I asked.

‘Unconditional love. Always and for ever. And from the source, all good intentions flow. Power and courage and understanding. Unconditional love is the beginning of healing and the gateway to true knowledge.’

The Spirit Lion gave a huge sigh.‘Remind him … and Angie … to have fun, for humour is the bridge over troubled waters.’

I felt him vanishing into the crystal silence of the snow.‘Stay together,’ he whispered, and left us, curled close in Vati’s corner of the sofa.

At first light, Lisa tiptoed downstairs and threw me a look of pure hatred. She came towards me, her hands engulfed in a pair of yellow rubber gloves. Then she changed her mind, and went into the kitchen. She slammed the fridge closed, took a roll of sticky tape from a drawer and taped the cat flap shut! She opened the door to the garden and cold air came in like smoke.

With her hands spread wide she approached me again. She was tense, and breathing fast, her eyes watching me. I got it. Lisa was going to grab me with those horrible yellow gloves, and chuck me out in the snow.

Vati sensed it too. He looked at Lisa and did the extended-meow. It was an appeal, straight from the heart.‘Don’t take my brother away,’ but Lisa kept coming. I dug myself in, pressed against the back of the sofa.

She grabbed me, but I hung on, hooking my claws into the upholstery. She pulled and pulled, but I resisted. She was panting now.‘Come on … come on. You are going OUT,’ she muttered, and I did something I’d never done before. I growled at her like a dog, and glared into her frustrated eyes. Vati joined in, growling and making a terrible fish face.

‘You stubborn old bugger,’ she ranted, and let me go. She was shaking all over. She went back into the kitchen, tore the tape off the cat flap and flung the yellow rubber gloves into a cupboard.

Vati and I looked at each other triumphantly. Round one … to Timba and Vati!

Chapter Seventeen

HEALING THE HURT

‘Why do people keep calling me old?’ I asked Vati. ‘I’m a young cat.’

‘It’s your fur,’ he said tactfully. ‘It needs a good sort-out.’

‘Angie would know what to do,’ I said, and we both looked serious. It occurred to me that Vati looked better and was responding to me now. I remembered what the Spirit Lion had said about fun. ‘We’re getting too serious,’ I said, and looked around for the catnip mouse. Lisa had gone upstairs, so I got down and found it tucked away in a little basket under the window. Pleased, I took it over to Vati and put it under his nose. Light flashed through his eyes, just for a second, and I waited for him to play with it. Instead, he pushed it away and bunched his paws under himself again, setting his face back into frozen mode.

So I opted for a mad half-hour on my own … in this house I knew so well. Maybe Vati would join in, I thought, flinging the catnip mouse into the air. I took it over to Graham’s shoes and stuffed it into the toe. Then I had fun getting it out and chased it around. I even got bold and took it to the top of the stairs and dropped it through the banisters. I pretended not to notice Vati’s eyes on me, with that fleeting light of interest flickering through them. He wanted to play. Give me a few days and I’ll have him playing, I thought.

I got wilder and wilder, tearing up and down the stairs and over the back of the sofa, skidding along the kitchen floor and crumpling the rug that was in there. I found one of Heidi’s teddy bears and gave it a beating. I got right on top of it and kicked it with my back legs. Then I grabbed it by one ear, skidded along the kitchen worktop with it, and dropped it in the washing-up bowl. I hadn’t had so much fun for weeks.

But the sound of a door being opened upstairs sent me bounding back onto the sofa. I dug myself in, next to Vati. My eyes were wild and my fur itching like mad. I scratched furiously, scattering fluff all over the sofa.

It was Graham. Phew!

I wanted to tell him exactly how Lisa made me feel, how it had hurt to be called a smelly old cat at the end of a long, long journey, so I did an amplified extended-meow. He listened, and sat down beside us, smelling of shower gel and bundled in his cuddly blue towelling robe.‘Don’t worry, Timba,’ he said, ‘I’ve been chucked out of bed to ring Angie … catch her before she goes to work.’

I stared into Graham’s eyes and studied the strange mixture of kindliness and guilt. It was rare for me to do two amplified extended-meows … one was usually enough … but I wanted him to know how much Vati was suffering, so I did another one, and put my paw on Vati’s bony little head.

‘Oh dear … I know, I know, Timba,’ Graham said. ‘Vati is not a happy cat. I’ll have to tell Angie. She’ll go ballistic.’

He invited me onto his lap to listen to the phone call, but I was determined to stay close to Vati. We both listened to the sound of Angie’s phone ringing.

‘Hello, this is Angie.’

When I heard that beautiful, warm, expectant voice again, I was overwhelmed with joy. Vati was listening too, and his eyes shimmered green as he looked at me. Is this really happening? he was thinking. We sat up, side by side, gazing attentively into the phone. I half expected a plate of Whiskas rabbit to come whizzing down the line. And a brush. That’s what Angie would have for me: a brush to heal my fur, and an angel cuddle to heal my soul.

‘Graham!’ she said brightly. ‘Why so early?’

‘I tried to get you last night,’ he said.

‘Parents’ evening,’ said Angie. ‘It went on for ever. So come on … spill. Graham, it’s not like you to ring at this time. Has somebody died?’

‘No,’ said Graham, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure at what he was going to tell her. ‘Guess who turned up here?’

‘Who?’

‘Timba.’

‘TIMBA! Surely not?’

‘Yes, it’s Timba. He’s OK, here on the sofa right next to me.’

There was a brief silence. Then we heard the scream of joy that made Graham smile. Even Vati narrowed his eyes and gave a ghost of a cat smile. I could see how much Vati wanted Angie. He needed her healing love, desperately.

‘But, Graham,’ Angie said, ‘Timba went missing last autumn … it’s February now. Are you sure it’s him?’

‘One hundred per cent,’ said Graham, and he stroked the top of my head. ‘Purr for Angie.’ He held the phone close to my face. I did yet another amplified extended-meow, and was rewarded with a second scream of joy.

‘That sounds like Timba. It IS him. Oh my God! Oh wow … I can’t stop crying. Oh Timba … you found your way down there … two hundred miles … oh you darling, darling, clever cat. I can’t stop crying. Oh THANK YOU, UNIVERSE!’

Graham beamed from ear to ear.‘A long time since I’ve heard THAT,’ he said.

‘Is he really OK?’ Angie asked. ‘All his legs and tail … no injuries?’

‘No. He’s in full working order,’ said Graham. ‘His fur is a mess, and he was hungry … but he hasn’t forgotten how to open the fridge.’

‘I LOVE it!’ Angie said. I wondered what she would say if she knew that Lisa had called me a smelly old cat. ‘Hang on a minute, Graham … I’ve got to wake Leroy.’ We listened and heard Angie’s swift footsteps, and the squeak of Leroy’s bedroom door. She didn’t yell at him, but whispered, ‘Wake up, Leroy. Fantastic news. You’ve got to wake up.’

There was a subterranean grunt of protest.

‘Graham’s got Timba. And he’s OK.’

‘Aw! Is that true, Angie? No kidding?’

‘No kidding. Timba is BACK.’

We heard them bang their hands together and shout,‘YES!’

‘Gimme the phone,’ Leroy said, and then I heard another sound I’d longed for on my lonely journey. A scratchy voice saying, ‘Hello, Timba.’ I did purr-meows then, a whole stream of them. ‘Where you been, Timba? I missed you. I cried lots,’ Leroy said.

‘He’s kissing the phone,’ Graham said, laughing at me.

I imagined Leroy’s bright face. The ache in my heart had gone, and I felt the love from both my humans. I felt like the luckiest cat on the Planet.

‘He’s purring now.’ Graham was still beaming from ear to ear, and he let me purr into the phone. I knew it had to be loud. That purr had to go rippling across the miles, over the shining river, through the dark forest, to reach my loved ones.

‘Can you come and fetch him, Angie? Or shall I bring him up there?’

‘Of course I’ll come and fetch him. Wild horses wouldn’t stop me,’ Angie said. ‘Thank goodness it’s a Saturday. What’s the snow like at your end?’

‘It’s thawing,’ Graham said, looking at the window. I followed his gaze and saw the morning sun shining on melting crusts of crystal, diamond bright, sliding down the glass.

Graham didn’t stop smiling until he saw Lisa, her spine straight like an icicle, her face stiff with hatred. We all looked at her, and the energy changed. I moved myself between her and Vati, and hooked my claws into her sofa. Smelly old cat, was I? Then a smelly old cat I’d be, proud and magnificent, and fierce.

No one, not even Angie, was going to separate me from Vati. So what would I do when she came to fetch me?

Graham tried to take me to the vet before Angie arrived. I didn’t want to go, especially after what Vati had told me. Lisa might have me de-clawed too! So once again, I dug myself into the sofa, and as fast as Graham tried to unhook my claws, I clamped them in again.

‘You really are being very difficult, Timba,’ he said, exasperated. But when I looked at him and wailed plaintively, he got the message. ‘I know, you don’t want to leave Vati, do you? Well, he could come with us.’ Vati threw Graham a withering look and went straight under the sofa. Graham sat down and put his head in his hands. ‘My life is full of difficult cats … and difficult women,’ he complained, eyeing Lisa who was supervising from the doorway, with Heidi bright-eyed in her arms.

‘Well, I am not … repeat am not … getting lunch for HER,’ Lisa said, and I knew she meant Angie. Odd that Angie also referred to Lisa as HER. ‘And I want a new sofa. Tomorrow.’

Graham persuaded the vet to come to us. It was Rick, and I remembered him. He was a radiant being of light. Even Vati came out to inspect him, and once he saw that Graham had put the cat cage away, he crept back into his corner of the sofa. Rick sat down on the sofa with his long legs stretched out. I arranged myself over his heart, and he didn’t seem to mind my tatty fur. ‘You are a loving old boy,’ he said.

‘He’s only a young cat,’ Graham said. ‘And he’s just been on a journey … two hundred miles … to find his brother. That’s why his fur is such a mess.’

‘It will have to be cut, and allowed to grow back,’ said Rick, stroking me with his long translucent fingers. ‘But I won’t do that. I’ll leave you a leaflet about long-furred cats, and I suggest Angie does that for him when she gets him home. We need to go one step at a time with Timba.He’s had a huge trauma.’

Rick was a genius of a vet. A secret healer. He managed to love me and give me two injections which were over before I knew it. He put some drops on me to make the fleas go away, and put stuff in my ears to stop the ear mites, all the time loving me and talking to me.

When he had finished, he didn’t just dump me, but let me stay stretched out on his body so he could feel my purr and my gratitude. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Vati was sitting up and looking intently at Rick.

‘So, what’s wrong with this little cat?’ he asked. ‘Vati, is it?’

Graham looked guilty.‘My wife had him de-clawed,’ he explained. ‘He’s a sensitive cat and he was a real personality… but it changed him. He’s never been the same since. He doesn’t play, he hardly eats … as you can see.’

Vati held out his paw to Rick, his green eyes shimmering with pain. The two men looked moved. Silently Vati put his paw down and held out the other one. Rick took it gently and closed his hand around it.‘Poor Vati,’ he murmured, and his hand shone with celestial light. It changed colour, from blazing white to soothing emerald green, bathing Vati’s hurt paw in healing love.

We all sat respectfully still, for this was magic. Magic so rare and sensitive that it needed total peace in order to work. In those moments I heard the drip-drip of melting snow from the garden, the tick-tick of Graham’s mother’s clock, and my purring sending its ripples through the silence.

Rick closed his eyes, and seemed to be listening to something. The words came through, glimmering and slow, but strong, each one touching the pain that was knotted into the little cat’s heart. Vati was alert and listening, soaking up the healing as if it were sunshine on his fur.

‘We can’t give you back your claws, Vati,’ Rick said, ‘but you can learn to walk again, and play again. You mustn’t try to climb trees, but you can leap and run, and play with Timba.’

The light in Rick’s hands changed to a powerful resonant blue, and he moved them gently to touch the little cat’s head. ‘Let go, Vati,’ he said, ‘let go of all the anger. Send it into the light and let it vanish for ever.’ Vati gave a deep sigh and I saw the darkness leave his aura. ‘It can no longer harm you,’ Rick said. ‘You are free.’

Sometimes I understood that certain things happen for a reason. It was meant to be. Rick was meant to be there, to heal Vati. And when Graham had tried to lift me from the sofa, I’d been given lion strength to resist. So Rick had come to the house, on his day off, he said, and given us his time.

I noticed Lisa, one arm holding Heidi and the other carefully wheeling a suitcase through the hall. I heard the click of car doors, and the businesslike whirr of her car as she left the house. For ever, said a voice in my mind. It’s for ever.

‘Do you mind if I hang around for an hour or so?’ Rick asked. ‘I’d like to finish this work I’m doing with Vati … and see Angie when she arrives.’

‘Sure,’ Graham said. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

‘No,’ Rick said quietly. ‘It’s important that you sit here with me, Graham. Don’t break this healing circle we’ve created for Vati. We need your energy.’

Graham rolled his eyes, as if he was going to say something scathing about‘mumbo-jumbo’, but Rick looked at him with steel in his eyes. ‘Will you hold Timba now?’ he asked. ‘I want to see if Vati will come to me.’ Rick airlifted me to Graham’s chest where I continued purring, and arranged myself so that I could see Vati.

Vati knew he was inside a bubble of magic. Moving gracefully, he slipped onto Rick’s chest like a piece of velvet. He lay gazing at Rick, his hurt paws stretched out. Graham’s mother’s clock went on ticking, the melting snow dripping, and I saw the stars come down. One soft bright star on each of Vati’s paws, and a pure blue star for his mind.

Like the star lion in the sky.

The timing was perfect.

When the healing was complete, Vati jumped down and stretched. He put his tail up and wove himself around Graham’s ankles. ‘That’s the first time he’s had his tail up!’ Graham said, and Vati meowed at him and headed for the kitchen.

‘Don’t give him that dried food,’ Rick said. ‘He needs something juicy.’

Graham opened two sachets of Whiskas and put them in a bowl for us to share. Vati ate ravenously, and we shared without growling, best friends and brothers.

Soon we were sitting side by side, gazing into the fire and appreciating its bright warmth, while Rick and Graham talked over coffee.

‘How did you learn to do that kind of healing?’ Graham asked. ‘Spiritual healing, is it? I bet you didn’t learn that at uni.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Rick said. ‘A wonderful old lady taught me … Mrs Lanbrow.’

I did a purr-meow and stared at Rick.‘Yes, Timba … you remember her. She rescued you and brought you in when you were a kitten.’

‘It certainly seems to work,’ Graham said, frowning. ‘I’ve never believed in all that stuff … but look at Vati now!’

My priority was to stay with Vati. I had made that perfectly clear. So what would happen when Angie came to collect me?

The sound of her car was bittersweet for me. The love, the ache of longing had stayed in my heart through my long lonely journey. I wanted Angie. I wanted Leroy. Yet now, as I sat expectantly looking at the door, my thoughts were tinged with anxiety. Even as those quick, beloved footsteps sounded, the idea of making a run for freedom came into my mind. But how would Vati survive in the wild without claws? Could I do the work of two cats? Protecting and feeding both of us, living for ever with matted fur and aching hunger, and a lonely heart?

‘Don’t do it, Timba. Don’t even THINK about it.’ The voice of the Spirit Lion boomed in my head. He was there, in the room with us. I could see his light as he prowled around, for a reason I had yet to discover.

‘Come in, Angie,’ Graham called, and stood up eagerly. He’s still in love with her, I thought.

Leroy burst in, his eyes finding me immediately, his face lighting up with passion. I did the loudest meow EVER and found myself trotting across the room with my tail up.

‘TIMBA!’

Leroy couldn’t speak. He picked me up and in wordless joy buried his face in my fur.

‘Darling cat!’ Leroy let me go and I climbed over to Angie, and wrapped my paws around her neck. I did a whole stream of purr-meows, and licked the tears from her face.

‘Aren’t you going to say it?’ Graham asked, beaming.

‘Say what?’

‘Thank you, Universe,’ he teased.

Angie smiled into his eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment.‘When I can stop crying,’ Angie said, and Graham took THE HANKY from his top pocket and handed it to her. ‘Oh dear … I’ve missed this hanky too … it’s good to see you, Graham … and, yes … thank you, Universe!’

‘Let me have Timba … please, Angie,’ Leroy said, and I went, purring, back to him and touched noses. Leroy had grown taller and stronger. His aura was huge, and he seemed quieter, more grown-up.

‘You’ve had a long drive in the snow,’ Graham said. ‘Will you stay and have lunch? Lisa’s not here, but we can have toast and soup, or something.’

‘OK, thanks. Then we’ll take Timba home,’ Angie said, and no one seemed to notice Vati who was sitting on the rug, watching everyone, his eyes lonely and anxious. He didn’t want me to go. What should I do? I looked at the sunshine now streaming through the window, drying the last drops ofmelted snow.

‘Don’t run away again, Timba,’ said Leroy, as if he’d read my mind. He stroked me thoughtfully. ‘We’ve got to sort your fur out … make you all nice and glossy again.’

A lot of talking went on over lunch, and Vati slept, but I kept awake, listening for clues, and watching the white light from the Spirit Lion who had settled along the back of the sofa where Rick and Leroy sat with trays on their laps. The Spirit Lion was waiting for something to happen, and it did.

Leroy took a mobile phone out of his pocket and showed it to Rick.‘I got a smartphone now,’ he said proudly. ‘Would you like to see my art work?’

‘OK. Yeah … show me,’ said Rick, with not much enthusiasm.

‘It’s awesome,’ said Angie.

Leroy was flicking the screen, his eyes sparkling with excitement.‘I only do lions,’ he said, and began to show Rick his pictures. ‘These are the White Lions of Timbavati in Africa.’

Rick came alive. He stared at the pictures in stunned silence.‘You didn’t do these, did you?’

Leroy nodded.

‘They are … mind-blowing. Brilliant!’ said Rick, and looked intensely at Leroy. ‘So why the White Lions?’

‘They came to save the world,’ Leroy said, and he began to talk fast and passionately. ‘There’s only a few of them left … three hundred in the wild, and some are in zoos. In Africa they believe the White Lions came from the stars … Angie’s reading me the book.’

‘Oh I know about them, Leroy,’ said Rick. ‘I’ve been there…to Timbavati, and seen the White Lions. I went on a volunteer conservation scheme, when I was training to be a vet.’

Leroy stared at him in awe.‘I’m gonna go there when I’m old enough … aren’t I, Angie? I’m gonna help the White Lions change the world.’

‘I don’t know about changing the world,’ said Rick. ‘But it changed my life, going there. I didn’t want to come home. But it’s not easy to raise the money, Leroy, and you need to be a strong person …’

‘I don’t care.’ Leroy looked fierce. ‘I’m a good survivor, aren’t I, Angie?’

‘But these pictures are extraordinary. They’d love them at the Timbavati Centre.’

‘When I’ve got enough,’ said Leroy, ‘Angie’s gonna help me frame them, and I’m gonna have an exhibition and sell them for loadsa money. Then I can buy a plane ticket and go to Timbavati and work with the White Lions.’

‘You’re deadly serious, aren’t you?’ Rick said.

‘Yeah … deadly serious.’ Leroy stared at Rick, and the light of the Spirit Lion was all around him. ‘I don’t want to do nothing else … and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. No one’s gonna stop me.’

His words were electric, and even Graham and Angie were listening to him, spellbound. And Vati’s eyes were dancing all over the place, watching the sparks and the light of the Spirit Lion.

‘I believe you,’ said Rick. ‘You’re an amazing young man. How old are you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Wow. You are so talented,’ said Rick, ‘and determined. I really believe you’ll do exactly that … and good luck! I shall come to your exhibition, and I’ll be the first to buy one of those incredible lion pictures.’

Leroy beamed.‘Can I have your mobile number, and your email?’ he asked. ‘I’ll add you to my contact list. BUT,’ he added, wagging his finger at Rick, ‘those pictures are gonna be EXPENSIVE.’

My dilemma was solved for me very neatly later that day when Angie picked Vati up for a cuddle.‘Poor little Vati, he’s so thin,’ she said tenderly, and Vati stared at her intently. ‘He’s not himself, Graham. What’s wrong with him?’

Graham sighed and started tapping his fingers on the chair arm.‘I’m afraid Vati has never been the same since Lisa had him de-clawed.’

There was a furious silence, and Angie’s face went crimson.

‘WHAT?’

Vati nearly jumped out of her arms with fright. Immediately she lowered her voice, and calmed him.‘It’s OK, darling,’ she whispered tenderly. ‘Let me see those darling paws.’

Vati started to tremble again, and wriggled out of her arms. He came and sat with me, pressing himself into my fur as close as he could get.

He really needs me, I thought, and looked at the afternoon sunshine gilding the window. If we were going to escape, it had to be very soon.

‘That’s appalling,’ Angie said. ‘How could she? How did you allow it, Graham?’

Graham faced her angry eyes calmly.‘Lisa just did it, without telling me. She was paranoid about him scratching Heidi.’

‘Poor, poor little Vati. I can’t bear it!’ Angie ranted on and on.

Graham listened kindly, and even dared to put his arm around her shoulders. She shook him off.‘Don’t touch me,’ she flared. ‘I’m so angry. You could have stopped her, surely. She must have said something.’ Angie seemed to be boiling over with rage she had bottled up for years. ‘You and THAT BLOODY LISA,’ she stormed. ‘She ruined my life, now she’s ruined Vati’s life. How would she like to be de-clawed and have her precious fingernails pulled out?’

Leroy sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, his hands stroking both of us, his eyes watching Angie.‘I got the answer,’ he said firmly and both heads turned to look at him. ‘Vati’s going to be OK if he stays with Timba. Can’t we take Vati with us?’

There was an uneasy silence. Angie looked at Graham.‘Well?’

Graham drummed his fingers faster on the chair arm.‘I love that little cat,’ he admitted, ‘but Leroy’s right. Timba and Vati need to be together … Vati’s already more alive since Timba came … so, yes … I’ll let him go.’

Problem solved!

Vati and I were to travel together, in the luxurious basket … we were going home to live with Leroy and Angie. Over the blue hills, across the shining river, and through the dark forest.

I only wished that Graham was coming too. There was a loneliness that hung around him now, a desolation of the soul. Like the rest of us, he needed Angie. He’d made a terrible mistake and his life was in its shadow.

Graham and I had been buddies. And he’d stuck up for me against Lisa and her broom. I decided to go and say thank you to him nicely. Humans don’t like their men to cry, but as I lay on his chest, gazing and purring, I could feel that his huge body was tight with tears. I tried, but he held on to them.

I expected Vati to go under the sofa when Leroy brought the travelling basket in, but his face brightened and he went straight over and inspected it. Then he walked across elegantly with his tail up and said a beautiful, courteous goodbye to Graham.

‘I’ll miss you, little cat,’ Graham murmured, ‘and … please forgive me.’

Vati touched noses with him, and ran back to the basket. We sat in there, together, facing outwards.

Two black cats against the world.

Chapter Eighteen

CHANGING THE WORLD

Vati and I are ten years old, Angie says, and we’ve just had our birthday. My fur is glossy and well brushed, and I’m still the best cat in the street. Vati has learned to play again, and we have mad half-hours in our happy home. On moonlit nights, the forest calls to me, but I won’t go there. I’m a support cat, and my job is to care for Vati, Angie and Leroy.

Leroy is a young man now, and he’s very rich, he tells me. He sold lots of his wonderful lion pictures and saved all his money. But early this morning he was packing a big rucksack, and he picked me up and said goodbye! And he said, ‘Thank you! Thank you, Timba. You been my BEST, BEST friend.’

I sat in the window and watched a minibus pick him up at the door, and Angie was crying and crying.

Now it’s nearly noon. The sun is high, and Angie is standing in the garden with Vati and me in her arms. I wonder why she’s watching the sky so intently.

Suddenly she stiffens.

‘That’s it!’ she says, and points to a shining plane that is climbing up and up into the blue sky.

Angie is still full of tears. I lick one from her cheek.‘Don’t worry, Timba,’ she says. ‘These are happy tears. Tears of joy. I’m so happy for Leroy, and so proud of him. But we’ll miss him, won’t we, guys?’

We watch the shining plane until it becomes a bright bead, trailing a white arrow of smoke.

And finally, Angie tells us what is going on.

‘That’s Leroy’s plane,’ she says. ‘It’s taking him all the way through the blue sky to Africa … to Timbavati to work with the White Lions.’

Angie was unusually quiet after Leroy had left. Her bright flame seemed to have gone out. She only came alive when we were looking at her laptop, Vati and I sitting on the table beside her, our heads weaving from side to side as we saw pictures of Leroy onscreen. Running down the steps from a big aeroplane and climbing into a truck with some other young people.‘He’s making friends … at last!’ Angie said. ‘He’s found kindred spirits.’ But Leroy’s eyes were homesick as he talked to Angie. ‘I miss you, Angie, and Timba and Vati.’

When we finally saw the White Lions onscreen, we were awed. They looked so sumptuous and huge, powerful but relaxed. We cats were proud. Proud to belong to the global family of cats. The White Lions had come to change the world … but so had we, and we had one more job to do … for Angie.

‘She’s lonely,’ I said as the two of us gazed into the embers of the fire. ‘We’ve got to do something.’ I thought about the journey I had made through the forests and across the shiny river. Was I too old to try again? And how would Vati cope?

He picked up my thoughts immediately.‘Don’t even think about it, Timba.’

‘I’ve got to fetch Graham,’ I said. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘No, Timba!’

But I got up and stretched, ate the rest of my supper, and headed out through the cat flap into the moonlit garden. Facing south, I searched the sky for the brilliance of that star on the lion’s paw. My tail quivered. I saw the star. And that homesick longing filled my heart. I wanted my old home. I wanted Poppy, and the apple tree. But most of all I wanted Angie to be happy again.

I had to fetch Graham.

I remembered the maze of streets, the field of cattle, and the endless magical forest.

I set off down the road to the south.

Vati pelted after me and sprang in front of me like a dragon cat. His lemon-green furious eyes confronted me on the moonlit pavement. He wasn’t going to let me go.

I sat down and felt my angry tail swishing to and fro over the tarmac. If my little brother thought he could stop me, I’d beat him up. My ears went flat, my fur bristled, and I hissed at Vati. To my astonishment he hissed right back at me, and the hiss lingered in the air between us. I tried to dodge around him, but suddenly Vati turned into a wild, hooky-looking demon. Even without his claws, he towered overme, the white moonlight glinted on his teeth, the orange street lights glazed the fur along his spine.

I hesitated. I wasn’t scared of Vati. In a way I was proud of him. He hadn’t got claws, but somehow he’d made himself strong enough to challenge me. He believed in his own power. And judging by the speed and sting of the swipe he gave me with a long whip of a paw, he was going to use it. On me!

Instead of fighting back, I sat there and looked at him until he calmed down. We studied each other’s eyes. ‘I won’t let you go, Timba,’ he said. ‘There is a better way.’ Still focused on my journey, I looked at him in silence, thinking I could sneak away later while he was asleep.

‘There is a better way, Timba,’ he repeated. ‘Just because you are in a physical body you don’t have to settle everything physically. Why go on that long journey when you can use your cat power?’

I stared at him. Cat power? All I’d done for the last few years was roll around on the hearth rug, purr and eat. People kept saying I was too fat.

‘Follow me,’ said my streamlined, velvet-coated, assertive brother, and he led me through the front garden and round the side of the house to where the old stone glittered in the starlight. We sat down, side by side, facing south. ‘Talk to me,’ I said, fearing Vati was going into one of his mysterious trances.

‘Remember the golden roads?’ he said. ‘We’re on one, right now … you used to sit here, Timba, when we were apart, and I heard every one of your messages, even though I didn’t answer. I heard you. I saw you. And I felt you!’

The mist cleared from my mind, and I remembered the great white Spirit Lion who had come to help me at those times. The remembering was a nice feeling, like coming home. So I stayed close to Vati, our bodies trembling a little as we picked up the energy of the golden road.

‘You do the purring,’ said Vati, ‘and I’ll send the message. We’re a good team. We’ll send Graham a message.’

I don’t know how many hours we sat there on the golden road in the moonlight, but suddenly I could feel sadness. A grey emptiness, a yearning, and it was coming from Graham. He wasn’t singing. The lid of the piano was shut. Graham wasn’t moving. He was slumped in his armchair, staring into space. The way Vati had been. Numb.

For three days nothing happened. Except that Vati was now the boss, not me. He’d kept me firmly inside, out of the rain that wrapped the house in veils of pearl and silver. Angie came and went, and cuddled us, and watched the laptop for news of Leroy. I ate and slept, and rolled on the rug.

It must have been a weekend, because on the third day Angie got ready to go to work. Her mood was ominously dark as she stacked the children’s books and crammed them into a bag. I perched on the table and looked at her. I felt anxious. Something was going to happen. I could feel it through my fur. So strongly that I thought it justified an amplified extended-meow.

‘What’s the matter, Timba?’ she asked, and I did another one. I stood up on my back legs and put my paws on Angie’s chest. I stared at her. Her breathing changed and she started to cry. ‘You know, don’t you, Timba?’ she said, stroking me on both sides of my face. ‘You’re such anunderstanding cat. I really don’t want to go to work today. But I HAVE TO.’ She picked up her car keys and left.

I worried about Angie all morning until the sun came out, sending shafts of warm light through the windows. Vati and I looked at each other. We knew an overgrown garden where we could mess around and catch mice, even if I ended up catching them for both of us. We set off down an alleyway and under a broken gate, and spent the afternoon in the long grass, playing with the nodding seed heads and grasshoppers.

I wasn’t relaxed. Part of me was listening, sensing change and it had heavy footsteps. Strange in a town where hundreds of people were walking around, but my sensitive mind focused on those particular footsteps.

‘We should go home,’ I said, and Vati led me back through the broken gate and down the alleyway. We both knew something at home had changed. It spooked us, and we ran, low to the ground, our whiskers twitching.

At the corner of the street, Vati turned and looked at me with frightened eyes.‘You stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll creep to the gate and check this out.’ Alarmed, I watched him slink along the pavement to our front garden. I saw him peep round the gatepost and his neck stretched out with fright. He came charging back with his fur all stiff.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘There’s a man sitting on the doorstep,’ hissed Vati.

‘I sensed him all day,’ I said, remembering the footsteps.

‘What shall we do?’ Suddenly Vati was like a scared kitten again, his winsome face waiting for me to lead him. I thought about the man on Angie’s doorstep. It could only be … my tail went up by itself. ‘Come on,’ I said, and Vati followed as I trotted confidently along the pavement.My tail waved in the air behind me like a plume of joy. I knew that my eyes were sparkling like suns, my heart buzzing with anticipation.

I paused by the gate to arrange myself for a grand entrance. With my fluffy coat flowing, I shone in the sun as I trotted faster and faster down the path, doing purr-meows at the man on the doorstep. I felt like the most powerful cat in the Universe.

And I was right.

It was Graham. On the step beside him was a bunch of red roses.‘No, Timba,’ he said as I patted the crinkly cellophane. ‘Don’t shred the paper. These are for Angie … my Angie,’ he added, and then asked me a question. ‘Do you think she’ll have me back?’

I did a yes-meow.

I couldn’t wait for Angie to come home. Vati and I sat on Graham, keeping him firmly under control in the afternoon sunshine. Until, at last, we heard Angie’s quick bright footsteps on the pavement. I was anxious then. Would she fly into a rage and tell Graham to go away?

Angie had been angry with Graham for so long.

Graham got to his feet, the bunch of roses crackling in his hand. He looked suitably shamefaced, but it was only a mask. I knew in that moment that love was stronger than anger. I watched it change on Angie’s face. When she saw Graham she paused in disbelief. Her school bag fell to the floor, its heavy burden of books spilling across the path. A smile dawned on her face and she ran to him, almost crushing the roses in a huge hug. Graham looked pleased, and I saw a tear sparkling in the corner of his eye.

‘Angie …’ he breathed.

Vati and I weaved and purred around their legs as Angie gazed up at Graham and into his eyes.‘Does this mean what I think it means?’ she asked.

‘Angie,’ said Graham again. He searched for the right words. I did a purr-meow to encourage him. ‘Will you have me back?’ he asked nervously. ‘I made a terrible mistake, letting you go like that. I’ve regretted it so much. Please … could we start over?’

If cats could cry, I’d have cried with happiness when the smile reached Angie’s eyes and she gave a scream of joy. ‘Thank you, Universe!’

‘Does that mean yes?’ Graham enquired.

‘Yes. A million times yes!’

I knew then that we’d be going home.

Vati and I exchanged knowing looks. We’d cracked it!

We didn’t follow Angie and Graham into the house. We sat on the doorstep, proudly, guarding the love-nest.

Two black cats against the world.