The Cat Who Came in Off the Roof (7 page)

“When you lived where?”

“Victoria Avenue. As a cat. I used to catch birds… Behind the house, next to the patio, there was a golden chain tree… That’s where I caught most of them and they were so…”

“I’m not listening any more,” Bibi shouted, running off with her camera.

10

Cats Aren't Witnesses

“I
don't understand,” Minou said for the umpteenth time. “This
has
to go in the paper: Tatter Cat Crippled by the President of the Animal Lovers' Association.”

“No,” said Tibble. “‘Cats aren't news,' that's what my boss says.”

“Hitting a poor old mother cat with a bottle!” said Minou. “She might never recover.”

“I'm not entirely surprised,” Tibble said hesitantly, “at someone losing their temper when they suddenly see a stray cat standing on their salmon. And I
can
imagine them grabbing whatever's at hand to knock it off the table.”

“Really?” said Minou, giving Tibble such a vicious look that he stepped back out of range of her nails.

“In any case, it's not something for the paper,” he said. “And that's all there is to it.”

Whenever Minou was angry, she got into her box to sulk. She was about to do that now, but Fluff came in through the kitchen window with a long-drawn-out miaow.

“What's he saying?” Tibble asked.

“The fishmonger?” cried Minou.

“
Rwo… wwieeu… row…
” Fluff continued. He told her an ecstatic story in Cattish, then disappeared again, back on the roof.

“What about the fishmonger?” Tibble asked.

“He's in hospital!”

“Really? I thought it sounded like Fluff had good news.”

“The fishmonger got hit by a car,” Minou said. “It ran right into his fish stall. All the local cats are going straight there because there's fish spread all over the road.”

“I'm on my way,” Tibble said. “I can write an article about this.” And he grabbed his pad.

“I'm going too,” Minou said. “Over the roof, that's faster.”

She tried to climb out of the window, but Tibble stopped her. “No, Miss Minou. I don't want my secretary scrounging around an upset fish stall like an old alley cat!”

Minou gave him a haughty look.

“What's more,” said Tibble, “there's bound to be a lot of people there and you don't like that.”

“Fine, I'll stay here,” said Minou. “I'll hear the news on the roof.”

There
were
a lot of people in Green Square. A real crowd. The police were there, there was glass on the street from the broken windows and the fish stall was completely wrecked; there were slats and boards all over the place, the bunting had
been trodden underfoot and the last cat was running off with the last herring.

Mr Smith was looking around too.

“They just drove off with the fishmonger,” he said. “They're taking him to hospital. He's got a broken rib.”

“What happened?” Tibble asked.

“A car! But the weird thing is nobody knows
which
car. It was a hit and run. Outrageous!”

“Weren't there any witnesses? Right in the middle of the day?”

“No,” said Mr Smith. “It was twelve noon exactly, everyone was having lunch. They all heard the smash but by the time they'd come out to have a look, the car had gone round the corner.”

“And the fishmonger?”

“He doesn't know either. One moment he was gutting some herring, the next thing he's upside down, stall and all. The police have questioned everyone here in the neighbourhood, but no one saw the car. It must have been a stranger, someone from out of town.”

Tibble looked around. There was a cat eating something on the corner of the square. The cats must have seen who it was, he thought. And I bet Minou has already been informed.

He was right.

“We've known who it was for ages,” she said when Tibble arrived back upstairs. “Everyone's told everyone else up on the rooftops. It was Mr Ellmore's car. He was in it too. It was him.”

Tibble could hardly believe it. “Come on,” he said. “Why would a man like that keep driving after an accident? He'd report it straight away.”

“The cats saw it,” Minou said. “You know how there's always
cats hanging around the fish stall. Cross-eyed Simon was there and so was the School Cat and Ecumenica too. They all saw it. Now you can put it in the paper.”

Tibble sat down and started chewing his fingernails.

“That's right, isn't it?” asked Minou. “This can go in the paper, can't it?”

“No,” said Tibble. “I'll write an article about the accident. But I can't say Ellmore was the driver. There's no proof.”

“No proof? But
three
cats—”

“Yes,
cats
! But what good's that? There wasn't a single witness.”

“There were three witnesses.”

“Cats aren't witnesses.”

“No?”

“No. I can hardly write in the paper: according to information we have received from several cats, the vehicle that smashed into the fish stall was driven by prominent Killenthorn resident Mr Ellmore. I just can't. Don't you understand that?”

Minou didn't understand. She left the room and got into her box without a word.

At night on the roof Cross-eyed Simon said, “There's someone waiting for you at the Town Hall.”

“Who?”

“The Deodorant Cat. He's got news.”

Minou went straight there. It was three in the morning and very quiet on the square. Two marble lions were crouched in front of the Town Hall, each with a marble shield between its knees.

Minou waited. A mixture of strange smells was wafting out from the left lion's shadow. She could smell cat
and
perfume. And now the Deodorant Cat emerged.

“Nosey-nosey first,” he said.

Minou held out her nose.

“Sorry about the apple blossom,” the cat said. “It's our latest fragrance. I've got something to tell you, but you mustn't tell anyone you got it from me. You have to keep my name out of the papers. Promise?”

“I promise,” said Minou.

“Well… remember I told you about Billy? The boy who worked in our canteen and got fired?”

“Oh, yes,” said Minou. “What about him?”

“He's back. He got his job back.”

“He must be pleased,” Minou said. “But is that all? It's not really newspaper material.”

“Don't interrupt,” said the Deodorant Cat. “I'm not finished. Listen. This afternoon I was sitting on the ledge. Outside on the wall there's a ledge and when I sit on it, behind the creeper, I can hear and see everything that goes on in the owner's office. Our owner is Mr Ellmore. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course I do!” Minou exclaimed. “He crippled your mother!”

“Exactly,” said the cat. “That's why I hate him. Not that I see much of my mother these days. She smells a little too vulgar to my taste. I'm used to more refined fragrances. But that's not the point. I was sitting there on the ledge and I saw Billy in Ellmore's office and I thought, let's have a little listen, you never know.”

“Go on,” said Minou.

“I heard Ellmore say, ‘That's agreed then, Billy, you get your old job back. Just run along straight to the canteen.' And Billy said, ‘With pleasure, sir, lovely, sir, thank you very much, sir.'”

“And that was the end of it?” asked Minou.

“I thought so at first,” said the cat. “I thought it was over and I dozed off a little… because the sun was shining and you know what that's like… sitting on a ledge in the sun…”

“Yes, I know,” Minou said. “Go on.”

“Well, all at once I heard Ellmore whispering something at the door, ‘… and don't forget… if anyone happens to ask you what you saw this afternoon on Green Square… you didn't see a thing. Understood? Not a thing.'”

“‘No, sir,' said Billy, ‘Not a thing.' And he left the office. And that was that.”

“
A-ha
,” said Minou. “I get it. Billy must have seen the accident.”

“That's what I thought too,” said the cat.

“Now we finally have a human who saw it,” Minou told Tibble. “A real witness. Not just a cat witness.”

“I'll go see Billy right now,” said Tibble. “Maybe he'll admit to seeing something if I ask him straight out.”

He left.

While Tibble was gone, Minou had a conversation on the roof with the cat from the hotel. The Metropole Cat.

“Tell me,” Minou said. “I hear that Ellmore sometimes eats at the hotel. Is that true?”

“Yes,” said the Metropole Cat. “He and his wife have dinner in our restaurant once a week. On Fridays. That's tonight.”

“Could you sit close by?” Minou asked. “To listen in on what he says?”

“Not likely,” said the Metropole Cat. “He kicked me once under the table.”

“It's just that we'd really like to know what he's saying in private,” Minou explained, “but none of us dare go to his house to eavesdrop. Because of his dog… Mars… So if you could, try to get close to the table.”

“I'll see what I can do,” the Metropole Cat promised.

Tibble came home much later, worn out and disheartened.

“I went to see Billy,” he said. “But Billy says he didn't see anything. He insists he wasn't even in Green Square when it happened. I'm sure he's lying. He's too scared to say anything, of course. I went to see the fishmonger too, in hospital.”

“How is he?” Minou asked. “Did he still smell good?”

“He smelt like hospitals,” Tibble said.

“How sad.”

“I asked him, ‘Could it have been Mr Ellmore's car?' But the fishmonger just got angry and shouted, ‘What a stupid idea! Ellmore's my best customer, he wouldn't do something like that.' And…” Tibble hesitated. “I went to the police too. I asked them, ‘Could it have possibly been Mr Ellmore's car?'”

“And what did they say?” Minou asked.

“They burst out laughing. They thought I'd gone mad.”

11

The Pump Cat and the Metropole Cat

“H
asn’t your human written about Ellmore in the paper yet?” the Tatter Cat asked.

“No,” Minou said. “He says he doesn’t have any proof.”

“What a coward! How gutless can you get! Humans are the most useless animals around! They’re as spineless as dogs,” the Tatter Cat cried. She was so wound up, she forgot to keep an eye on her babies. One of the little tortoiseshell kittens had walked almost all the way to the caravan door. When the mother cat saw it, she shouted, “Hey, look at that! Someone’s ready for the great outdoors! Come here, stupid!” She grabbed the baby cat by the scruff of the neck and dragged it back to the blanket and the rest of the litter. “They’re starting to be a real pain,” she said. “The little brats.”

The kittens had their eyes open. They kept tumbling over each other and playing with each other’s tails. And with their mother’s tattered, stringy tail.

“How’s your leg?” Minou asked.

“It’s a bit better. I’m still limping though. It’s probably permanent. Every day I go out to drink from the puddle under the tap and it takes me ages to get there.”

“Can you leave the children alone that long?” Minou asked anxiously. “Is it safe?”

“Nobody ever comes here,” the Tatter Cat said. “Just you and Bibi. She brings me something every day too. And today she took photos of the little riff-raff. Pictures of all those ugly little monsters! Weird, huh? Oh, yeah, before I forget… their father, the Pump Cat, asked if you could drop by on your way past. He’s got something to tell you. Don’t ask me what, but it’s probably something to do with the fishmonger’s accident.”

Minou said goodbye and walked over to the petrol station. The Pump Cat said a friendly hello.

“I don’t know if it’s worth bothering about,” he said, “but I thought… it can’t do any harm to mention it.”

“Mention what?”

“Ellmore was here. He had a big dent in his bumper. And a smashed headlight.”

“Ah!” said Minou.

“He’s got two cars,” the Pump Cat said. “It was the big one, the blue Chevy. You know we’ve got a garage here as well as a petrol station. So he says to my human, the mechanic, ‘I ran into my own garden wall. Could you fix it today?’ And my human says, ‘That’s gonna be difficult.’”

“And then?” Minou asked.

“Then Ellmore gave him some money. I couldn’t see how much, but it must have been a lot because my human looked very happy. And then Ellmore said, ‘If anyone should ask any questions… about dents in my car or anything like that… I’d rather you didn’t mention it.’”

“
A-ha
,” said Minou. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

While she was heading off, she turned and called back, “You’ve got some lovely kids there.”

“Who?” asked the Pump Cat.

“You.”

“Me? Who says so?”

“The Tatter Cat.”

“She says all kinds of things,” scoffed the Pump Cat.

The Metropole Cat was a gleaming, pitch-black tom with a white chest. He was also extremely fat from the luxurious life he led in the hotel dining room. At mealtimes, he wandered slowly from table to table, looking up at the hotel guests with pitiful, pleading eyes, as if to say, can’t you see I’m starving to death? Most people gave him something and gradually he’d grown fatter and fatter. He waddled.

It was Friday evening around six-thirty, and the dining room was fairly full. Waiters were walking in and out, knives and plates rattled, people were eating and chatting, it smelt of roast beef and roast potatoes.

Sitting in a corner by the window, a little to one side, were Mr and Mrs Ellmore.

The Metropole Cat made a tentative approach. He’d promised Minou to listen in, but because Ellmore had once kicked him
under the table, he was being cautious. He sat down a few feet away and didn’t go any closer. They were arguing, he could tell that from their gestures and faces, but unfortunately they were arguing under their breath.

I’m definitely not going to sit under the table, thought the cat. I’d get a boot straight away. But if I go and sit next to
her
chair, I’ll be safe enough.

Now he was close enough to hear what they were saying.

“So incredibly stupid of you,” said Mrs Ellmore, “you should have reported it immediately.”

“You’re not going to start all over again, are you?” said Mr Ellmore. “Stop nagging.”

“I still think you should have reported it,” she persisted. “You still can.”

He shook his head fiercely and stabbed a piece of meat with his fork.

The Metropole Cat took another step closer.

“Get lost, you nasty little monster,” Mr Ellmore hissed. But the cat stayed where it was and looked up at him with a very innocent and very hungry expression.

“Don’t talk rubbish,” Mr Ellmore continued. “It’s too late now. Of course you’re right… I
should
have reported it at once… but I didn’t. And now it’s too late.”

“But what if it gets out?”

“It can’t. Nobody saw it, except for a dim-witted ex-canteen assistant from the factory, and I gave him his job back right away.”

“And the garage where you’re getting the car fixed?”

“The mechanic will keep his mouth shut. He’s a buddy of mine. Through thick and thin.”

“I
still
think you should go and report it,” Mrs Ellmore said stubbornly.

“Will you just give it a rest? You think I’m mad? I’ve gone to so much trouble to get people here in town on side. I’ve donated money left, right and centre, one charity after the other. All to make people like me, all to get
in
. I’ve joined associations, I’m the president of this, that and the other, I’m on committees… I’ve done everything I can to make people trust me. And I’ve succeeded!”

The Metropole Cat took another sneaky step forward.

“Psst, scat!” hissed Mr Ellmore. “That cat’s enough to put you off your dinner!”

The black cat waddled off, did a small circuit of the dining room and returned to the same spot. He heard Ellmore saying, “What if it got in the paper! My good name would be ruined. And then I wouldn’t be voted onto the council committee. And the expansion of the factory wouldn’t go ahead. I’d have everyone against me. And now let’s change the subject. What are you having for dessert?”

“Cassata ice cream,” said Mrs Ellmore.

“And if I ever bump into that disgusting cat in the dark, I’ll strangle it,” her husband said, glaring at the fat black tom.

The Metropole Cat had heard enough. He strolled out through the door and dragged himself up to the rooftops to report back to Minou.

“Another
cat
who’s overheard him,” Tibble complained. “We still don’t have a real witness. How can I write an article without proof? And the two people who could help me, Billy and the
mechanic, refuse to speak up. They both claim they don’t know anything about it.”

“But you do believe the cats now, don’t you?” Minou asked.

“Yes,” said Tibble. “I believe you.”

“I hope one day I’ll get to give Ellmore a good scratch,” said Minou.

“I hope so too,” said Tibble.

It made him feel very despondent. He was convinced the cats were telling the truth, but he didn’t dare write about it without any evidence. Besides being despondent, he was also angry. Angry and indignant. And all that anger made him less shy. It made him brave enough to approach people and ask them all kinds of questions.

But whenever he casually said, “I’ve heard that Mr Ellmore caused that accident with the fish stall,” people were outraged. “Where’d you get that idea? Who’s spreading stories like that? Mr Ellmore would
never
do anything of the kind! First of all, he’s a careful driver and second, he’d have owned up to it straight away. He would
never
drive off like that…”

“No, Tibble,” Mr Smith said. “You’re talking complete and utter rubbish. That’s nothing but cheap gossip.”