The Last Free Cat (3 page)

“I can read!” said Kris, and suddenly he looked like a wounded little boy, and I felt terrible. But Kris wasn't the type who needed sympathy. Like most people around here, his favorite means of defense was attack, and right now that meant showing me his power over my cat. He gently rubbed the area at the base of her spine, just above her tail. She lowered her head and arched her back up towards his hand, holding her tail to one side and going into a kind of ecstasy. I'd never stroked her like that, or seen this reaction, and I was starting to get very fed up.

“You've seen her now,” I said. “Bye.”

Kris ignored me. He was totally concentrated on Feela, rubbing harder, smiling at the effect he was having.

“Bye,” I repeated.

“Not doing any harm,” he mumbled.

“Yes you are,” I snapped. “You're disturbing her sleep-time.”

“What did you invite me for then?”

“I invited you to look at her, not to touch her!”

“What right have you got to say I can't touch her?”

“She's
my
cat!”

“What, you own her, do you?”

“Just get lost, Kris!”

At this point Mum walked in. It could hardly have looked worse—me in the middle of an argument with the person we could supposedly trust with our lives. But there was something about Kris which Mum instantly warmed to. I winced when he called her “Mrs. Jade's mum,” but Mum liked a bit of cheek, and pretty soon they were sparring away as if they'd known each other years. Mum said how much she liked Kris's earrings, and Kris said how cool she'd look with a nosering, and I started to feel like a total fifth wheel, all the more so as Feela was still on the end of Kris's tickling finger.

Kris was doing it on purpose, that was for sure. He never bothered to charm anyone at school, hardly even smiled in fact, but here he was revealing his tombstone teeth at every opportunity. Maybe he was always like this with older women (except teachers of course), or maybe it was just a way of getting at me. Either way, I was relieved when he eventually left.

“What a nice boy,” said Mum. “Why haven't you invited him around before?”

“He's not that nice, really,” I replied, reclaiming my rightful place next to Feela.

“I can see he might be a bit of a devil,” said Mum, “but he's good at heart.”

“Dunno why you think that,” I mumbled.

“He's just got a look about him,” said Mum.

I ran my hand gently over Feela's head, but her eyes were still fixed on the door through which Kris had left.

“What kind of look?” I asked.

“The fires of righteousness,” replied Mum.

“The
what
?” I gasped.

“Bit like your dad when I met him,” replied Mum. “Before he got worn down.”

I didn't bother to respond to this. If there was any similarity between Kris Delaney and my dad, it was lost on me.

“So,” I said, “it's all right I told him, then.”

Mum sighed. “I'd still rather you hadn't,” she replied. “But if you had to tell anyone …”

“I'm not stupid,” I said.

“No, you're like me,” she said. “I always had good taste in boyfriends.”

I leapt to my feet in a fit of outrage. “He is
not
my boyfriend!” I cried.

Mum laughed. “All right—good taste in friends, then!” she said. There was a pause, then, with a little smile, she added, “But I think he's got a thing for you.”

“Mum,” I warned. “Please shut up. You're making me feel sick.”

Chapter Six

After his first visit to our house, Kris obviously felt he didn't need invitations. He was around the next day, carrying a disgusting pig's foot in a bag, which he said was a present for Feela.

“I don't think she'll eat that,” I said.

“Why not?” said Kris.

“It looks horrible,” I said.

“To you, maybe,” said Kris, “but you're not a cat.”

“I know that,” I snapped.

Needless to say, Feela ate the pig's trotter, and the fishhead Kris brought the next day, and the chicken livers he brought the day after. Mum was well impressed with Kris's thoughtfulness, but I knew there was more to it than that. He just wanted to be inside my home, like a hermit crab, probably because he resented me having a home when he just moved from one place to another, from one supposed uncle to another supposed cousin, with no stability at all.

Maybe he secretly wanted to live with us. He always said he hated cozy, domestic life, and if he had his own way he'd still live on the road, but it certainly didn't bother him to sit down in front of the screen with a cup of tea, passing the time of day with Mum.

Then again, maybe he just wanted to be with Feela. For me, her appeal was that she was beautiful, and responsive, and fascinating in everything she did. But for Kris, she was what the rich people had. She was something stolen, illegal, something denied to us which we'd taken anyway—except it was me who'd taken her, and Mum who stood to go to jail if they ever found her. So Kris could have all the pleasure of her with none of the risk.

And then, to top it all off, Mum gave him a key.

I wasn't at home when it happened. I only found out about it later that evening, when Mum happened to casually drop it into the conversation.

“
What?
” I cried. “You mean he can just let himself in, any time, night or day?”

“He's not going to let himself in,” replied Mum. “It's just for emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies?” I asked.

“Supposing something happened to us,” said Mum. “Someone would have to feed Feela.”

“Be cheerful, why don't you?” I scoffed.

“Jade, we've got to be prepared for any eventuality,” said Mum. “There's no one else we can ask.”

I folded my arms and scowled. “I don't care,” I said. “I don't want Kris having a key to my house and
you should have asked me
!”

“
That's
why I didn't ask you,” said Mum.

“There isn't going to be an emergency,” I muttered.

“Please, love,” said Mum. “Don't go on.” She reached for her heart pills and I left it at that, hoping against hope I hadn't tempted fate by what I'd just said.

It was just three days later that Feela didn't come to wake me up. By now our routines were so settled that I immediately sensed something was wrong. I went downstairs and found her, still asleep, on top of the freezer. The food we'd put down for her hadn't been touched.

“Feela?”

I raised her chin gently on my finger. Her eyes half opened.

“You all right, kitten?”

I lifted her down, carried her through to the living room, and set her beside the sofa. She loved to sharpen her claws on the arm, no matter how much we told her off. Today, however, she barely sniffed at it, jumped weakly on to the cushion, tucked her paws beneath her breast, and closed her eyes.

Just before I was about to leave for school, Feela began making an unearthly crying sound. Then she stretched out her neck and was sick twice. Almost immediately she was asleep again, but now her breath was becoming labored. Mum and I began to fear the worst.

“We should have expected this,” said Mum.

I tried to look calm and responsible, but within me was flat panic. Not just for Feela, but for myself. If this
was
that deadly disease …

“We've got to do something,” I pleaded.

But what?

Feela, meanwhile, had climbed up onto the kitchen counter, eyes glazed forward.

“Come on, lovely,” I said. “You know you're not supposed to be up there.”

I reached up to take Feela down, as I'd done many times before. But this time she reacted differently. I don't know if it was because she felt vulnerable, but she hissed like a snake and swiped at me with her paw. To my horror, I looked down to see three scratch lines across the back of my hand. As thin lines of blood began to fill them, so I began to panic.

“Mum!” I cried. “She's cut me!”

Mum purified some water and made me wash the wound. As usual she was full of sureness and common sense, but I could see the anxiety in her eyes. She'd always been more scared than me that Feela could be carrying HN51. And if this was it …

“You've got to get it checked out,” she said.

“But they'll ask questions,” I protested.

“You can say it was someone else's.”

“They might need to see the cat.”

“Jade, you could die!”

All Mum's hidden fears were suddenly bursting into the light. Five children had already died at our school since New Year. Not that their deaths had anything to do with cats.

“OK, OK!” I assured her. “I'll go and see the medic.”

I didn't. I went to school. But I couldn't concentrate for a second, and as the hours ticked by, so my fears grew until my veins were awash with adrenaline and the panic inside me was unbearable. I felt ill—really ill. My skin felt sore and my forehead burned. Was this it? Was this the disease which could kill within a day?

I made an excuse and went down the clinic. My heart thumped in that waiting room, and by the time I got to see Dr. Amso, I was so nervous it was unreal.

“I think I need a blood test,” I told him.

“I see,” he replied. “And why's that?”

I listed all the symptoms I‘d read about, all the symptoms I was convinced I'd now got. I didn't mention cat flu, because I was hoping he'd give me the test without trying to diagnose what I'd got. But his suspicions were obviously aroused, and when he caught sight of the scratches on my hand his manner became urgent.

“How did you get these?” he asked.

My heart began to race. “Off our roses,” I replied.

Dr. Amso shook his head. “This is an animal scratch,” he declared.

I flushed a little. “It must have been my rabbit,” I blurted.

“Not the roses then,” replied Dr. Amso.

“I was trying to get it out of the garden,” I gabbled. “I felt a scratch, and I thought it must have been the rose, but maybe—”

“What's your rabbit's name?” asked Dr. Amso.

“Bunny,” I replied.

“What color is it?” asked Dr. Amso.

“Gray,” I replied. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“I don't think this scratch was caused by a rabbit,” said Dr. Amso. “Do you have a cat?”

“No,” I replied unconvincingly.

“You'll have to be tested,” continued Dr. Amso. “I need to know if this is a cat scratch. Cat scratches are notifiable.”

“What does
notifiable
mean?” I asked.

“Is it a cat scratch?” asked Dr. Amso.

By now my face was hot as a fire. “My rabbit did it!” I gabbled. “And if you don't believe me I'll find another doctor that does!”

I stormed from the doctor's office and out through the waiting room, ignoring the receptionist's demands for me to pay the check-up fee. Dr. Amso actually pursued me, right out into the street, but by then I was running. Passersby looked on, astonished. But I wasn't stopping for anyone. I thought of going home, and then another thought occurred. I would see Kris.

I'd been avoiding Kris since he'd started coming to our house every day. But today at school I couldn't have been happier to see him. He seemed to sense, as soon as he saw me, that something was wrong. We found a quiet corner behind the skate rink and I poured out my fears.

“Kris, I'm scared,” I began. “Feela's sick.”

Kris looked concerned. “What's the matter with her?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “She's just really weak, and she's not eating, and …” I started to tear up.

“That could be loads of things,” said Kris.

“Kris …” I began, “I'm scared it's the flu.”

“Why?” said Kris. “What do you know about cat flu?”

“Just things I've read,” I replied.

“Don't believe anything you read,” said Kris.

That was a typical Kris thing to say, and it didn't reassure me. “Kris,” I said. “I'm scared she's given it to me.”

“And why's that?” asked Kris sarcastically.

“I feel ill,” I whimpered.

Kris folded his arms and viewed me with something like pity. “Jade,” he said. “Humans can't catch cat flu.”

“What?”
I replied. “Of course they can!”

“Really?” said Kris. “And how do you know that?”

“Everyone knows!” I said.

“Maybe everyone's wrong,” he replied.

“How do you know they can't?” I asked.

“I study the evidence,” replied Kris.

“What evidence?” I asked.

“The history of the flu scare,” said Kris. “It's on the Free Cats League site.”

“Never heard of it,” I said.

“It's on the freeweb,” replied Kris.

“That's illegal!” I said.

“Really?”
said Kris. “I better stop using it then.”

“The freeweb's disgusting,” I said.

“Is that what you've heard?” asked Kris.

“All the pictures of …” I began. “I don't like to talk about it.”

“Because you've never seen it,” replied Kris. “Because you know nothing about it.”

“I've read about it,” I said.

“Yeah, on the slaveweb!” laughed Kris. “Owned by James Viafara, head of the Viafara Corporation, the same people that own the cats!”

I paused. Kris always made me think, but I still couldn't accept that millions of people would believe a lie. James Viafara may have been rich and powerful, but he was also known to be generous and trustworthy, a man who'd raised billions for Africa. Anyway, there were scientific papers about HN51, documentaries on the telly, politicians making speeches …