Tigger (8 page)

Peace returned to our bedtimes, and to life in general, as the school year moved towards its end and the weather grew warmer. I felt very settled in our house and garden by now and thought we could be happy there forever and ever. I enjoyed my daily routine that changed with the seasons and therefore never got dull. We had all found friends and fun activities to do, and the things that had alarmed us at first – like the big yellow school bus and the disgusting tap water – had just become a part of life that we were able to accept. After all, nowhere is perfect, but our life very nearly was.

Sadly, nothing seems to last forever in my family. As spring turned into summer, I sensed the tides changing once more: there were the brochures again, the long discussions and finally the goodbye parties. Caroline and Emily were heartbroken at having to leave their friends behind, and Robin was upset about leaving his little red jeep. But for some reason, Mum and Dad had decided it was time to leave. Once again, all our belongings were taken apart and loaded into a giant container – it was twice as big as the one we had had when we came. I suppose we had all grown since then.

Mum told me it would soon be time to say goodbye to our house and garden, and that I would have to fly off on my own again, to be reunited with them in a while, back in Australia – back home! I was not looking forward to it. I had come to love our American house and the wild garden and forests around it. I loved the glowing insects of warm summer nights and the look of the forest on frosty mornings. I loved my hidey holes and my lookout point on the mossy wood pile. Even the tree runners seemed okay now that I knew I had to leave them. And what would grey cat Piglet do without me? It was not to be contemplated, and yet I knew I had no choice: my life was with my family, who needed me and relied on me for so many things. I had to go with them.

It was with a heavy heart indeed that I climbed into our car one morning to drive to the airport with Mum and Dad. I had said goodbye to all my favourite places in the garden and walked through the empty rooms in our house, remembering everything we had done in each of them and all the fun we had had. I had said goodbye to grey cat Piglet – who, disappointingly, seemed to be looking forward to moving back into our house with any new family that might come after us. And I had said goodbye to Caroline, Emily and Robin, who each hugged me in turn and told me to be brave.

I didn't feel brave at all, particularly when Mum and Dad delivered me to the check-in desk at the airport in my travel box, stroked me one last time, told me to be good, promised I would see them again very soon, and left me. I watched them walk away down a long corridor, getting smaller and smaller until they were just two little specks of colour, and I was so worried I would never, ever see them again. But that is another story.

I didn't have much time to miss Mum and Dad after they left me at the airport. As soon as they had turned the corner at the end of the corridor, a man came to take me away. We drove in a small vehicle along endless, bright corridors where bored people were wandering about aimlessly. From time to time, my travel container was deposited somewhere and I had to wait around before the next person came to move me on. I sincerely hoped they all knew where I was going.

Eventually I was taken to my plane to begin the first leg of my journey. It was the usual, joyless affair: I was squeezed in between boxes and blankets into a tiny space that felt quite airless until we took off, when some cooler air started circulating from somewhere – probably through a hole in the side of the plane. I was sure the contraption had seen better days. Everything rattled and shook; I felt quite sick. On landing, I had a short break in the airport building while several people studied my travel documents. I told each one of them that I was going to Australia, but nobody seemed to understand. They just smiled, nodded and wished me a safe journey. Was there any way of knowing where I would end up in all this confusion?

I was worried sick by the time I was lifted on to the next plane, but greatly relieved when I was welcomed by a friendly “G'day” from one of the crew. We were bound for Australia after all! I discovered further that I was going to travel in style: I was invited to sit in the crew's room, surrounded by their coats and luggage, and soon found myself the centre of polite attention. The captain came to welcome me on board and filled my water dish. Pretty air hostesses cooed over me whenever they had time and offered me tasty treats from the kitchen. It was all very pleasant. Even the noise and movement of the plane did not seem so bad when the service was so excellent. I dozed in between their visits and quite began to look forward to my return to Australia.

A long, long time later, we touched down in what turned out to be a cold, drizzly place – not the hot, sunny country I remembered. A man in a baseball cap and T-shirt of an unattractive reddish purple colour with bright writing on the front was already waiting for me in the airport building. I don't like reds of any hue – they clash terribly with my coat – so I stared at him sternly through the bars of my travel container and gave him the silent treatment. He seemed not to notice, called a cheerful welcome and loaded me into the back of his van, whistling all the time. Off we drove for quite a while. There were no windows in the van, so I had no idea where we were going or what the place even looked like. I hoped I was going straight home to my family; if not, then presumably they had booked me into a cat hotel again. I really wanted it to be my favourite one, where I used to stay years ago.

So imagine my disappointment when the van door opened to reveal a soulless, grey concrete block with bars at every window! Had the cheerful red man taken me to a prison? My dismay turned to alarm when he carried me into the building and down long, murky corridors lined with barred cells, where sad-looking cats were staring at us with vacant expressions. My journey ended in front of one of the cells. My guide joyfully announced that this was to be my new home now and opened the door for me.

Now, everyone knows that escape is most likely to succeed in transit. Once they slam the cell door in your face, all hope dies. So as soon as the man opened my travel container, I took off! Several days of being cooped up had made me a little stiff, but not too stiff to run like the wind back down the long corridor we had come in by. I had no idea where I would go once I got out of there, but I knew with certainty that I wasn't staying in this hell hole. Not after travelling in luxury in the crew's room; not after having lived in America; not after having had a loving family for so long. I did not belong here, and they'd better know it straight away.

The man threw his cap in the air in alarm and followed me at a gallop, yelling to his mates for help. Soon I had every red-clad person in the place running after me. The front door was locked when I reached it, so I turned right and tore off helter-skelter up and down corridors, past cells containing dumbfounded cats, around corners where people were lying in wait for me, leapt over them, scratched where I could, and actually really enjoyed a good run after my confinement. The cool air made me frisky, and although I could not discover a way out of the place, I was getting to know it pretty well after a while. Soon the other cats started yelling their encouragement, uniformed people were bumping into each other, food bins were falling over, spilling their contents – the chase was exhilarating!

After a while, the red brigade ran out of steam. They gathered in a corner, breathless and sweating, scratching their heads and fanning themselves with their caps. I was sorry they had given up so soon; I was just getting into my stride. But since the fun seemed to be over, I stopped as well and settled down by the food bins. The food that had spilled out on the floor smelled delicious. It reminded me of my bowl full of crunchy, tasty morsels back in our Perth kitchen – and suddenly I realized that I was, of course, back in the land of superior cat food! Much as I had loved being in America, the food there had never been to my taste. I inched forward carefully and tried a bit of the food: it was deeelicious! That's when I realized how hungry I was. Apart from the little titbits I had been offered on my flight, I had eaten nothing since leaving home two days earlier. Without further ado, I settled down to my unexpected treat on the prison's concrete floor and ate my fill. The food was fantastic. Surely, a place that served such food could not be all bad? I gobbled up most of the food that had spilled from the bins. Then I found a bucket full of clean water and drank – again, deeelicious! Not the disgusting brown liquid tasting of iron that had been our lot for the past two years, but clean, fresh, wholesome water! I was almost reconciled with my surroundings by the time I had finished.

The red people, who had sat down on a long bench to recover their breath, were watching me from a distance in obvious bewilderment. No doubt they were impressed with my appetite. So was I, to be honest. I had never eaten quite this much before. When I was done, I decided to make amends for my earlier outburst and introduce myself properly to my captors. I strolled over to the bench and greeted them each in turn. They were delighted to meet me. Then I asked them to show me to my room, and they all led the way back down the corridors to its open door. I walked in and looked around. It was basic, to put it kindly – just a concrete floor, brick walls and a door at the far end which led out into my private yard, also concrete and completely enclosed by a sturdy wire fence. No climbing tree, no fish pond.

I came to the conclusion that I really had somehow, and for no reason I could think of, ended up in prison; a strange welcome to my home country. But on the upside, there were no dogs, and the room on closer inspection contained a very comfortable bed with a warm blanket. Considering also the prospect of more delicious meals and drink to come, I decided to resign myself to my surroundings for the time being. Surely my family would get me out of here once they heard where I had ended up. Mum would very probably shout at the red people when she came, just as she had shouted at staff in the horrible cat hotel in America. Meanwhile, I would make the most of my less than perfect situation by eating and drinking as much as I could.

My captors were plainly relieved by my change of heart and pleased to see I was no longer cross with them. I settled down on my new bed and slept away the remainder of my first day and all of my first night back in Australia.

A great many days went by without any sign of my family. I had ample time to explore my new abode, but as it was small and unexciting, that was soon done, after which I began to get very bored. There was absolutely nothing to do! Inside my room, it was warm and cosy, but I could see nothing at all; it was only good for sleeping. Outside in my yard, it was cold and draughty, but I could at least see the other cats and have a chat with my immediate neighbours. They were pleasant enough, but just as bored as I was. Having travelled from various parts of the world, they were wondering what Australia was like. I was able to prepare them a little for their new lives by telling them about the crystal-clear pools they could expect in their gardens, the abundant wildlife, the endless sunshine and the excellent standard of holiday accommodation for cats. This information cheered them up, and together we looked forward to the day when our families would come to take us away from this dismal place.

The only highlight of our day came at dinner time, when the red brigade marched up with our bowls. The food was always excellent. My only complaint was the amount: there was never enough of it – never even half as much as I had eaten on my first day. At least there was always plenty of water, which tasted so nice I never even missed the milk I had become so used to.

For the remainder of the time, I day-dreamed about running through the field of long, green grass next to our house in America, or along the shady forest paths, hunting moles and squirrels. Or of lying in the hot sun high up on the deck, watching my family at work and play down below. It all seemed so far away – so long ago! Oh, how I missed it all! Did they miss me, too, or had they forgotten about me? And if so, would I have to stay in this cell forever?

One night I dreamed I was being accused of having murdered a squirrel. A tall person in a red uniform was glaring at me sternly and telling me it was against the law in Australia to kill squirrels. He was holding up a plum and a squirrel tail as evidence of my guilt. All around the room, angry squirrels were nodding their heads when he accused me and demanded that I should spend the rest of my life in prison. I woke up in a cold sweat and decided I would give all squirrels a wide berth from now on. Then I remembered there weren't any in Australia and felt weak with relief!

The days dragged on and on. New cats arrived, jet-lagged and bewildered, and had to be settled down. Many complained loudly of their accommodation, but none of them, I am proud to say, came even close to my performance on the first day. One of my immediate neighbours was collected by her family. It was very moving so see them being reunited, and all of us left behind were doubly sad afterwards that we were still here. On that day, I crawled into my room and curled up tight on my bed, trying hard not to think.

Then one day as I was grooming myself in my yard, I heard familiar voices! They were coming from the direction of the front door, and they were drawing closer all the time. My heart started beating faster and faster, and I stretched my neck as long as it would stretch in order to see who was coming. But I knew, of course: it was my family, all five of them! They were being led by one of the red brigade, who let them into my yard by the gate in the wire fence. I could simply not decide whom to greet first, so I kept running from one to the other! For a long time, we just cuddled and stroked each other – I had dispensed with my rule number one (no cuddling!) the moment I saw them – then they sat down with me and we talked and talked. They had clearly missed me just as much as I had missed them. Their trip seemed to have taken a lot longer than mine – presumably they didn't get to sit in the crew's room on the plane – and they had only just arrived in Australia. That's why they hadn't come to get me earlier.

I could tell they disapproved of my prison, but Mum didn't shout at anyone. I encouraged her to make a fuss, but she didn't rise to the challenge. Well, I reckoned it didn't matter any longer, since we were going to leave anyway. I started to get ready. This didn't take long, as I had practically nothing to pack. It was while I was rushing about sorting things out that I became aware of a mood change in my family. There was no happy anticipation, as there should have been. Instead, I sensed sadness and regret, and they started stroking me in a good-bye kind of way. I was confused and looked from one to the other; they all shook their heads gloomily and Mum said something about rules and regulations that was way too complicated for me to take in. But the horrible truth began to dawn on me: I wasn't going home with them. Why, I could not imagine, since they clearly loved me still.

I was gutted. To have seen them and not be able to go with them was the cruellest thing I had ever, ever known. The children felt it, too. All three of them were crying when we said good-bye again, all too soon. They brought out some toys and several bags of treats so I would be less sad, and Emily gave me one of her sweaters to put on my bed, to remember her by. None of those things could comfort me; I didn't
mind
the treats, but what use were toys when I had nobody to play with? I was distraught when they left, and they knew it.

I slunk back into my room, wrapped myself in Emily's sweater and stayed in bed for several days. I did not want to see the other cats, who were calling for me outside. I did not even want my food when the man came at dinner-time. It stayed in the bowl until morning, by which time my tummy was rumbling so badly I simply had to eat it. But the hurt inside me did not go away, even after I had eaten.

Mum and the children came twice more to see me. Each time we sat and talked, they stroked me and left me more treats and more toys. Each time saying good-bye became a little harder. I think they knew that, which is why they didn't come very often.

By and by, I began to notice that some of the other cats' families also came to see them and then left again without taking them away. Many cats would cry for hours afterwards; it was heartbreaking to hear. Yet other cats were collected and left happily with their families. This gave us hope. Maybe one day our turn would come when we would leave our cells, never, ever to come back.

Well, you guessed it: my day came eventually! Mum and the children arrived, and I could tell immediately by their happy voices that I would be going home with them this time. I was right, as usual. We didn't sit down together for long. Mum packed up my toys and Emily's sweater, then she picked me up and I only just had time to call my good-byes to my neighbours before we walked out, past all the cells containing my fellow-sufferers, past the ever-cheerful red brigade who waved to us over their morning tea and biscuits, and out by the front door! I took a deep breath of fresh air – it wasn't actually very fresh, as I found myself practically in the middle of the city, but I just felt I should – then we climbed into our new car. It was a great big white car with chunky tires. We sat very high up, where we could look down on all the other cars, on the dogs and people, as Mum drove us right through the centre of the big city that was to be our new home. Caroline told me it was called Melbourne.

We arrived at our new house in time for lunch. Dad was there to greet us. The children couldn't wait to show me everything. It was a tiny house: just two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, one for Mum and Dad, the other one for all three children, and a large room downstairs with the kitchen in one corner and the laundry room, where my bowls and a litter tray had been prepared. I didn't like the look of the litter tray; I had hoped finally to be able to do my business outside again. But nothing could spoil my happiness for the time being: I was home!