The Cat
The Cat was fed up. As he sat on his gate post at number three, he heard the neighbours calling his friends to their dinner bowls. All his friends had names, lovely names. Names to be proud of. Names to live up to, even names to look like. But he did not have a name of his own at all.
There was Prince from number six whose shiny black fur shone regally in the morning sunlight.
You always felt like bowing to Prince, his owner had given him a beautiful collar glittering with pretty glass stones.
Skippy and Smudge lived at number five.
Skippy still walked with a spring in his old paws. Skippy would have won any agility contest, while Smudge had a grey patch which looked great against his white fur. Smudge spent hours cleaning his fur keeping it sparkling.
The cat that all the others respected and were a bit afraid of, lived next door to him at number two. This was Mouser. He was a big ginger cat with tiger stripes with one chewed ear and a nasty scar across his face. Mouser was the unchallenged champion, truly the ultimate pest controller of the neighbourhood. The only trouble with Mouser was his temper.
No name’s owner opened the door “Come on Pet breakfast is ready”. She was very kind and he loved her very much but why couldn’t she give him a name?
He ate up his plate of delicious cat meat mixed with his favourite biscuits. This time he chose to drink the milk, but he knew his fresh cool water bowl would be available all day. His lady really knew how to look after him so well. Why couldn’t he have a name?
He popped his head out of the cat flap. “Ugh! It had started to rain,” he thought. “Nasty cold wet stuff”. He went over to his basket next to the radiator and snuggled into his nice warm clean blanket. His owner made him so comfortable so why didn’t she give him a nice name?
She came into the room. “Hello, ‘Old Chap’ you don’t like this rain do you? Come here and let me sort your coat out”. She picked him up, sat on the settee and gently brushed his lovely long silky fur. He liked that so much, he purred contentedly. Oh she really was a good mistress, so why oh why didn’t she give him a name?
slowly crept towards the flower. Then suddenly he gave a mighty pounce, gosh Skippy should see him now.
The butterfly lazily flapped its wings and rose into the air away from the cat. He chased after it not looking where he was going. Ugh he skidded right into a very muddy patch. All four paws were covered with sticky mud. He didn’t like the feeling.
After a while the sun came out again and all but a few puddles dried up. The cat decided to take a walk around his territory. He wondered if he would bump into any of his friends.
Slowly he looked around his empty garden. There was no one to talk to or to play with, then he saw a butterfly sitting on a flower in the border. He decided to practice stalking. He crouched down and
Next door in Mouser’s garden they had an ornamental pool. He thought he’d go there and wash the mud off in the pond. So he squeezed through the hedge into Mouser’s garden. As he pulled himself through the small hole he was greeted by Mouser who was sneering at him. “Hello Scruff” he mewed “ Did you loose your comb?”
“My mistress has just brushed me carefully. Its not my fault your master doesn’t know how to clip this hedge” He spat the words at
Mouser “I’ll have you know my name is not Scruff. Please mind your manners”.
Cat jumped up onto the low brick wall around the pond but the mud on his paws made him slip right into the water. Mouser giggled “Trying to be a cat fish now eh Splash”
“My name isn’t Splash” spat the cat as he climbed over the fence into the next garden.
It was good to get away from Mouser’s sneers. He sat on the garden path and tried to clean the prickly leaves out of his long fur and to clean the mud from his paws. He was concentrating hard on his work and didn’t hear or see Mrs Hodson coming down the path of number one.
Mrs Hodson was carrying a huge basket of washing. She was fed up with the showers. As she had put the washing on the line twice today already. She was not in a very good mood. Mrs Hodson did not like cats.
She had a cheeky dachshund. The neighbourhood cats used to sit on the fence and tease her pampered pet. No! Mrs Hodson did not like cats.
When Mrs Hodson’s shadow fell on him ‘The Cat’ was startled and took to his heels.
If ‘The Cat’ was terrified Mrs Hodson jumped with surprised. Her washing basket flew high in the air and its contents rained down all over the damp ground.
Felix the flying cat”
“Felix? Ugh, no thank you”. thought our hero untangling himself from Miss Pringle’s woolly scarf and brightred umbrella which she had popped into her basket in case the weather changed again while she was out.
The Cat sprang up on the fence and didn’t like being called “Stupid Cat” one bit. Poor Mrs Hodson retrieved her clothes and went back indoors to start washing all over again. This was not the best day for Mrs Hodson.
‘The Cat’ didn’t hang around.
His paws hardly touched the top of the fence. He found he was flying quickly down. He closed his eyes, held his breath and waited for the bump. To his surprise he landed fairly gently in the bicycle basket of short sighted Miss Pringle. “Oh my goodness what is that? Is it a bird? Oh gracious its you
Once out of the bicycle basket ‘The Cat’ hurried back to his own front garden. He climbed up on the brick pillar that held the gate, took a deep breath and settled down to try to clean himself.
Paula his mistress’ niece. “Hello there are you coming in?” She said as she stroked him gently.
He thought of all the names he had been called on the afternoon’s adventures. ‘Pet’ and ‘Old Chap’ were the nearest his owner had come to giving him. He had been insulted to be called “Scruff’ by
Mouser. Then he felt silly about ‘Splash’.
He didn’t even consider Mrs Hodson’s ‘Stupid Cat’.
Well, what about Miss Pringle’s ‘Felix’? Well perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all. Gradually he dosed off in the afternoon sun. He was woken by a familiar voice. It was
Paula had something special to ask her aunt. “Please can I borrow your cat? Our class is organising a pet show as our contribution to the school fete. My brother is taking our goldfish and mum says she’s not getting another animal just for the fete.”
“Quite right too,remember a pet is for life and you need to give a lot of time and love to it”. Said her aunt. “Of course you can take The Cat but you must get to know him well first. Over there you’ll find his box with his brush, towel, dishes, tin opener, and so on. You can start right now and try to tidy him up. I just cant think what he’s been up to this afternoon”.
Paula set to work at once spreading the towel on the floor and gently teasing out the dry mud and bits of hedge from his fur. She tried not to pull the long fur too hard.
She was chatting happily to the cat. With out realising it she was calling him Ollie.
“Dear Ollie you are so purr-
Written by and
© Copyright of Mrs Hazel McMullin