“Hello, Mrs Van Dam,” said Tibble.
“Hello, Mr Tibble. Sorry for barging in on you like this…”
“No problem at all, come in. Can I take your coat?”
“No, no. I’m not staying,” Mrs Van Dam said as she stepped into the living room.
There was no one there except Tibble.
“Haven’t you made it lovely,” she said, looking around everywhere. “And what a cute little kitchen… and that gorgeous view out over the roofs.”
“Shall I make some tea?”
“No, thank you. I was really only popping in. I just wanted to tell you that I always read your articles in the paper. Lovely articles… and this must be the storage space… you don’t mind me having a look, do you?”
“There’s only junk in there,” Tibble said. “Old chairs and boxes. Things like that.”
But she slipped past him, chattering cheerfully.
“Oh, I always love poking around in places like this!” she said. “Old corners of old attics.”
Tibble tagged along helplessly behind her. Now she’d reached the big cardboard box and was bending over it. The movement made the floor creak under her weight.
Minou woke up. She opened one eye. Then she leapt up out of the box with a shriek.
Mrs Van Dam recoiled in fright. Furious cat eyes glared at her. A hand with sharp pink nails moved towards her and the creature hissed.
“Sorry…” Mrs Van Dam spluttered, backing up quickly. She turned to flee, but Tibble stopped her with a friendly gesture. “May I introduce you to my secretary, Miss Minou… and this is my downstairs neighbour, Mrs Van Dam.”
Mrs Van Dam turned back nervously. The strange creature was just an ordinary young woman with a polite smile.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mrs Van Dam.
“Won’t you sit down for a moment?”
“No, no. I really must be going. It was lovely of you to show me round your flat.”
She peered at the plaster on Tibble’s nose for a moment and then said, “Bye.”
After she’d left, Tibble let out a deep sigh and said, “This attic is hers. She’s my landlady.”
“How horrible!” Minou said.
“No, it’s all right. What’s horrible about it? I just pay the rent. And otherwise we don’t have anything to do with her.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Minou said. “I mean, how horrible… there must have been at least twenty.”
“Twenty? Twenty what?”
“Cats.”
“Twenty cats? Where?”
“In that coat…” Minou said with a shudder. “That fur coat. I was lying there asleep in my box and suddenly I wake up with a start and there’s twenty dead cats standing in front of me.”
“Oh, that’s why you hissed at her. You came this close to clawing her. You have to control yourself a little better, Miss Minou. Clawing the landlady just because she’s wearing a coat made of cat fur, shame on you!”
“If she comes back I really will claw her,” said Minou.
“Nonsense. She bought that coat in a shop and when she bought it those cats were long dead. It’s all because you don’t mix enough with people. You spend too much time up on the rooftops. You don’t get down to the streets enough.”
“I was on the street last night.”
“You have to get out in the daytime. Go out and do some shopping like other people.”
“All right. But I’m waiting till dark,” Minou said.
“No, the shops will be shut then. You have to go now.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“We need bread and biscuits,” Tibble continued.
“I’m too scared.”
“And we’ve run out of fish. You could pop by the fishmonger’s. He’s got a stall on the corner of Green Square.”
“Oh,” said Minou. “Maybe I can learn to be brave enough. Once I’m out on the street.”
“I’m sure of it,” Tibble said. “You’ll get better and better at it. Just…”
“What?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t rub up against the fishmonger.”
Minou walked down the street with a shopping basket over one arm.
Besides that first time when the dog treed her, she’d never seen this neighbourhood in the daytime. She only really knew the town from the rooftops and in the dark. And she knew the back gardens better than the streets and squares.
She felt like slinking along and hiding behind parked cars and in doorways as she went, darting from one to the other. The people and traffic made her very uneasy.
“But I don’t have to sneak around,” she told herself. “I’m a human going out to do some shopping. Here comes a doggy. There’s no need to get frightened; it’s only a little dog… and I mustn’t hiss at it. And I definitely shouldn’t stop to sniff the rubbish bins. I’m going shopping, like all the other humans out and about in this part of town.”
From very far away Minou smelt the fish stall on Green Square and started walking faster and faster to get there sooner.
And when she was almost there, she circled it a couple of times at a distance until she suddenly thought, I can buy some fish. I’ve got a purse. I don’t need to beg and I don’t need to steal. She went up to the fishmonger. He smelt delicious and Minou slipped in a quick rub of her head against his shoulder. He didn’t notice, he was too busy gutting fish.
She bought herring and mackerel, and lots of everything, and after she’d paid she brushed her head against the fishmonger’s arm once again. He looked up with surprise, but Minou just strode off on her way to the baker’s.
She passed Mr Smith’s school. The windows were open, she could hear children singing and she could see the class sitting there. Bibi was there too.
Now a cat jumped up onto the school wall. It was the School Cat. “Nosey-nosey first,” he said.
Minou pushed her nose forward and felt the School Cat’s cold, pink nose against it. This was how the cats here in town greeted each other when they weren’t fighting.
“If you give me a piece of fish,” the School Cat said, “I’ll tell you some news for the paper.”
Minou gave him some.
“Fantastic news,” the School Cat said. “The Spanish Armada has been defeated. By Sir Francis Drake. Make sure they put it in the paper.”
“Thanks,” said Minou.
Two houses up sat Cross-eyed Simon, Mr Smith’s Siamese.
“Give me a piece of fish,” he said, “and I’ll tell you something.”
Once he had the piece in his claws, he said: “You should never listen to the School Cat. He always sits in on the history lessons. He thinks it’s exciting and doesn’t realize it all happened ages ago.”
“I got that,” Minou said. “But what did you want to tell me?”
“That,” said Simon.
“You’re all just after the fish,” Minou said. “I’m glad I bought a lot.”
Now she passed the factory. It was the Deodorant Factory. This was where they made spray cans with smells in them and it stank of disgusting violets. Nowhere near as nice as the fish stall.
Minou was about to hurry past when the Factory Cat came up to her. The Deodorant Cat was one of the Tatter Cat’s sons. He had a very strong smell of violets about him.
“I suppose you’ve got some news for me if I give you some fish,” Minou said.
“How’d you guess?” the cat asked.
“You can have a piece of mackerel.”
“Firstly,” said the Deodorant Cat, “the nicest canteen boy in the whole factory just got fired. He’s over there now. He’s called Billy. It’s a terrible shame because he was really kind to me and patted me every day.”
“Why’d they fire him?” Minou asked.
“He was always too late.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Minou. “But it’s not news for the paper.”
“No? Fine, that was ‘Firstly’ then. Now comes ‘Secondly’. There are plans to expand our
factory. I sat in on a secret meeting today. They’re going to turn this whole neighbourhood into one big perfume factory.”
“That’s real news,” said Minou. “Thanks.”
“But they don’t have permission yet!” The cat called after her. “The Councillor still has to approve it.”
Minou hadn’t bumped into many people during her shopping expedition. But she had met quite a few cats and there were a few more on her way to the baker’s.
The baker’s wife was standing behind the counter and there were already a couple of women in the shop. Minou waited politely for her turn, but while she was standing there looking around, Muffin the Bakery Cat came into the shop from the house, miaowing loudly.
She’s after my fish, thought Minou, but then she heard what Muffin was saying.
“Miaow, miaow! Now, now!” the cat cried. “Tell her now!”
Minou hurried up to the counter and said, “Your little boy Jack has got the paraffin bottle. Upstairs, in the bathroom.”
The baker’s wife looked at her with shock, dropped the bread rolls on the counter and ran out of the shop without a word.
Minou felt the stares of the other customers. It was very intimidating and she was about to hurry off when the baker’s wife came back.
“It was true,” she panted. “I got upstairs and there was my three-year-old, little Jack… with the paraffin bottle… pouring it out… You can’t leave them alone for a second… Thank you so much for warning me…”
Suddenly she stopped and looked at Minou.
“How did you know?” she asked. “You can’t see into our bathroom from down here.”
Minou was about to say, “Muffin told me,” but then she saw the women staring at her. She stumbled over her words, “I… it was just a feeling.”
“Well, thank you anyway. Whose turn is it?”
“The young lady can go first,” said the other customers.
Minou asked for bread and biscuits and paid.
No sooner had she left the shop than they started talking behind her back.
“That’s Mr Tibble’s young lady…”
“She’s his secretary… and she sleeps in a box…”
“And she sits on the roof at night…”
“A very strange young lady…”
“Well,” said the baker’s wife after listening to it all, “she may be strange, but she certainly did me a tremendous favour. End of story. A small loaf of brown, you said?”
Meanwhile Tibble was waiting.
More than an hour had passed since Minou went out to do some shopping. Just bread and fish, that couldn’t take this long.
He sat at his desk, nervously chewing his nails. Just when he was starting to wonder whether he should go out to look for her, the phone rang.
“Hello,” said Tibble.
“Hello, Mr Tibble, this is Mrs Van Dam speaking. From downstairs, you know. I’m calling from a phone box. Your secretary is up a tree. And she can’t get down again.”
“Oh, thank you very much,” Tibble said.
“You’re welcome.”
Too late he shouted, “Which tree?” But she’d already hung up.
“Here we go again!” Tibble cried, “What a pain!” And he ran down to the street.
Green Square first, that was where most of the trees were.
When he arrived, he saw where she was at once. There was a large group of people gathered round. It wasn’t the same tree as last time, it was another one that was even taller. Bibi was there too because school had just finished for the day.
“A dog chased her,” Bibi said.
“Uh-huh,” sighed Tibble. He wasn’t surprised. “How do we get her back down again?”
“The fishmonger’s already at it,” Bibi said. “He’s up in the tree. He’s helping her down.”
Amid great interest, the fishmonger helped Minou down through the branches. First onto the roof of the greengrocer’s van, then down onto the street.
“Thank you very much,” she said, sniffing at his sleeve one last time. “Oh, my basket must be here somewhere.”
Tibble picked it up. There were biscuits and bread in it and a little bit of fish.
“We have to do something about it,” Tibble said when they were back home. “Things really can’t go on like this, Miss Minou.”
She was sitting in the corner looking very repentant.
“It was the same dog again,” she said. “He’s called Mars.”
“It’s not just getting stuck in trees,” Tibble said. “It’s all these cattish traits… you have to stop acting like that.”
“Being rescued by the fishmonger was lovely,” Minou said wistfully.
That annoyed Tibble even more, but before he could say anything she blurted, “Oh, yeah, I heard some news too while I was out.” She told him about the expansion of the perfume factory. It calmed him down a little; he had something new to write about.
When Minou went up on the roof that night, the Tatter Cat wasn’t there. Instead there was another cat waiting for her. The School Cat.
“She says hi,” he said. “She couldn’t make it.”
“Have the kittens arrived?”
“Seventeen or so, I think,” said the School Cat.
“Where are they?”
“You know the car park behind the petrol station? It’s best to stick to the gardens until you get to the big hawthorn, then go through the hedge. There are a couple of abandoned caravans there. She’s moved into one of them. Temporarily.”
“I’ll go straight there,” said Minou.
“Give me some fish before you go.”
“It’s not for you, it’s for the Tatter Cat. I’ve got some milk with me too.”
“I don’t want any milk. If you give me a piece of fish I’ll tell you some news. For the paper.”
Minou gave him a tiny piece.
“Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament,” the School Cat said. “Make sure it’s in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Thanks,” said Minou. He’d been sitting in on the history lesson again.
She passed through shadowy gardens to the garage where they repaired cars in the daytime. The garage was closed but the petrol station was open; it was all lit up and they had the radio on. All night long.
It seemed the Tatter Cat had got what she wanted. Background music.
The car park behind the petrol station was dark. And very quiet. There were a few overnight cars and right at the back there was a row of caravans.
An ordinary person would have found it difficult to find their way on such a dark night, but Minou, with all her cattish traits, had excellent eyesight and easily found the Tatter Cat’s home.
It was an old, rundown caravan. There was a broken window with a curtain flapping in the wind and the door was half open. Inside, the Tatter Cat was lying on an old blanket on the floor. Under her, a tangle of kittens.
“Six of them!” she cried indignantly. “Six! Unbelievable. What did I do to deserve something like this? Can you see them? Get out from under me, you riff-raff!” she said to the babies. “Look, now you can see them better. There’s one ginger. He’s a dead ringer for his dad, the Pump Cat. And the rest are all tortoiseshells, like me. And now give me something to eat, I’m dying of hunger.”
Minou knelt down next to her and looked at the six writhing kittens.
They had tiny little tails and blind eyes and teensy little claws. In the distance the radio was playing.
“Hear it?” the Tatter Cat asked. “Cosy, huh? It’s all mod cons here.”
“Is it safe?” Minou asked. “Whose caravan is it?”
“Nobody’s. It’s been empty for years. Nobody ever comes here. Did you see the Pump Cat around anywhere?”
“No.”
“He hasn’t been here once to see his children,” the Tatter Cat said. “Not that I want him hanging round the place, but still! And now give me that fish. You’ve got milk too. In a bottle. Are you expecting me to drink out of a
bottle?”
“Be quiet now. I’ve brought a saucer.”
While the mother cat lapped up the milk, Minou looked around. “I wouldn’t feel at ease here,” she said. “A car park, that means people. Lots of people in the daytime.”
“We’re in a quiet corner,” the Tatter Cat said.
“But your children would be much safer in Mr Tibble’s attic.”
The Tatter Cat made an angry gesture that sent her kittens sprawling and set off a chorus of pathetic squeaking.
“Shut your traps!” their mother roared. “They just guzzle away all day and all night. And the least little thing has ’em screaming blue murder!”
Then she shot Minou a vicious glare through the dark with her burning yellow eyes. And she hissed, “If you take my kids away, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
“Take them away? I’d take you too, of course.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine right here.”
“Later, when they’re bigger, I could look for homes for them.”
“No need. They’ll make their own way. Let ’em become strays, like me. They should steer clear of humans. I always say, there are two kinds of human. One kind’s nasty lowlife skunks.”
She was quiet for a moment and took a big bite of poached fish.
Minou waited patiently.
“And the other kind?” she asked.
“I’ve forgotten the other kind,” the Tatter Cat said. “Erk-erk-erk-erk…” a gagging sound came up out of her throat.
Minou patted her on her skinny shoulders and the Tatter Cat spat out a fishbone.
“Just what I needed,” she said. “Choking on a stupid bone. Be a bit careful next time you bring me some fish, will you? I’ve got enough problems as it is with this whole kitten crèche hanging off me. But you know what’s so great here? I’m really close to all those posh gardens. Because just over there”—she waved one paw—“it’s all big fancy houses.”
“They have dogs at big fancy houses,” said Minou.
“Sometimes, but if you’re lucky they keep ’em chained up. And the blackbirds in those gardens are as fat as the ladies that live in the houses. And in weather like this, they always leave the garden doors open. You can sneak in and there’s always something to nick. It’d actually be better if you came to live here with me. Why not? There’s plenty of room. We can go hunting together! And I’m sure, very sure, that if you ate a nice fat thrush, you’d soon turn back into a respectable cat again—damn, that’s right!”