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.”
“Hasn’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 wa
s 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.”
Mrs Van Dam, who lived downstairs from Tibble, said to her husband, “I used to have a small green teapot. Whatever did I do with it?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” said Mr Van Dam. But a little later he said, “Didn’t we used to keep that teapot in the caravan? In our old caravan.”
“Oh, yes… that’s right. Well, it’s gone then, with the caravan, to the wreckers. Because that’s what we did with that old caravan, we took it to the wreckers!”
“Now you mention it,” said Mr Van Dam, pondering the question. “I think it’s still at the back of that car park. Remember?”
“After all these years?”
“It’s been a while.”
“I’ll go have a look,” said Mrs Van Dam. “Maybe the teapot’s still there… It was such a handy little thing. There might be other things we can use too.”
And so it was that Mrs Van Dam walked into the car park just when the Tatter Cat had gone for a drink. Like every day, the Tatter Cat dragged her crippled leg along behind her on her way to the puddle under the tap. She’d always left her babies behind by themselves and nothing had ever happened; they’d never come to any harm because it was such an out-of-the-way spot where there were never any people.
But now Mrs Van Dam pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first thing she saw was the whole gang of kittens on the old blanket.
“Well, I never!” she scowled. “In my caravan! A whole litter of kittens… and neglected, filthy kittens at that. And they’re on my blanket.”
It was a very old blanket. Torn and dirty. But Mrs Van Dam still thought it was too good for the kittens. She grabbed an old floral pillowcase and dumped the six little kittens into it.
Then she picked up the green teapot and a tablecloth and a torn mat and said, “There.”
She left with a bag in one hand and the pillowcase full of kittens in the other.
The Tatter Cat saw her leaving the caravan, but she was still a long way away. And she couldn’t run. She limped home as fast as she could, dragged herself up the steps and saw that her babies were gone. A mournful, howling caterwaul rang out over the car park, but no one heard it because the radio was playing in the petrol station. And Mrs Van Dam would have ignored it anyway, even if she had heard it. She stood next to the petrol pump and looked down uncertainly at the heavy bag of kittens in her hand.
What on earth am I going to do with these cats? she thought. I can’t take them home with me. What do I want with six dirty little kittens?
Now she saw that there was a car next to the pump. A big blue car. Mr Ellmore was buying petrol.
Mrs Van Dam went over to him. She bent over and said, “Oh, hello, Mr Ellmore,” through the open side window.
“Hello, Mrs Van Dam.”
“I have a litter of kittens here. I found them in my old caravan. I’ve got them in an old pillowcase. May I give them to you?”
“To me?” Mr Ellmore asked. “What would I do with a litter of kittens?”
“Well,” said Mrs Van Dam, “I read that you’re the president of the Animal Lovers’ Association. You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Mr Ellmore.
“Well, what that association is for… I mean… the aim of that association is to make sure the little creatures have a home. That’s what I read.”
“Yes, but right now I don’t have much time,” said Mr Ellmore.
“And if there’s
no home available,” Mrs Van Dam continued, “you’d take them somewhere where they could be put down painlessly. It said that too… So could you take care of that for me? I’ll put them in the back.”
She laid the bulging floral pillowcase on his back seat, gave him a friendly nod and hurried off.
Leaving Mr Ellmore sitting there with a bag of kittens in his car.
“The woman thinks I run a cat shelter,” he growled. “What am I supposed to do with a bunch of kittens?”
He drove off.
The poor Tatter Cat stayed in the caravan moaning and mewling for a moment and by the time she came out again, Mrs Van Dam was gone. But the Pump Cat walked up to her.
“They’ve taken your kids,” he said. “In a bag. In Ellmore’s car. He drove off with them.”
The Tatter Cat sat down and started whimpering.
She knew now that her little ones were lost, that there was no point in looking for them, that they might already be dead. And to make things worse, she could hardly move. She was totally helpless.
“I’ll pass the news on,” the Pump Cat said. “To the Cat Press Agency. I don’t know if it will do any good.”
The Tatter Cat couldn’t speak. She whined softly.
“Well, good luck,” said the Pump Cat. “It’s a tough break.”
As he walked off, the Tatter Cat called out after him, “They’re your babies too.”
The Pump Cat turned back for a moment. “That remains to be seen,” he snarled.
The Cat Press Agency was always very fast. But no news had ever come through this fast. In less than ten minutes, Minou had heard it from Fluff.
“Where did Ellmore take them?” she asked quickly.
“His car’s in front of the post office.”
“Are the kittens still in it?”
“No,” Fluff said, shaking his head sadly. “They’re not there any more. Simon looked in through the window. The car’s empty.”
“Where are they then?” Minou asked. “What’s he done with them?”
“No one knows,” Fluff said. “The Pump Cat saw him drive off and Ecumenica saw him drive past the church. And later a few cats spotted the car at the post office. But nobody saw what he did with the kittens.”