“Maybe he drowned them somewhere,” Minou cried. “Oh, this is terrible. The poor Tatter Cat. She was always calling them names, but she was so proud of her children. Let’s get all the cats searching and tell them to keep their eyes and ears open… I’ll go out and start searching too.”
She went down to the street and headed off in the direction of the post office. The cats she met on the way couldn’t tell her any more than she’d already heard. Not a single cat had seen what had happened to the pillowcase. They’d only seen the car driving around and, later, parked and empty.
Minou didn’t know where to look and wandered aimlessly through the back lanes until finally Muffin, the Bakery Cat, came running up to her.
“They’ve found them,” she called. “The School Cat heard them squeaking!”
“Where?”
“In a rubbish bin near the post office. Hurry, we can’t get them out.”
Minou was there in less than a minute.
All six kittens were still alive. They were still in the floral pillowcase; they’d been dumped, pillowcase and all, in a big grey rubbish bin. The little tykes squeaked and trembled as Minou pulled them out one by one, but they were alive.
Just up the road the rubbish truck had started its round… If Minou had arrived just a few minutes later, the bin containing the Tatter Cat’s children would have been emptied into the back of the truck. They would have been crushed.
Carefully, she put the six kittens back into the pillowcase to take them with her. And she stroked the School Cat who had found them. “That was brilliant,” she said. “Thanks. Just in the nick of time…”
“I’ve got some news too,” the School Cat said.
“Tell me…”
“Henry the Eighth got divorced.”
Minou didn’t take the kittens back to the caravan. She took them to the attic and laid them in her own box for now.
“What’s the idea?” said Fluff. “You’re not planning on keeping them here, are you?”
“Absolutely,” said Minou. “And the Tatter Cat too. I’m going to go get her now.”
“I’m not sure I approve of that,” said Fluff. But Minou had already climbed out through the kitchen window.
The Tatter Cat hadn’t heard the news yet. She kept circling the caravan, going in every now and then as if the babies might have reappeared inside in the meantime. And she kept miaowing helplessly the whole time. No matter how rumpled and grimy the Tatter Cat had been… she’d never been pathetic. She’d always remained proud and cheerful. But not any more. Now she was a sad little stray, miserable and inconsolable.
Until Minou suddenly appeared on the caravan step.
“We’ve found them,” she said. “All six. They’re at our house. In the attic.”
The Tatter Cat didn’t show any signs of being happy. She just sat up a little straighter.
“Get them back here then,” she snapped.
“No,” Minou said. “It’s not safe here. You know that now. I’ve come to get you.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I don’t let anybody come and get me,” the Tatter Cat said with icy contempt. “Nobody comes and gets me.”
“It’s only temporary,” Minou said. “In a few weeks we’ll look for homes for your children. Until then, you’re coming with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Your children still need you. They need to feed.”
“Bring them here and I’ll feed them.”
There was no point in trying to argue with the Tatter Cat. And you couldn’t take her anywhere against her wishes. She’d fight you tooth and claw.
But Minou was just as stubborn. “If you want them, come and get them,” she said. “You know where I live.”
The Tatter Cat shouted something at her as she left. It was the worst insult she knew: “Human!”
Minou made a soft nest for the kittens in the corner of the junk room. Tibble wasn’t home, he was off wandering around town in search of evidence.
“I don’t know that I’m really happy about this,” Fluff complained. “I can’t say I’m pleased. Six howling strangers in my attic… but yeah, just go ahead, make yourself at home.”
“It’s only temporary,” Minou said.
“All we need now is for the mother to show up too,” Fluff said. “You needn’t think I’m going to put up with that.”
Minou didn’t reply. She stood at the kitchen window and looked out over the rooftops.
An hour later the Tatter Cat did show up. Slowly and with great difficulty, she’d climbed up to the rooftops with one lame leg. With her last bit of strength, she dragged herself through the gutter and let Minou lift her down through the window.
She didn’t say anything. Minou didn’t say anything either. She just put the Tatter Cat down next to her babies, who squealed with delight, squirmed and began feeding at full speed.
“What did I say?” said Fluff. “The mother too. And now I know I’m not going to put up with it.”
He fluffed up his tail, put back his ears and let out a horrific growling sound.
“Behave yourself, Fluff,” Minou said. “And keep out of the junk room.”
As long as the Tatter Cat stayed close to her children, everything went well, but as soon as she stepped away for even a moment, on her way to the kitchen or in search of the cat tray… it was all-out war.
And just when Tibble came in, a furious fight was in full swing. A screeching tangle of fur rolling over and over on the floor with big tufts of hair flying everywhere.
“What’s going on for goodness’ sake? Have we got another cat?” Tibble cried.
“We’ve got another seven cats,” said Minou, pulling Fluff and the Tatter Cat apart.
She told him what had happened.
“You mean Ellmore dumped live kittens in a rubbish bin?” Tibble asked.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Minou. And now, finally, Tibble got really angry.
“Eight cats in the house,” Tibble mumbled. “Nine really… if I count Minou. Talk about crowded.”
It was crowded. The kittens were already quite mobile. They crawled around everywhere, they climbed up on chairs, they scratched the couch and curtains, they sat on Tibble’s paper and played with his pen. But he didn’t mind. He even felt honoured that the Tatter Cat was willing to live in his flat. He knew the old stray had never wanted to live with people ever… and now she was even sitting on his lap and letting him scratch behind her ears.
“You can stay here with us for the rest of your life,” Tibble said.
“That’s what you think!” the Tatter Cat cried, leaping off his knee. “As soon as the brats are big enough, I’m back on the street.”
Tibble didn’t understand her. He was just glad that the fighting had stopped. The two big cats hissed and spat at each other now and then, and sometimes spent half an hour glaring and growling, but they kept themselves under control.
Suddenly Tibble said, “And now quiet everyone. I’ve got some writing to do.”
He sat down at his desk with a fierce look on his face.
Minou asked hesitantly, “Are you going to write an article?”
“Yes,” said Tibble.
“Oh,” said Minou. “Are you going to write the article? About Ellmore?”
“Yes,” said Tibble. “And I couldn’t care less if I don’t have any proof. Witnesses leave me cold.”
He tapped away on his typewriter. Now and then he disentangled a kitten from his hair and put it down on the floor. Now and then he slid two kittens off his sheet of paper. He kept typing away.
Fluff and the Tatter Cat forgot to feud. They sat watching him quietly and respectfully and the news passed from cat to cat over the roofs of the entire neighbourhood. “Tibble is writing! Tibble is finally writing! Have you heard the news? It’s going to be in the paper at last… Tibble is writing!”
When Tibble had finished the article, he took it in to the paper.
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In the newspaper building, he met the Editorial Cat. For the first time the cat looked up at him with respect and appreciation.
And after he had delivered his article and was crossing Green Square on the way home, he noticed a lot more cats than usual out on the street. They came up to him, brushed past his legs affectionately and called out, “Well done… finally!”
He didn’t understand them, but he got the meaning.
Mr Ellmore was sitting in the office of the Editor of the Killenthorn Courier.
Today’s newspaper was open on the desk and Ellmore was pointing at an article.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked. He was pale and his voice was trembling with anger.
Now it was the Editor who was biting his nails nervously. “I’m afraid I didn’t know anything about it,” he said. “I’ve only just read it… it got into the paper without my knowing.”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Ellmore shouted. “This is slander. And it’s your newspaper.”
The Editorial Cat sat on the window sill listening with big, shocked eyes and its ears up.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the Editor sighed. “The young man who wrote this is always extremely reliable… he writes excellent articles. It’s never just rumours, it’s always the truth and—”
“Are you claiming this is the truth?” Ellmore screamed.
“Oh, no, no, most definitely not…”
My Editor is a coward too, thought the Editorial Cat.
“I just meant that I’ve never needed to read his articles beforehand… they’ve always been correct. That’s how this got in the paper without my knowing.”
“I demand,” said Ellmore, pounding the table with his fist, “I demand that this young man writes a new article today setting this straight.”
“An excellent solution,” said the relieved Editor. “I’ll make sure of it.”
The Editorial Cat had heard enough. He jumped down from the window sill and hurried up to the roof to tell Minou.
“Listen…” said the cat.
Minou listened.
“Thanks,” she said.
And she went inside to tell Tibble.
“So,” said Tibble. “Now I know what to expect.”
The telephone rang. It was Tibble’s boss.
“I have to go into work,” Tibble told Minou a little later. “He wants to talk to me right away.”
Nine pairs of cats’ eyes watched him walk down the stairs.
“I’m making a very reasonable request, Tibble,” said the Editor. “You’ve made an enormous blunder. You’ve written something that has offended one of Killenthorn’s best-known and most respected citizens. Your article’s not just offensive, it’s also untrue. Where on earth did you get such a ridiculous idea? That it was Mr Ellmore who crashed into the fish stall!”
“It’s true,” said Tibble.
“What proof have you got? Where’s the evidence? Who are your witnesses? Who saw it happen?”
“A few people know about it,” Tibble said.
“Really. Who? And why haven’t they said anything?”
“They’re scared of Mr Ellmore. He’s got them under his thumb. They don’t dare to speak up.”
“Well,” his boss sighed. “It all sounds extremely unlikely to me. But, as I said, you’ve got a chance to make up for it. All you have to do is write a nice article about Mr Ellmore. Stating clearly, of course, that it was all your fault and a stupid mistake. And that you’re sorry. And besides that, he asked if you could write something nice about the Deodorant Factory. How great it is to work in the factory. And about all the lovely fragrances you can get in a spray can. And how terrible it would be if we didn’t have any deodorant… How much everyone would stink… Anyway, you get the idea… And how essential it is that the factory be expanded. So you’re going to do that today, Tibble. Agreed?”
“No,” said Tibble.
It went quiet for a moment. The Editorial Cat was back up on the window sill and winked at Tibble to encourage him.
“No? What do you mean, no? Are you refusing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Tibble said.
“This is getting serious,” the boss said. “You’ve been going so well recently. And now your pig-headedness is going to cost you your job. Be sensible, Tibble.”
Tibble looked the Editorial Cat in the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not doing it.”
“It’s a shame,” his boss sighed. “But you’re not leaving me any choice. You’re finished here, Tibble. You can go.”
And Tibble left.
On the street he met Mr Smith.
“What have you done now, Tibble?” he asked. “I just got the paper out of the letter box and what do I read? Gossip! Lies! Mr Ellmore, the president of our Animal Lovers’ Association… dumping kittens in a rubbish bin? And knocking down the fish stall… and not reporting it… and just driving off? Tibble, where do you get this nonsense? Bah! And I was going to ask you if you’d like to come to my reading. I’m holding a reading next week about ‘The Cat Through the Ages’. I wanted to ask if you’d like to write an article about it. But now I’m not sure you’re the right person for the job…”
“I can’t do it any more anyway,” Tibble said. “I’m no longer with the newspaper.”
And he walked on with his head hanging.
“Now I’ve been fired after all, Miss Minou,” he said. “First I was able to keep my job because of the cats, now I’ve lost it again because of the cats. But I’m not in the least bit sorry.”
He sat down on the couch and the cats sat around him looking serious. Even the little ones could feel how serious things were—they hardly played with his shoelaces at all.
“We haven’t given up yet,” Minou said. “We’ve got something planned for tonight. As soon as it’s dark, all the cats from the whole neighbourhood will come to meet on our roof. We’re going to have a Miaowwow.”
That evening Tibble stayed home with the kittens, who were too little to go to a meeting. He could hear the Miaowwow perfectly though.
He couldn’t guess how many cats there were, but, going by the sound, it must have been at least a hundred. They screeched. They squealed and every now and then they sang the Yawl-Yowl Song.
At about eleven o’clock the doorbell rang.
It was Mrs Van Dam. She came panting up the stairs in her fur coat and snapped, “Mr Tibble, I’ve talked to my husband about it and we think enough’s enough.”
“What do you mean?” Tibble asked.
“This is no longer a respectable house, not with you living in it. It’s become a hotbed of cat activity. Just listen… Listen to them.”
On the roof the caterwauling started up again.
“It’s unbearable,” Mrs Van Dam continued. “And here… What’s this I see? Six kittens as well. If I’m not mistaken they’re the little beasts I found in my caravan. Six kittens plus those two big cats, plus that strange lady who’s more cat than person… that’s nine! Plus another hundred on the roof, that’s a hundred and nine…”
“Plus twenty dead cats,” said Tibble, “that’s a hundred and twenty-nine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your coat. There’s twenty in that.”
This made Mrs Van Dam absolutely furious. “The cheek of you,” she yelled. “My mink coat! Are you claiming it’s cat fur? Are you trying to insult me, like you insulted poor Mr Ellmore in the newspaper? Because I read it! It’s a disgrace. And that’s why my husband and I agree that you have to go. Out of my attic. With all your kitties and caboodles. I’ll give you until the end of the month. After which I shall rent my attic out to someone else. Good day, Mr Tibble.”
I shouldn’t have said that about the fur coat, thought Tibble once she was gone. Not that it makes any difference. She would have kicked me out anyway. But it still wasn’t very nice of me. And now I’m going to bed.
Tibble went to bed. H
e was so exhausted he slept right through the Miaowwow and didn’t even feel the six little kittens tickling and scratching his face. He didn’t hear Fluff come home. And he didn’t hear the Tatter Cat either, screeching for her children to come to her. And he didn’t notice Minou getting into her box.
When he woke up it was eight o’clock in the morning. What was the horrible thing that had happened? he thought. Oh yeah, I lost my job. And I got kicked out of my flat. What do I do now? Where can I go with nine cats… and how am I supposed to bring home enough fish for such a large cat family? He wanted to talk to Minou about it, but she’d already gone out.
She was sitting in the park with Bibi.
“The cats of Killenthorn have a plan,” she said. “And we wanted to ask you if you’d help us, Bibi.”
“Sure,” Bibi said. “How?”
“I’ll tell you just what you need to do,” Minou said. “Listen carefully.”
Mr Ellmore was walking down the street. He had parked his big blue car, which was once again completely free of dents, and now he was on his way to the shoe shop to buy a pair of shoes.
For the first time he noticed how many cats there were in Killenthorn. He couldn’t take a step without a cat getting in the way. Some of them even shot through between his legs. Twice he stumbled over a cat.
We really need to get rid of some of these cats, he thought. It’s a cat plague, that’s what it is. Next time I’ll bring Mars with me.
And after a while he noticed that the cats were following him. First it was just one trailing along behind him, but when he looked again a little later there were eight of them.
And by the time he made it to the shop there were more than ten. They all followed him in.
“Kssss!” hissed Mr Ellmore angrily. He chased them out of the shop but they came back in again with the very next customer.
And when he was trying on shoes and standing there defenceless in his socks, they circled around him.
“Are these your cats, sir?” asked the shop assistant.
“What do you take me for?” Mr Ellmore shouted. “They just followed me in.”