“Shall I chase them away again?”
“Yes, please!”
The shop assistant chased the cats out for a second time, but as soon as the door opened again for a new customer the whole horde came back in and crowded around Mr Ellmore’s legs.
He would have loved to kick them. He would have loved to catch one of them on the head with a heavy boot, but there were quite a few customers in the shop by now. And everyone knew him. Everyone knew he was the president of the Animal Lovers’ Association. And that meant he wasn’t allowed to kick any cats.
At least, not while people are looking, he thought grimly. But just wait… I’ll get my chance.
He got his chance. On the street all the cats trooped along behind him. As long as people were watching, he didn’t dare do a thing, but when the street was quiet for a moment close to the school, he looked around quickly, saw that the coast was clear and gave the Butcher’s Cat a good kick.
The cats shot off in all directions.
“That’s that taken care of,” smirked Mr Ellmore. But when he got to his car and opened the door he found eight or so cats sitting inside it. He was so furious he was about to bash them right out again when a voice behind him said, “Oh, look… how lovely.”
He turned around and saw Mr Smith beaming at him.
“A car full of cats,” he said. “You’re such an animal lover.”
“Absolutely…” said Mr Ellmore with a strained smile.
“You are coming to my reading tomorrow, aren’t you?” Mr Smith asked. “I think you will find it particularly interesting: ‘The Cat Through the Ages: A Feline History’. With beautiful coloured slides. You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Yes, definitely,” said Mr Ellmore.
The cats emerged sedately from the car. Mr Ellmore drove to his factory. He had an important meeting in his office with the Councillor. To discuss expanding his factory. But because of all the cats, he was late. When he walked into his office the Councillor was already there.
Mr Ellmore apologized, offered the Councillor a cigar and started talking about his expansion plans.
“There are a lot of people who aren’t so keen on an expansion,” the Councillor said. “They’re afraid the town will get too smelly.”
“Oh, but our fragrances are wonderful,” Mr Ellmore said. “Our latest is apple blossom… I’ll just let you smell it.”
But when he turned around to get the spray can, he saw three cats slipping out through the open window.
He suppressed a curse.
“Just smell how wonderful it is,” he said. The Councillor sniffed.
“Apple blossom,” said Mr Ellmore. He sniffed too. But what they smelt wasn’t apple blossom at all. The whole room reeked of tomcats.
“Cat pee,” the Councillor wanted to say. But he was a well-mannered man and said politely, “Mmmm, that smells good.”
That afternoon Mr Ellmore took his dog in the car with him, in case a troop of cats tried to follow him again.
And there they were. Standing around the parking spot. Some were close by, others at a distance. The whole street was crawling with cats.
Mr Ellmore held the door open and said, “Come on out, Mars. Look, Mars… kitty cats… come on, boy, get ’em!”
But to his surprise, Mars stayed in the car, quietly whimpering. He didn’t want to get out.
“What are you doing? You’re not scared of a few cats, are you?”
But Mars didn’t stir. He growled viciously, but he was too scared to get out of the car.
He could see the Tatter Cat. She was the closest of all and although she had a limp now and couldn’t move that quickly, she was the bravest of all as well. She looked so mean, so devilish, with such a bloodthirsty expression on her dirty cat face…
Mars suddenly remembered how she’d clawed him in his own backyard. And now there were all those other cats too. There were too many, he couldn’t take them on. He was staying in the car.
“Call yourself a dog!” Mr Ellmore said contemptuously. He looked around. Lots and lots of cats… not very many people… and no one watching.
He grabbed the dog whip from the back of the car and lashed out left and right. He caught the Church Cat Ecumenica, who shot screeching into the church; the others disappeared in all directions, like a swarm of hornets when you spray them with water.
But just like hornets, they came back. The Tatter Cat leading the way. And they trailed along behind Mr Ellmore until he drove off again.
That evening they went to his garden as well.
Until now Mars had always kept all the cats away. None of them had ever dared go into the garden, except now and then when the dog was shut in the garage. Like the time that led to the Tatter Cat’s lame leg.
And now all of a sudden… cats in the garden.
“Mars… kitty cats!” Mr Ellmore called. “Get ’em, boy. Go on, get ’em!”
Mars jumped around excitedly in front of the French doors, but didn’t dare go out into the garden.
“I don’t understand what’s got into the dog,” Mr Ellmore said. “He’s scared of cats, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? A German Shepherd that’s scared of cats!”
“If I’m not mistaken, they’re attacking our rose bushes,” his wife said. “Chase them away! Here, take this bottle. Last time you hit that filthy stray with it.”
Mr Ellmore ran out with the bottle.
The cats were hard at work scratching the flowers and leaves off the roses Ellmore was so proud of.
They looked up at him triumphantly as he approached.
“Dirty rotten cats! Now there’s nobody around to watch! Now I’m in my own garden… I’ll get you…”
He lashed out left and right, but stamped on his own roses in the process and stabbed himself with a thorn. And the cats were gone, disappearing between the bushes and trees.
“And you know what you’ll get if I see you here again!” Ellmore roared at the bushes.
He went back inside and his wife said, “They’re back.”
“Where?”
“In the rose bed. They’re going to destroy all our roses.”
“That’s it,” her husband said grimly. “This is too much. And fortunately there aren’t any people around here, so I don’t have to restrain myself. Get me my hunting rifle!”
She fetched it for him.
He stood next to the terrace with the gun in his hands. Although it was already evening, the spring sun was shining down through the branches of the trees onto the rose bed where no less than ten cats were ripping up the rose bushes with delight in their eyes.
“Now I’ll get you… you scum…” Mr Ellmore said softly.
He raised the gun up to his shoulder.
Simon the Siamese was the closest. He looked at Ellmore with his eyes completely crossed, but didn’t budge.
Seven cats ran off in fright; three stood their ground. The Councillor’s Cat, the Tatter Cat and Cross-eyed Simon.
Seconds before the shot rang out they sped off—just in time. Only the Tatter Cat was still limping on the lawn, but before Mr Ellmore could take aim again, she ducked into the shadows.
He turned around to go back inside, but saw a girl standing there. A little girl in his garden. She tried to slip away, but he saw that she was laughing. She was laughing at him.
“What’s the idea? What are you doing here?” Mr Ellmore cried.
She was laughing so hard she couldn’t answer.
Mr Ellmore was beside himself with rage. He grabbed the girl by the arm, shook her hard and hit her over the back of the head.
“Now get out of my garden, you little hussy.”
At first it looked like Bibi was crying. But as soon as she was through the gate, she started laughing again.
She waited for a moment on the other side of the fence, on the street. Then Minou came out of the garden through a hole in the hedge. And behind her came the Tatter Cat… and all the other cats, one by one.
The re
st of the evening they left the roses alone.
“The reading’s on tonight,” Minou said. “Mr Smith’s talk. In the Metropole Hotel.”
“I know,” Tibble said. “I don’t need to go any more.”
“They’ll be showing slides,” Minou said. “Of all kinds of special cats. In colour.”
“Maybe,” Tibble said. “But I’m not going. I don’t need to write any more articles. I don’t work for the newspaper any more. And anyway, I’ve got enough cats right here. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Everyone’s going to be there,” Minou said.
“Exactly,” said Tibble. “And that’s why I’d rather not go. Mr Ellmore will be there too, of course, as the president of the association. And if I never see him again it will be too soon.”
“I’m going,” Minou said.
He looked up with surprise—Minou, who was so shy and so scared of going anywhere crowded.
“And I would like it very much if you could come with me,” she said.
And now there was something about her voice that made him realize something special was going on. He couldn’t imagine what, but after a slight hesitation he said, “All right, then.”
Outside there was a poster saying:
Animal Lovers’ Association
Tonight: The Cat Through the Ages: A Feline History.
A Reading with Slides by Mr W. Smith
Tibble and Minou were the last to arrive. The hall was packed because Mr Smith was extremely popular and a gripping speaker. And of course, the people of Killenthorn were crazy about cats.
Sitting in the front row was Mr Ellmore, who was going to say a few words of welcome.
As it hadn’t started yet, people were chatting among themselves and when Tibble and Minou began looking for somewhere to sit, people around them whispered and pointed.
Two elderly ladies just behind them spoke softly to each other.
“That’s the young man from the newspaper, you know. With his secretary.”
“He’s not with the paper any more though.”
“No?”
“No, he wrote that outrageous article about Mr Ellmore!”
“Was that him?”
“Absolutely, his name was at the bottom. And it said that our own Mr Ellmore had run into the fish stall.”
“Yes, and it also said that he’d dumped live kittens in a rubbish bin. Disgraceful things to write. Without a shred of evidence.”
Tibble could hear every word. He felt more and more miserable and wished he’d stayed home. Next to him sat Minou, who was in an extremely catlike and inscrutable mood. And very calm… She seemed completely oblivious to everyone around her.
A little bit closer to the front sat Bibi, next to her mother.
Now Mr Ellmore rose to speak a few words of welcome. He was met with enthusiastic applause.
While clapping, people kept sneaking backward looks at Tibble. It was as if they were trying to say: even if you write nasty gossip, we don’t believe you. We trust our Mr Ellmore.
Mr Ellmore gave a friendly smile and nodded. He kept it very short and handed over to Mr Smith.
It was a fascinating reading. Mr Smith spoke about cats among the ancient Egyptians. He spoke about cats in the Dark Ages and he showed slides.
The lights in the auditorium were off and every time he tapped on the floor with his stick a new cat appeared on the screen.
“We will now have a fifteen-minute break,” Mr Smith said after he had been talking for an hour. “In that time refreshments will be available at the buffet. But before we stop, I’ll just show you one more slide of a most extraordinary pedigreed cat from the Renaissance.”
He gave a tap with his stick. That was the sign that the boy operating the slide projector should show the last slide before the intermission.
A cat did appear on the screen. But it wasn’t a pedigreed cat at all. It was a slide of the Butcher’s Cat fetching a good kick on Green Square. And the person giving him the kick was Mr Ellmore, who was clearly visible. It was true that the photo wasn’t beautiful and it was very wonky, but there was no mistaking its contents.
Tibble sat up straight. He looked at Minou. She smiled.
“That’s my cat!” shouted the butcher from the second row. Mr Smith tapped angrily with his stick and cried, “That is not the correct photo.”
People started mumbling in the auditorium. And now the next slide appeared. This one showed Mr Ellmore hitting the Church Cat Ecumenica with a dog whip. He was enjoying it very much, you could see that clearly.
“That’s our cat!” cried the vicar, but the next slide had already popped up. And now Mr Ellmore was standing next to the terrace in his own garden holding a gun. He was aiming at three cats.
“That’s my Simon!” Mr Smith cried indignantly.
“Our cat…” whispered the Councillor’s wife.
The Tatter Cat was in the photo too, but no one worried about that, except Tibble, who looked at Minou in dismay. She gave him another friendly nod and suddenly he understood the cats’ plan. He realized that Bibi had taken the photos on the street and in Ellmore’s garden with her new camera. Only Bibi could take photos that crooked.
The mumbling and whispering in the auditorium grew louder.
Everyone looked at Mr Ellmore. It was fairly dark but everyone could see that he’d stood up and walked to the front.
“It’s not true,” he shouted. “That’s not me!”
But now the next slide appeared. Even more crooked than the others, but just as clear. Mr Ellmore holding a girl by her arm and hitting her. The girl was Bibi.
“That’s a fake!” Mr Ellmore shouted. “I can explain everything. It’s a trick!”
But by now the audience was talking so loudly that nobody heard him.
He walked to the back of the auditorium and the slide projector.
The boy who was showing the slides was Billy, the canteen assistant.
“Stop it at once!” Mr Ellmore shouted.
“That was the last one,” said Billy.
“You—” Ellmore said furiously, “you—where did you get those photos?”
“I’m just working through all of them,” Billy said, “like I’m supposed to.”
“But how did those last ones get in there?”
“How should I know?” asked Billy.
There was now an enormous uproar in the hall. Mr Smith tried to calm things down. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is all based on a regrettable misunderstanding,” he said. “I suggest we all just have a quiet cup of coffee, after which I will resume my talk.”
“You’re fired!” Mr Ellmore hissed quickly at Billy.
He went back into the middle of the hall, where the lights were back on and people were standing around in groups, talking as they pushed up to the buffet. Wherever Mr Ellmore went, they suddenly fell quiet.
He’d wanted to explain, but there was nothing to explain. The photos had been all too clear. Mr Ellmore shrugged helplessly and left.
No sooner had he left, than the conversation picked up again on all sides.
“Unbelievable,” said the Councillor’s wife. “The president of the Animal Lovers’ Association. Shooting at cats! He shot at my cat!”
“He hit my daughter,” said Bibi’s mother. “That’s much more serious. And to think that he’s head of the Child Welfare Commission.”
Bibi was sitting there very sweetly, as if none of it had anything to do with her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” her mother asked. “About that man hitting you?”
But Bibi kept quiet. She looked at Tibble over her Coke bottle and whispered, “Good, huh?”
“Fantastic,” he said.
“Minou took that one of me,” she said. “She was in a tree.” Tibble looked around to see if he could see Minou. He’d been separated from her in the crowd. He walked around and heard scraps of conversations everywhere.
The two elderly ladies were talking again.
“It’s quite possib
le that it was true after all, at least partly.”
“What?”
“That article in the paper. About Ellmore dumping kittens in a rubbish bin.”
“Yes, of course, a man like that is capable of anything. And that bit about the fish stall is sure to be true too.”
Nearby, Mr Smith was talking to Billy.
“How on earth did that happen, Billy?” Mr Smith asked. “Those photos at the end… that wasn’t the idea at all. How did they get in there?”
“Miss Minou gave them to me,” said Billy. “She asked if I could show them before the break. I didn’t know why, but she was so friendly. And she was so sweet when she asked me.”
“I see…” said Mr Smith. “Well, well…”
“And now I’ve lost my job anyway,” Billy went on, “so I can tell everyone too.”
“Tell everyone what?” Mr Smith asked.
“That I was there,” said Billy.
“Where?”
“In Green Square. When Mr Ellmore crashed into the fish stall.”
“But, my boy!” Mr Smith exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
Someone else came over to join them. The mechanic from the garage. “Then I might as well tell you what I know too,” he said. “Mr Ellmore’s car was badly damaged.”
“You shouldn’t be telling me that,” Mr Smith said. “You have to tell the police. And there just happens to be a policeman here in the hall right now.”
He went over to Tibble, who was still walking around by himself.
“Tibble,” said Mr Smith. “I’m afraid I misjudged you. I’m sorry. I believe you were right all along. You should write an article about this evening now.”
“I’m no longer with the newspaper,” said Tibble.
Minou, too, was walking around between all the people who were talking away and drinking their coffees. Now and then she caught snippets of conversation: “That Tibble fellow was telling the truth after all… his article wasn’t just gossip.”
“You really think so?”
“I’m sure of it!”
And she felt very contented. This was just what the cats had hoped for when they made their plan.
She was about to return to her seat when she saw something black behind a glass door. It miaowed.