More Cats In The Belfry

  I did what I'd done for years, whenever a cat went missing. I couldn't go through the nettles – they were waist-high and covered too great an area. So I came back down to the lane and started my tour. Up the hill to the Rose and Crown, left up another hill to the top lane, back along that, looking down across the farm field to check there was no long-legged truant following the hay-mower, and beyond that, peering into the depths of my own wood. Calling 'Saffle-affle-affle', my diminutive for Saphra, as in years past I'd called 'Solly-wolly-wolly' and, to the cat who'd never come back, 'Seeley-weeley-weeley'.

  Saphra didn't answer, but other people heard me calling. Fred Ferry, going along to the Rose and Crown, asked 'Cat gone missin' then?' as I passed him, which was pretty stupid as he obviously was, but it did mean Fred would spread the news along at the pub and somebody might spot him later. Miss Wellington came down the hill prodding the undergrowth with a walking stick, which was also still. Saph wouldn't wait there for her to poke him out, but at least she was trying to be helpful. Janet Reason said she'd take her retriever, Daisy, round the lane in the hope of tracking him down, but I didn't think that was likely. I couldn't see Saph coming unresistingly home in Daisy's mouth like a furry, long-legged pheasant.

  For nearly two hours I circled that area of land; calling, looking, worrying. Nobody I asked knew of a black and white cat living anywhere in the neighbourhood. The two of them could by this time be miles away. Then, coming past Annabel's stable for the umpteenth time, looking across at the cottage case he'd returned by himself in the meantime, I suddenly spotted him. Ambling down the hill towards me: unhurried, confident, obviously knowing exactly where he was. He reached the bottom of the hill and looked towards me, but instead of coming along the lane to meet me he turned left and started down the other lane, where he'd have passed the Reasons' cottage. But Janet was out searching for him with Daisy and nobody could have seen him, and he'd have gone on to the remoter part of the valley. Was it coincidence that I'd returned at that very moment... or was it because I'd just been silently asking Charles for help? I hadn't asked at first. I only did it when I reached an impasse… and once again it had worked.

  I ran after Saph, picked him up, hugged – never, ever, could I be cross with him – and put him into the cat-run where Tani, the perpetual Good Girl, was sitting surveying the world as though he'd never been missed. He rushed up to her, bit her on the neck and said he betted she didn't know where he'd Been. Didn't Care, Either, said Tani, biffing him with a reproving paw.

TEN

She did care. She loved him in spite of his consistently treating her as if he were Tarzan – when, if I was around, she would scream blue murder for me to come and rescue her. Fond of being the Rescued Heroine, was Tani, although when she thought I wasn't looking she often bit him back to encourage him to do it again. He was over-rough with her at times, though, and a vet I knew who was an expert in cat behaviour suggested I should get a water-pistol. He'd used it to cure one of his own kittens who'd had a habit of biting, he told me. It would dissuade the offender, who would associate it with what he was doing when it was pointed at him and would realise it was better not to do it. The water wouldn't hurt him – it was just that he wouldn't like it.

  So it proved. The most embarrassing part of the exercise was buying the water-pistol. I can still see the look on the assistant's face when I went into the toy shop and asked for one. 'For my Siamese cat,' I explained in case she thought I wanted to play with it myself, at which her eyebrows went even higher. She knew Siamese cats were odd, her expression said, but she really didn't believe they used water-pistols.

  I explained it was to stop a male Siamese from biting his timid companion. She smiled hesitantly and helped me select one. Blue plastic – with a good long range, she said. But she still eyed me somewhat warily.

  It worked, anyway. It got to the stage where I only had to point it in Saph's direction and without waiting for the spray, he would stop whatever he was doing and flee precipitately. Fascinated by water he might be, but not when it came at him with that force. I caught him several times, however, examining the water-pistol when it wasn't in use, lying on the bookshelf near my elbow. Wondering whether he could operate it himself, no doubt, but fortunately that was beyond him.