The Diary Of A Killer Cat

Okay, okay. So hang me. I killed the bird. For pity’s sake, I’m a cat. It’s practically my job to go creeping round the garden after sweet little eensy-weensy birdy-pies that can hardly fly from one hedge to another. So what am I supposed to do when one of the poor feathery little flutterballs just about throws itself into my mouth? I mean, it practically landed on my paws. It could have hurt me.

Okay, okay. So I biffed it. Is that any reason for Ellie to cry in my fur so hard I almost drown, and squeeze me so hard I almost choke?

‘Oh, Tuffy!’ she says, all sniffles and red eyes and piles of wet tissues. ‘Oh, Tuffy. How could you do that?’

How could I do that? I’m a cat. How did I know there was going to be such a giant great fuss, with Ellie’s mother rushing off to fetch sheets of old newspaper, and Ellie’s father filling a bucket with soapy water?

Okay, okay. So maybe I shouldn’t have dragged it in and left it on the carpet. And maybe the stains won’t come out, ever.

So hang me.

2: TUESDAY

I quite enjoyed the little funeral. I don’t think they really wanted me to come, but, after all, it’s just as much my garden as theirs. In fact, I spend a whole lot more time in it than they do. I’m the only one in the family who uses it properly.

Not that they’re grateful. You ought to hear them.

‘That cat is ruining my flower beds. There are hardly any of the petunias left.’

‘I’d barely planted the lobelias before it was lying on top of them, squashing them flat.’

‘I do wish it wouldn’t dig holes in the anemones.’

Moan, moan, moan, moan. I don’t know why they bother to keep a cat, since all they ever seem to do is complain.

All except Ellie. She was too busy being soppy about the bird. She put it in a box, and packed it round with cotton wool, and dug a little hole, and then we all stood round it while she said a few words, wishing the bird luck in heaven.

‘Go away,’ Ellie’s father hissed at me. (I find that man quite rude.) But I just flicked my tail at him. Gave him the blink. Who does he think he is? If I want to watch a little birdy’s funeral, I’ll watch it. After all, I’ve known the bird longer than any of them have. I knew it when it was alive.

3: WEDNESDAY

So spank me! I brought a dead mouse into their precious house. I didn’t even kill it. When I came across it, it was already a goner. Nobody’s safe around here. This avenue is ankle-deep in rat poison, fast cars charge up and down at all hours, and I’m not the only cat around here. I don’t even know what happened to the thing. All I know is, I found it. It was already dead. (Fresh dead, but dead.) And at the time I thought it was a good idea to bring it home. Don’t ask me why. I must have been crazy. How did I know that Ellie was going to grab me and give me one of her little talks?

‘Oh, Tuffy! That’s the second time this week. I can’t bear it. I know you’re a cat, and it’s natural and everything. But please, for my sake, stop.’

She gazed into my eyes.

‘Will you stop? Please?’

I gave her the blink. (Well, I tried. But she wasn’t having any.)

‘I mean it, Tuffy,’ she told me. ‘I love you, and I understand how you feel. But you’ve got to stop doing this, okay?’

She had me by the paws. What could I say? So I tried to look all sorry. And then she burst into tears all over again, and we had another funeral.

This place is turning into Fun City. It really is.

4: THURSDAY

Okay, okay! I’ll try and explain about the rabbit. For starters, I don’t think anyone’s given me enough credit for getting it through the cat flap. That was not easy. I can tell you, it took about an hour to get that rabbit through that little hole. That rabbit was downright fat. It was more like a pig than a rabbit, if you want my opinion.

Not that any of them cared what I thought. They were going mental.

‘It’s Thumper!’ cried Ellie. ‘It’s next-door’s Thumper!’

‘Oh, Lordy!’ said Ellie’s father. ‘Now we’re in trouble. What are we going to do?’

Ellie’s mother stared at me.

‘How could a cat do that?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it’s not like a tiny bird, or a mouse, or anything. That rabbit is the same size as Tuffy. They both weigh a ton.’

Nice. Very nice. This is my family, I’ll have you know. Well, Ellie’s family. But you take my point.

And Ellie, of course, freaked out. She went berserk.

‘It’s horrible,’ she cried. ‘Horrible. I can’t believe that Tuffy could have done that. Thumper’s been next door for years and years and years.’

Sure. Thumper was a friend. I knew him well.

She turned on me.

‘Tuffy! This is the end. That poor, poor rabbit. Look at him!’

And Thumper did look a bit of a mess, I admit it. I mean, most of it was only mud. And a few grass stains, I suppose. And there were quite a few bits of twig and stuff stuck in his fur. And he had a streak of oil on one ear. But no one gets dragged the whole way across a garden, and through a hedge, and over another garden, and through a freshly-oiled cat flap, and ends up looking as if they’re just off to a party.