The Diary Of A Killer Cat

And Thumper didn’t care what he looked like. He was dead.

The rest of them minded, though. They minded a lot.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Oh, this is dreadful. Next-door will never speak to us again.’

‘We must think of something.’

And they did. I have to say, it was a brilliant plan, by any standards. First, Ellie’s father fetched the bucket again, and filled it with warm soapy water. (He gave me a bit of a look as he did this, trying to make me feel guilty for the fact that he’d had to dip his hands in the old Fairy Liquid twice in one week. I just gave him my old ‘I-am-not-impressed’ stare back.)

Then Ellie’s mother dunked Thumper in the bucket and gave him a nice bubbly wash and a swill-about. The water turned a pretty nasty brown colour. (All that mud.) And then, glaring at me as if it were all my fault, they tipped it down the sink and began over again with fresh soap suds.

Ellie was snivelling, of course.

‘Do stop that, Ellie,’ her mother said. ‘It’s getting on my nerves. If you want to do something useful, go and fetch the hairdrier.’

So Ellie trailed upstairs, still bawling her eyes out.

I sat on the top of the dresser, and watched them.

They up-ended poor Thumper and dunked him again in the bucket. (Good job he wasn’t his old self. He’d have hated all this washing.) And when the water finally ran clear, they pulled him out and drained him.

Then they plonked him on newspaper, and gave Ellie the hairdrier.

‘There you go,’ they said. ‘Fluff him up nicely.’

Well, she got right into it, I can tell you. That Ellie could grow up to be a real hot-shot hairdresser, the way she fluffed him up. I have to say, I never saw Thumper look so nice before, and he lived in next-door’s hutch for years and years, and I saw him every day.

‘Hiya, Thump,’ I’d sort of nod at him as I strolled over the lawn to check out what was left in the feeding bowls further down the avenue.

‘Hi, Tuff,’ he’d sort of twitch back.

Yes, we were good mates. We were pals. And so it was really nice to see him looking so spruced up and smart when Ellie had finished with him.

He looked good.

‘What now?’ said Ellie’s father.

Ellie’s mum gave him a look – the sort of look she sometimes gives me, only nicer.

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Not me. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.’

‘It’s you or me,’ she said. ‘And I can’t go, can I?’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You’re smaller than I am. You can crawl through the hedge easier.’

That’s when I realized what they had in mind. But what could I say? What could I do to stop them? To explain?

Nothing. I’m just a cat.

I sat and watched.

5: FRIDAY

I call it Friday because they left it so late. The clock was already well past midnight by the time Ellie’s father finally heaved himself out of his comfy chair in front of the telly and went upstairs. When he came down again he was dressed in black. Black from head to foot.

‘You look like a cat burglar,’ said Ellie’s mother.

‘I wish someone would burgle our cat,’ he muttered.

I just ignored him. I thought that was best.

Together they went to the back door.

‘Don’t switch the outside light on,’ he warned her. ‘You never know who might be watching.’

I tried to sneak out at the same time, but Ellie’s mother held me back with her foot.

‘You can just stay inside tonight,’ she told me. ‘We’ve had enough trouble from you this week.’

Fair’s fair. And I heard all about it anyway, later, from Bella and Tiger and Pusskins. They all reported back. (They’re good mates.) They all saw Ellie’s father creeping across the lawn, with his plastic bag full of Thumper (wrapped nicely in a towel to keep him clean). They all saw him forcing his way through the hole in the hedge, and crawling across next-door’s lawn on his tummy.

‘Couldn’t think what he was doing,’ Pusskins said afterwards.

‘Ruined the hole in the hedge,’ complained Bella. ‘He’s made it so big that the Thompson’s rottweiler could get through it now.’

‘That father of Ellie’s must have the most dreadful night vision,’ said Tiger. ‘It took him forever to find that hutch in the dark.’

‘And prise the door open.’

‘And stuff in poor old Thumper.’

‘And set him out neatly on his bed of straw.’

‘All curled up.’

‘With the straw patted up round him.’

‘So it looked as if he was sleeping.’

‘It was very, very lifelike,’ said Bella. ‘It could have fooled me. If anyone just happened to be passing in the dark, they’d really have thought that poor old Thumper had just died happily and peacefully in his sleep, after a good life, from old age.’

They all began howling with laughter.

‘Sshh!’ I said. ‘Keep it down, guys. They’ll hear, and I’m not supposed to be out tonight. I’m grounded.’

They all stared at me.

‘Get away with you!’

‘Grounded?’

‘What for?’

‘Murder,’ I said. ‘For cold-blooded bunnicide.’

That set us all off again. We yowled and yowled. The last I heard before we took off in a gang up Beechcroft Drive was one of the bedroom windows being flung open, and Ellie’s father yelling, ‘How did you get out, you crafty beast?’

So what’s he going to do? Nail up the cat flap?

6: STILL FRIDAY