Tigger Read online

  Sometimes I came along in the car with Mum when she went to collect the children from school. I loved going in the car, because I was able to stand up with my front paws on the window and pull faces at the dogs that walked past. I could hiss at them and bare my teeth, safe behind the thick glass. It was great fun watching them get really annoyed. Once we had two or three dogs running after our car, and their owners running after them, but our car was faster.

  When my family went on holiday, I stayed at the local cat hotel, where plenty of staff were available to entertain me and the other guests. I was able to unwind there without having to worry about my humans. It had nice, big apartments containing indoor and outdoor areas. The indoor area was cosy and dark, with a raised bed covered by my favourite soft blanket from home. Each outdoor area had its own climbing tree for a daily workout and views of a fish pond, where juicy goldfish darted about under the water lilies. They were a real treat to watch, though I would have preferred to get closer to the pond for a bit of fishing. Nevertheless, I always returned home refreshed and ready to face the demands of my family. Those were calm and pleasant times, but they were not to last.

  4

  WE LEAVE OUR OLD HOME TO FIND A NEW WORLD, AND I LEARN TO FLY

  Something strange was afoot by autumn. There was a sense of excitement in the house. My family talked a lot in the evenings and looked at pictures in brochures. Strangers came wandering through the house at weekends. Nowadays, I would recognize these signs immediately, but I was still a young and inexperienced cat then, so it took me ages to work out what was happening. In fact, it wasn’t until the day when three big men came into the house and started carrying the furniture away that the awful truth dawned on me: we were moving! I hate moving. I am a creature of habit, and as far as I’m concerned, things should stay the same, always. It takes a long time to find sunny patches on the carpet for each particular time of day or year; to assess draught-free spots for naps; to locate food and drink bowls with ease when half asleep; to feel safe and comfortable with the sounds and smells of a house and garden; and to know where bolt-holes are in case of danger. So naturally I was alarmed. I made straight for the big double bed and stayed under there for the rest of the day, sulking. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to notice; they were far too busy rushing about.

  The next morning, they started packing up the big double bed! I was just going to scratch the muscular forearm of one of the men as it reached under the bed when Mum and the children came in, picked me up and carried me out into the car. I was relieved to find that our car, at least, was still there just as before. I imagined we were going to the cat hotel, which was probably the best place for me to be until they had sorted themselves out. But no, this time we went to a different place. A kind of cat hotel, but much bigger than my usual one, and definitely not as good: I could hear dogs whining! I refused to leave the car and dug my claws into the seat cushion, but they prised me off and in we went, like it or not.

  I stayed in that place for about the usual length of time and made the acquaintance of several other guests. Some of them had strange accents and talked of having lived in far-away places and of having flown to Australia just recently. I thought they must be soft in the head, because they clearly did not have wings, but decided not to argue with them. The dogs were kept away from us, thank goodness, though we could hear them yapping and whining in the distance, stupid creatures. Everyone in the cat wing agreed they would never stay in a mixed-species hotel again.

  Then one morning one of our care takers came along, carrying a container with lots of holes in it. I had watched other cats arrive and leave in one of them, but this time they stopped in front of my compartment. I didn’t like the look of the container, but went in without making a scene — it would never do to make a spectacle of myself in front of the other cats. They carried me to a van, which drove me to a very noisy place that smelled like our car service station, where I had spent many happy times annoying dogs in nearby cars as we waited for our humans to buy fuel. But this time I was driven across a big open space to a huge, roaring machine and lifted inside. Many other boxes were piled around my container, and I was sure I saw a dog in one of them before they moved it further down the narrow corridor. It was all very disturbing. I stood in a corner of my container with my hair on end, hoping that someone would soon get me out of there. But nobody did.

  Instead, the men closed the big doors to the outside world, the noise level increased to a terrible pitch and I was being jolted about in my container while the machine bounced about and screeched until I felt quite light-headed and nauseous. It was a good job I had no food in my container, because I could not have eaten one bite. There was some water, but I didn’t even want to touch that. I felt miserable! At long last, the noise settled down to a continuous hum and the screeching stopped. We were still moving though, I could feel little bumps every now and then, and it finally occurred to me that I must be flying! This was obviously what those other cats had been talking about. Did this mean that I was going to a far-away country where cats had funny accents? I curled up on my soft blanket and fell asleep wondering, and the journey continued for a very long time.

  At one point, we landed with more bumping, screeching and noise, and my container was unloaded. I was taken to another cat hotel (cats only this time, I was glad to see) and a man in a white coat came to check me over. I told him I had a migraine and was off my food, but he just patted me on the head and said everything would be fine, not to worry. He didn’t sound Australian at all. I had a few hours of rest in the hotel before it was time to get back in the container and off again. This time I knew what to expect, so the flight was slightly less frightening, but almost as long as before. Flying was definitely not something anyone would do for fun. I had hated the airport food, the cabin was cramped, and this time I was next door to a really fat cat who kept burping into my ear. If my family ever wanted me to fly again, it would have to be in greater comfort.

  Finally, we landed again with an extra big burp from the cat next door. I was exhausted. The fat cat and I were loaded on to a trailer and taken into a building, and there, just the other side of a swinging door, was – Dad! I had never been so pleased to see him, and he seemed just as pleased to see me, so I completely forgot to be cross with him for bringing me to this strange place. Instead, we said fond hellos before he carried me out of that noisy, smelly place into a car – a different car from our usual one – and drove me home. Oh, how glad I was to be going home at last!

  We arrived very late at night. Mum was still up, but the children were asleep. It wasn’t our house and garden at all, but some new place with different smells and weird noises. Still, I was just glad to come out of my container, stretch my legs again (I felt quite wobbly and the ground swayed under my feet), and to have a snack and a drink from the bowls that had been prepared for me in the new kitchen. I was so tired! I collapsed on Mum and Dad’s soft, warm, quiet bed, where Mum stroked me until the room stopped swaying around us and we all went to sleep together.

  5

  I DISCOVER A NEW HOUSE AND SOME VERY ANNOYING CREATURES

  The next morning, the children gave me a boisterous welcome that left me quite exhausted. It was great to see them, but I was still very tired. It was a relief to find that there was a safe hiding place under Mum and Dad’s bed in that house, too. I spent the rest of the day asleep there.

  By the evening I felt better, but it was getting dark and they would not let me go outside to explore. I had no choice but to check out the inside of the new house instead. It was much smaller than our old one and smelt musty. The furniture was strange as well. Emily and Robin shared one room, and Caroline had a room with a big bed all to herself. I reckoned there would be space on there for me. There were a couple of armchairs and sofas in the lounge, but not nearly as comfortable as my old armchair. I wondered what had happened to it. The food was different and not very nice actually, but I didn’t want to offend my family and ate it anyway. The water
was really dreadful, though. It had an evil taste and left ugly brown stains in my bowl. I simply refused to drink it. They gave in pretty soon and served me milk instead – my favourite, so I was glad I had remained firm.

  After a couple of days in the house, I was ready to investigate the great outdoors of this new mystery place. Mum wasn’t keen to let me, but I slipped outside one day when someone opened the door. It was terribly hot and stuffy outside – in Australia it had been winter when we left and quite cool, but this place seemed to have its seasons quite mixed up. It was definitely summer here – I would have to moult all over again immediately, which was a nuisance. There was a small back garden with a shed containing old garden furniture and some tools. The door didn’t shut properly, so that was soon explored. No pool unfortunately, but given the taste of the water in my bowl, that was probably no loss. There was a deck out the back with a reasonable view, and very high trees all around the garden. Some creatures in those trees gave off the strangest noises: a solitary rattling sound first, then others chimed in, until the whole garden seemed to vibrate with a sound that made my ears throb. Probably not a good place for outside naps; it sounded a bit spooky, too. It might be wise to stay away from those trees for a while.

  From the deck, I could see several other houses quite close by. There were no fences anywhere, which was a worry in case of dogs. There was one now, ambling down the small brown dirt road as though it owned the place. Where had I ended up? There was a cat, too, a black one, sitting on the neighbouring deck. We eyed each other for a bit. It looked alright, but I was not really in the mood for socialising. I could also hear children’s voices everywhere. They seemed to be as unrestrained as the dogs, and I didn’t care for either. I decided this would do for my first outing and went back inside – Mum had thoughtfully left the door half-open for me.

  Over the days that followed, I had several more outings and ventured a little further each time. It was an interesting place, if you took care to avoid the straying dogs and children. At twilight, little sparks of light went flying through the air, turning themselves on and off at will. They were impossible to catch, but I had some success with the rattling creatures in the trees — they turned out to be big crickets, quite harmless, and it was fun pouncing on them while they were rehearsing: silencing one caused all the others to lose their beat. We had a lot of stop-start concerts after I discovered that. The trees were very high indeed, of a kind I had never seen before, and difficult to climb as the lower branches were way up. I tried a couple, but couldn’t make it.

  As I was resting in the shade one day, recovering from my latest climb, the most peculiar creature ran across the grass right in front of me. It was about the size of a rat, but grey in colour with a very big, bushy tail. Strangest of all, it seemed not a bit scared of me, but set about collecting seeds from under a tree as though I didn’t exist. For quite a while I was too stunned to move. Back home, I had developed a certain reputation among the creatures of our neighbourhood: they all knew better than to mess with me. There, bird guards had sounded the alarm as soon as I stepped outside for my morning walk. I had single-pawedly chased a whole colony of rats from their nests under our roof in a matter of days. Frogs had thought twice before leaping into our garden. And here was that bushy-tailed creature, ignoring me!

  I collected my hind legs under me and shot forward to grab the intruder by the neck, but it sensed my approach and scampered up a tree unhurriedly and effortlessly, as though it was flat ground. Up I went in hot pursuit, really mad by now at the creature’s cheek. I positively raced up the trunk in the same way as the creature had done and managed to climb up quite a bit further than on previous attempts, but still I was out of reach of the lowest branch. I had to stop for breath, which took away my momentum, and found myself stuck to the tree in mid-climb. I held on for as long as I could, but the bark was smooth, my claws gave way, and to my dismay I felt myself slithering back down the way I had come, landing on the ground with a thump. I was badly shaken. Bits of tree bark were wedged in between my claws so I could hardly retract them. I felt dizzy from my sudden descent and shook my head to clear it. When I looked up, there was the tree running creature sitting high up on a branch, laughing its head off and showering me with seed husks. Alerted by his hysterical giggles, other tree runners appeared from all directions, dancing deftly along branches and joining in the fun – at my expense. It was unbearable! Never in all my life – not even on my flight in the container – had I been so humiliated, and all by some scrawny rodent whose head I could have taken off with one bite, had I just been able to catch it. I held my tail high as I retreated towards the half-open back door of my house. As I slipped back inside the cool, dark interior I made the second big decision of my life: I would catch one of those creatures one day and get my own back, if it took me the rest of my life.

  Mum must have been watching from the kitchen window, because she met me at the door and tried to comfort me with soft cooing noises, stroking my tail in the way I like. I rubbed myself against her legs and told her I was glad to be back. We went to sit on the sofa, where I cleaned my poor claws and licked the seed husks off my fur. Then I curled up next to her and we watched TV together. Just before I dozed off to sleep, I felt the sofa shake a little, and watching her through half-closed eyes, I saw her quietly laugh to herself. There must have been something funny on TV.

  6

  I HAVE A VERY NARROW ESCAPE

  After the incident with the tree running creature, I went out every day to look for possible ways of catching one, but it proved more difficult than I had imagined. They were incredibly nimble and fast, and soon I knew that only trickery could succeed here. Meanwhile, they missed no opportunity of mocking me as they scampered through the trees and chased each other up and down the long trunks, giggling and jeering all the way. It was quite intolerable, but I put a brave face to it and made a point of sauntering along carelessly, pretending not to notice them at all. I could tell they were annoyed when I did that. Occasionally I stopped to sharpen my claws at the base of a trunk, just to let them see how long they were.

  I ventured out a little further each day. Once I followed an interesting creaking noise into someone’s garden. The noise turned out to be a swing, creaking on the rings that attached it to a tree branch. A small child was swinging to and fro. I don’t care for small children, so I took a detour and found myself at the back of a garden shed. Wondering what lay beyond, I rounded its corner – and stared straight into the face of a large dog. One look at his sharp teeth and at his ears, which were pointed sharply forward in anticipation of a good chase, convinced me I had no option but to bolt. And here’s the thing about bolting: you don’t get long to decide on your direction. You have to make up your mind on the spot, then trust your instincts and take off like there’s no tomorrow, or else there’ll be no tomorrow.

  In this case, the dog’s athletic build and long legs made me decide against the wide expanse of the lawn in favour of the garden shed. The door was very slightly ajar; I squeezed through and darted up onto a tottering pile of crates that started wobbling even as I landed. Fortunately, they were stacked against an old wardrobe that looked much sturdier, so up I leapt and crouched down low.

  The dog, meanwhile, was frantically working on the door to prise it open further. The shed shook from his efforts – or perhaps it was my heart hammering in my chest, I’m not sure. His mission accomplished, he stormed in, upsetting the crates and crashing into tools that fell over each other with a clatter. The handle of a heavy shovel hit him hard on the head, and for a moment I hoped he might have been knocked out, because he staggered a little. Alas, not for long. Either the blow had affected his judgment, or he wasn’t very bright in the first place, even for a dog, because he made no effort to locate me rationally; he just wrecked the whole place. The noise was deafening; my hair stood on end as I watched tools flying and workbenches toppling. Of course the silly creature never found me. But the owner of the shed must have hear
d the commotion. He came storming across the garden, shouting abuse at the dog and chasing him from the shed, adding a couple of smarting blows to his other injuries. Then he came back and locked the door.

  Peace returned to the shed and a warm wave of relief flooded over me. My ears gradually recovered from the noise, my hair settled down, and my tail deflated. I was safe! Even so, I had learnt from experience to stay put for a while after a crisis, just to be on the safe side. Through a crack in the wood of the shed wall, I watched the sun go down behind the trees, and by and by I realized it was dinner-time — time to go home. That was when I discovered that I was locked in just as much as the dog was locked out. There was no other escape route. A fine mess!

  In my mind, I pictured Mum getting a tin of fish out of the cupboard for me, opening it and spooning it into my dish, then filling up my other dish of dry food and my milk bowl. I could almost smell it all, it seemed so real! Sure enough, a little later I could hear her calling, “Tigger! Fish!” from very far away. Normally, I’d be hiding somewhere nearby (I could go in and wait for my dinner in the kitchen, but I prefer to be called). On this occasion, however, just when I really wished I could be right next to her, I was far away and frustratingly unable to answer her call.

  Goodness knows for how long I sat in that dark, messy garden shed and waited. It seemed like years. Night-time came and still I was a prisoner. Once or twice I heard my family calling for me; it sounded as though they were out looking for me. I tried to answer, but my voice wasn’t loud enough and they walked past the garden. How could they ever find me in here?

  Finally, it was quite dark and everyone had gone inside. I prepared myself for a long, lonely night of hunger and discomfort and had just closed my eyes when I heard a sound from the house. There were footsteps, and they were coming closer! A torch was shining towards the shed, and the man’s voice called something to the people back at the house. Then – I could hardly believe my luck – he opened the shed door! I was ready for him: as soon as the door opened, I shot out between his legs. The man jumped and used some very bad language. I couldn’t blame him; it must have been a shock to find me fly at him like that. I reckoned he would be even more upset once he saw the state of his shed, but I didn’t wait to find out. I ran all the way home as fast as I could. They had left the back door open for me. I walked in and announced my arrival, and when my family came running to meet me, I rubbed everyone’s legs in turn and told my story. They wanted to know every detail and were clearly impressed with my adventure. Outside, I could still hear the neighbour yelling. It was time to have my dinner and relax.