Authors: Sheila Jeffries
‘A KITTEN!’
I sat there, disorientated.
‘Where did you get that from?’ she asked Harriet loudly. And immediately the dog turned around and bounded out, her tail wagging madly. She turned the corner on one leg and galloped
up the lane.
‘What a little beauty you are,’ whispered the woman. She cupped me gently in a pair of weathered hands, and I could have cried. The way she looked at me with such tenderness. Someone
wanted me. I wasn’t rubbish. The dog hadn’t hurt me.
Minutes later, Harriet came back through the door, her tail bang banging against the wood, and in her mouth was one of my brothers. She did the same again. Put the traumatised kitten down next
to me and charged out again to fetch the other one.
‘That dog!’ Tears were running down the woman’s face. ‘That dog is a miracle. A miracle.’
But this time the dog returned with a puzzled expression on her face, and she hadn’t got my brother. He was the all-black one, the biggest and bravest of us three kittens.
I never saw him again.
I’d have liked to stay in the cottage and cuddled up to Harriet for the rest of my life, but it wasn’t to be. A few days later, well fed and rested, we were put in
another basket and taken, gently this time, to a Cat Rescue Centre, to await adoption.
I wanted to go with my brother. He was all I had. But the first person to look at us fell in love with me straight away. Her name was Gretel. I gazed up at her wrinkled face which was covered in
powder, and her expectant eyes under blue-painted lids. Two tantalising pearls dangled from her ears and there was a halo of silvery hair. She pursed her red-painted lips, then opened her mouth
very wide.
‘Oh, what a pretty kitten. Aren’t you a little poppet?’ she crooned, and picked me up as if I was made of gold. She held me against her pale pink sweater, and I managed to keep
still, smelling her perfume and watching those earrings. Aware that my silver and white fur was exquisitely soft, my paws had pink pads, I knew I was beautiful, but I wasn’t sure if this was
right for me. Was I good enough for Gretel?
I didn’t exactly have a choice.
Gretel looked at me silently for a moment, and then said, ‘You are a darling, darling little Fuzzball.’ I hoped that wasn’t going to be my name, but then she turned to the cat
lady and said, ‘Can I have her? She’s definitely THE ONE.’
I wanted to say goodbye to my brother, my only family now, but I was whisked into a luxurious carrier with pink fluff. A lot of fuss was going on. People saying, ‘Oh, you are a lucky
kitten,’ and shuffling about with papers while I sat in there, lonely, and wanting my mother. I even wanted Harriet. We had spent a couple of nights cuddled up to the big dog who seemed to
love us. She was warm and peaceful, her heartbeat so steady and slow. She’d even let us play with her silky ears and the tip of her tail. It helped me to make a decision: I wanted a dog in my
life. A dog was a solid reliable friend.
Gretel was OK, but I was uneasy. Had I made the right decision? And I definitely didn’t want to be called FUZZBALL.
Gretel’s bungalow was fine. Warm and sweet-smelling, with soft carpets, a fur-lined cat bed with a roof, and a puss-flap leading to a sunny patio and a square of lawn. I should have been
happy there, but I wasn’t. It was lonely, even though Gretel made a fuss of me. She wanted me to be good.
I wasn’t good. I was a BAD CAT.
My dad, Solomon, was the most saintly cat, and I wished he were there to teach me the mysteries and illogical rules about living with humans.
The first issue was the litter tray. I knew how to use it, but I didn’t think it right to use it a second time. It was more creative to find some paper and make my own. I shredded a copy
of the Damart catalogue before Gretel had read it, and she went ballistic.
‘You wretched cat. Look at this STINKING mess. You’re a bad girl. BAD GIRL,’ and she grabbed my scruff like Jessica would have done and shook me. I was hurt and puzzled. It had
been fun shredding the paper and making myself a luxurious heap behind the sofa and, when I’d used it, I’d carefully raked it up and covered it over. Problem solved.
I quickly became a compulsive paper shredder as I grew bigger. My new claws had to be kept sharp and it was a good workout. Gretel used to go out and shut the kitchen door so I couldn’t go
out through the puss-flap, and she’d always left a magazine somewhere, by her bed or on a chair.
Next, I discovered the postman. I learned what time he came and recognised his footsteps. Or I’d sit in the window, watching him pushing his trolley down the street, getting more and more
excited as he approached. Once he was on the path, I shot into the hall and waited, tingling, by the front door. There were always catalogues in plastic that landed with a slap, but if they were
heavy I ignored them. What I liked were the paper letters, especially the brown ones, which made a succulent tearing noise. In one part of my mind, I was being a lion ripping skin from its prey,
and in another way, I was being creative and pragmatic while Gretel was out.
One morning, she came in the back door with her shopping bags and I ran to meet her like a cat should. She sat down and took me onto her lap, and I learned how to give her healing. She had pain
in her joints; they used to glow in her aura like hotspots. I draped myself over her knees or up on her shoulder and practised the art of purring, which I had brought with me from the spirit world.
It was a vibration that generated streams of minute stars that only I could see. But Gretel felt it. I knew she did.
‘Oh, you are a darling cat. You’re so good for me,’ she said as we relaxed together. But as soon as she got up and went into the hall, it all changed.
‘You BAD CAT,’ she shouted when she saw the heaps of shredded paper I was so proud of. ‘My LETTERS! You’ve ruined them.’
She seized me in angry hands and held me up so that my face was close to hers, and hissed at me like a mother cat. ‘WHAT am I going to DO with you, Fuzzball, eh?’
I hated being treated like that. I flattened my ears and lashed my tail. After all that healing, Gretel was abusing me! I kicked out with my back legs, and my claws were out. They caught in her
clothes and scratched her neck.
‘You little demon,’ she snarled and dropped me. I mean – dropped me, not put me down nicely. Unprepared, I twisted and landed awkwardly. Stunned, I crouched there, looking up
at her, hoping she’d apologise, pick me up and make peace with me. Instead, she clapped her hands right in my ear and I ran away, through the puss-flap and into the garden. It was lovely
sunshine, but I sat in the dark underneath the decking and licked myself miserably. I was trembling inside with a mixture of fear and anger. What had I done? How could Gretel change so quickly from
sweetness to rage?
I’d never felt so alone. I wanted my parents and my brothers to guide and comfort me. I wanted a dog like Harriet. I wanted a nice name, a beautiful romantic name suitable for a silver and
white tabby who had come here to heal. My life wasn’t working out the way I’d planned.
Then I remembered my angel. It was a long time since I’d talked to her, and I’d never really learned how to see her on this planet. Where was she?
A cloud blew over the sun, the garden darkened and rain spattered down, splashing the leaves with drops. It dripped through cracks in the decking and I shrank back against the wall, feeling
worse.
The storm was soon over and the sun shone out again, making everything glisten, and tempting me out to feel it on my fur. I sat on the path and stared out at a bright raindrop hanging from a
leaf. The sunlight was turning it into a blazing star, so bright I squinted my eyes to look at it, and it started turning pink, then gold, then blue. As I turned my head sideways, the rays of light
revolved like the spokes of a wheel.
Mesmerised, I focused on the centre where the rays of pink, gold and blue converged, and with my daydream came a memory from the spirit world. That magic dot in the centre was the point of
infinity. In my mind, I could go through it, into the land of spirit. Ignoring everything else around me, ignoring my hurt feelings, I concentrated on it. I zoomed in, slipped through it into a
place of light.
And there, waiting for me, was my fantastic angel. The Angel of Secrets. Her colours were those of a dragonfly in the sun, her face was the happiest beaming smile, welcoming me. Just seeing her
gave me courage.
‘It’s all going wrong, living with Gretel,’ I confided. ‘She’s so angry with me for being a cat.’
‘I know, I know. I see it all,’ my angel said, and she wrapped her light around me. I nestled into the sparkles, and listened.
‘It’s a time of learning,’ she explained. ‘You are a young cat with no mother to teach you. Gretel is teaching you how to live with humans. If you don’t learn this,
you will suffer all your life.’
‘But why can’t she teach me nicely?’ I asked.
‘She doesn’t know how. She’s a human. She has stuff to learn too.’
‘But why am I a bad cat?’
My angel threw an extra whoosh of stars around me, warming my soul. ‘You’re not a bad cat. There are no bad cats. You must forgive Gretel. She doesn’t know a better way, and
she was treated unkindly by her family. When she is fierce, she is afraid.’
I cuddled into the warmth of her aura as if it were a cushion.
‘Your mother, Jessica, was a very creative cat. She did all the things you are doing now and got punished and called a demon for it. But she was loyal and courageous too.’
‘But this isn’t how my life is meant to be,’ I said. ‘I’m not meant to be with Gretel, am I? And I’m not “Fuzzball”.’ I flicked my tail in
frustration.
‘You are an earth kitten. All young earthlings must go through a time of learning, and if you don’t learn, you can’t move on,’ said my angel. ‘So learn! Learn what
Gretel is trying to teach you. We have work for you.’
She melted back into the light, leaving me realising I was staring at a sparkle on a raindrop. I sat thinking about how to please Gretel. Catch a mouse and present it to her? Or that robin who
was tugging a worm out of the lawn. He’d make a nice gift for Gretel.
I stalked him, and pounced, but he flew up, muttering, and swore at me from the rooftop. And he’d lost his worm.
Full of energy and frustration, I rioted in the garden, rehearsing pounces and charges, and playing wildly with a soft ball Gretel had hung from a string for me. Then I heard laughter, and she
came out and sat by the lily pond, watching me.
‘You must forgive Gretel,’ the angel had said, so I gave it a go, rubbing my silky fur against her legs and smiling up at her. I gazed right into her soul and saw that she did need
forgiveness and lots of it. Behind that powdered exterior was a person who carried a burden and didn’t know how to let go of it.
‘Oh, Fuzzball. Come on then.’ She patted her lap and I jumped up and made a fuss of her, kissing and purring and kneading her with soft paws. ‘You’ve forgiven me,’
she said, and we were friends again. Phew!
But it didn’t end there. The same thing happened repeatedly through the autumn as I tried to understand what I did to make Gretel lose her temper and call me a demon. It came to a head
just before Christmas.
I was almost fully grown but still loving to play. One dark afternoon, Gretel came home with a tree. A spiky fir tree in a red pot. I was sleepy, curled up in a chair, but I sat up to watch what
she was doing. She opened a box full of shiny baubles and funny little creatures on loops of string, and she hung them all over the tree.
‘There. Our Christmas tree, Fuzzball. Isn’t it pretty?’
She switched on some lights and the tree twinkled like magic. We sat in the dark admiring it. The tree was hypnotic. I couldn’t stop looking and longing to leap up and play with all those
things. There was a miniature white teddy bear with a bobble hat, there was a fat little man in a red coat and his face looked so real. It had glittery eyes. There was a skinny fairy right at the
top, looking very serious. And, hey, there was a BIRD on the tree, a robin like the one in the garden. He looked at me cheekily, but was he real? I couldn’t work it out.
I jumped down and stalked round the tree, looking at that robin from all angles. The shiny baubles attracted me too and I sat in front of one, fascinated to see a tiny cat inside, a cat that
moved when I moved. There was a room in there with a window and a fire burning. Could it be a mirror? I peered behind it, but it was perfectly round, a ball on a string. Gretel must have hung it
there for me to play with. I patted it experimentally, and the whole tree shivered and shook and glittered in new places.
‘NO,’ said Gretel in that warning kind of voice I hated.
I looked at her and her aura had spikes.
‘Fuzzball! NO. You are not to play with the Christmas tree.’
By now, I knew what NO meant. My back and tail twitched with irritation. Didn’t cats have any rights? Why couldn’t I play and be joyful? Turning my back on Gretel, I sat in the
doorway pretending to wash.
‘Good girl,’ she said, but I ignored that. I knew I was going to play with that Christmas tree when the opportunity came. I dreamed about it all night and, in the morning, I curled
up in my favourite chair and pretended to be asleep. Gretel came and looked at me, her car keys jingling, but I didn’t move, even when she stroked me softly and told me she was going to fetch
her mother.
I listened to the engine of her neat little blue car, and the slam of the garage door. She had gone. I got up and flexed my muscles, ate some of the mashed sardine she’d left for me, and
swanned into the lounge.
The Christmas tree was still there, glittering expectantly, and now it was mine. Fantastic bubbly joy filled my heart; I was so happy, and I wanted that feeling to last. So I moved in slowly on
the tree, my eyes chasing its moving points of light. I chose a pink shiny bauble and messed about, touching noses with my reflection. I patted it and watched everything shake and settle down
again. There was a wild feeling deep in my being, charging me up like an electric cat.