The Secret Cat Page 3

“It’s our family joke,” said Tom, “like when you call a tall person shorty.”

  Tiger and Tom lay on a picnic rug beside Grumps’s pond and in the warmth of the contented afternoon Grumps soon fell asleep in his deckchair.

  Frogs’ eyes poked through the surface of the pond like bubbles. Dragonflies buzzed past Tiger and Tom’s ears, like soft electricity, and bees burbled on the buddleia bush.

  It had been hard work digging, and soon Tiger and Tom closed their eyes …

  “Wakey, wakey,” said a gentle, deep voice. The children stretched and opened their eyes. Grumps stood beside them.

  “While we were in the land of nod, somebody has been in the pond.”

  The water had been stirred into brown clouds. The bubble-eyed frogs were gone and weeds were floating in clumps. The mud at the edge was thick and sticky. A brown path led from the pond to Grumps’s kitchen door.

  The kitchen floor was spattered with mud and Monday sat under the table, looking like a melted chocolate piglet.

  “She must have followed you, Tiger,” said Tom.

  “I’m really sorry, Grumps. That’s our warthog,” said Tiger as she tried to grab Monday. “You are such a naughty wartie!”

  At Tiger’s cross voice, Monday squealed, dashed between them all and ran outside. Tiger raced after her just in time to see her dive and splat into the pond.

  Monday wallowed and rolled and almost looked like she was smiling at the fact that nobody could reach her.

  She did not want to come out.

  Tiger and Tom squatted at the murky edge of the pond. When Monday waded closer, Tiger tried to pick her out of the muck, but she was slippery, like a brown bar of soap.

  “Maybe we need a net,” said Tom.

  “I think she wants somebody to go in with her,” said Grumps, laughing.

  “Us?” said Tiger and Tom. “No way!”

  Tiger went back to Willowgate to ask May Days what to do.

  May Days was plumbing in a new washing machine. She had oil on her hands, dust on her knees and piles of dirty laundry around her. Tiger told her what had happened.

  “Warthogs love mud,” May Days explained. “It’s like sunscreen for a wartie.”

  “But we can’t let her back in the house with all that mud on her,” said Tiger.

  “Good job you’ve made her a den outside then,” said May Days. “Don’t worry about that warthog. She’ll come home when she’s hungry.”

  Of course! Tiger raced back outside and banged the bucket from the other side of the hedge. Straightaway Monday slipped out of the pond and dashed through the hedge to see what was for dinner.

  That night, Tiger was falling asleep when the blanket over her sleeping bag slid away. She tugged it back.

  “Are you comfortable?” asked May Days.

  “Something’s pulling,” said Tiger, and the blanket whipped right off the bed.

  May Days and Tiger crawled to the ends of their camp beds to look.

  There was Monday, holding the blanket in her teeth. She wriggled, commando-style, back through a hole she’d dug under the pen. She dragged the blanket behind her and stuffed it into her den, shuffling in after it.

  “Maybe she was cold,” said Tiger, leaning on her elbows.

  “At least we know she can dig,” May Days chuckled.

  “May Days?” whispered Tiger, so as not to wake Monday.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think Monday just wants to be near us?”

  “Us?” said May Days. “I think she wants to be near you. Here,” she said, reaching out and passing some more invisible Tiger Bravery, “you earned a whole lot more today.”

  Monday had a den, so Tom thought they should have one too.

  Tiger had her own bedroom at home and there was a corner of the playground at school that she and her friends liked to call their own, but she’d never had a den before.

  “Could we call it our Holiday Den, Tom?” said Tiger.

  “Tiger and Tom’s Secret Holiday Den!” said Tom.

  All they had to do was find somewhere to make it …

  Tiger had only explored the smaller back garden around the tent and beech tree, and the hedge between Willowgate and Grumps’s house.

  “Where shall we start?” said Tom.

  “This way,” said Tiger, wondering what other secrets they might find in the rest of the garden. “We’re going into the jungle.”

  They went around to the front of the house, past the leaning conservatory, wading through the long grass to the woodland at the side of the house.

  It was a jungle of tall trees, swishing grasses, rustling brambles and wildlife scurrying away.

  “Have you ever heard of the Staring Oat?” said Tom. The jungle was dense and they had to step high and push branches aside.

  “What’s the Staring Oat?” said Tiger, letting Tom go ahead.

  “It lives in dark and dusty places, and scares the heebie-jeebies out of people.”

  “Where does the Staring Oat come from?” said Tiger.

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “What does it look like?” said Tiger, expecting Tom to say nobody knows again.

  “It’s got huge staring eyes,” said Tom. “They’re bright green, like giant glow-worms, and they spin, which makes you dizzy.” He twirled and lurched around to show how giddy you might get. “And it’s extremely frightening.”

  “How big is it?” said Tiger.

  “Very big,” said Tom. “And that –” he pointed and stopped spinning so Tiger bumped into him – “is just the kind of place you might find it.”

  Tiger’s eyes followed Tom’s pointing finger to an old shed. It was bigger than most garden sheds and the faded blue paint was cracked and creased. The hinges and handle were rusted, and cobwebs drooped from the dark windows.

  “That is just the kind of place to be avoided,” said Tiger, turning and heading back towards the safety of the house.

  There, they found that Monday had dug another hole under the pen and escaped again. Their den would have to wait.

  Tiger and Tom looked around the tent, and then in all the rooms and cupboards of the house. Holly the cat sat by the window in one of the bedrooms, staring into the garden.

  “Holly, have you seen Monday?” said Tiger. The cat looked over at Tiger, just for a moment. Her tail flowed from the windowsill, down in a straight line, before curving back up slowly, like a hook. “I see you’re busy fishing with your tail,” said Tiger.

  They checked Grumps’s pond, but there was no tell-tale swirling swamp to say that Monday had been there.

  “We’ve looked in all the usual places,” said Tiger, anxious that Monday might have gone to look for her as she had done before.

  May Days gave Tiger a hug and patted the pocket where she kept her Tiger Bravery.

  “I am trying to be brave,” whispered Tiger in May Days’ ear, but she was finding it hard when worry whirled in her tummy. Where was that wartie?

  Some of the floorboards were loose from the plumbing work, so May Days went to check that Monday hadn’t fallen down a hole somewhere.

  Tiger and Tom searched the front garden. They ran under the trailing branches of the willow tree that sprawled across the lawn, but Monday wasn’t there. They tramped through the long grass, they searched in the brambles, and they checked under the shrubs. No sign of the missing wartie.

  “We’ve looked everywhere,” said Tiger, caring very much what might have happened to the little warthog.

  And then Holly came sauntering past. She looked over her shoulder, kinked her tail into a question-mark shape and seemed to be asking the children to follow.

  She led them deep into the jungle garden, along the path they had flattened earlier, towards … the Staring Oat Shed.

  “Just because it’s the scariest looking place, with the biggest cobwebs and the darkest space, it doesn’t mean she’s in here,” wailed Tiger. But by now t
hey’d searched everywhere else.

  “Who’s going in to find out?” said Tom.

  Tiger hadn’t wanted the wartie to stay at Willowgate at first, but now she couldn’t think of anything else except how much she missed Monday and wanted her to be safe.

  “We’re going to go in the Staring Oat Shed,” said Tiger, “but first we need to be prepared.”

  Wearing a hard hat and visor, Tom batted and flattened a wide path through the jungle, using an old wooden tennis racket, until they were close to the treacherous shed.

  “What’s the mirror for?” whispered Tiger, crouched behind him, wearing yellow rubber gloves.

  Tom had brought Grumps’s shaving mirror.

  “It will reflect the sun and shine a bright light in the Staring Oat’s eyes,” whispered Tom, “and while it’s blinded, we can go in and get Monday.” He looked at what Tiger was holding. “What’s the hosepipe for?”

  “Squirting.”

  “On the count of three …” said Tom.

  “I’ve got the jitters and the creeps, Tom,” said Tiger. But she thought about Monday, who might be trapped in the shed feeling even more scared than she was. Tiger took a deep breath.

  Tom was very quiet for a moment. He had a key ring in his pocket. Hanging on the end was a small plum-shaped ball of green fluff, with two googly eyes and flat, felt feet.

  “I don’t think that is going to scare the Staring Oat,” said Tiger.

  “It’s my gonk,” said Tom. “It’s for making you smile when you’re glum.”

  Tiger smiled, but her tummy was in turmoil. Poor Monday. Would the Staring Oat let her go?

  “It helps if you’ve got something in your pocket,” said Tom, putting the gonk back in his. “Especially when you’re scared.”

  Tiger put her hand in her pocket. Tiger Bravery was invisible, it couldn’t be touched or felt, but she knew it was there.

  She might have just enough to face the Staring Oat and rescue Monday.

  “Ready now?” said Tom, and Tiger gulped and nodded. “On the count of three …”

  “Can we do the count of twenty?” said Tiger, which they did, counting slowly, until Tom shouted,

  Tom slammed the door open, waving his racket.

  Monday was there! Shivering and quivering.

  And what else was that?

  Tom caught the light on the mirror and flashed it around.

  Tiger turned on the hosepipe and only a trickle of water dribbled out because the perilous plumbing was still up the spout. She dropped the hose while Tom swung his racket.

  Tiger scooped up Monday and ran back out with the piglet under her arm, pulling Tom behind her. They burst out of the shed, past Holly, who was sitting calmly, licking her paw.

  “Did you see the Staring Oat?” said Tom, panting.

  “It was huge,” said Tiger. “Like a big gonk, but not hairy or funny.”

  “We were lucky it was lying down asleep and we didn’t have to stare into its eyes,” said Tom.

  Tiger held the trembling wartie in her arms. “Poor Monday, stuck in the Staring Oat Shed,” said Tiger. “You are to stay right by my side from now on. Got it?”

  Tom made a sign from a stick and a piece of cardboard.

  They thought about adding Holly’s name, but that cat didn’t seem scared of anything.

  “I’m going to dazzle the Staring Oat and slay it, and then the shed will be ours,” said Tom.

  “Please can we do it another time?” said Tiger. “Monday is still scared out of her wits.”

  That night, Tiger lay at the wrong end of her camp bed, with her head sticking out of the tent, watching Monday, who was safe in the den, wrapped in her blanket. And just as Tiger was wondering if Holly had led them to the shed on purpose, that white cat came wandering over.

  Holly looked through the wire at the wartie and, with one light spring, bounced over the side of the pen.

  As if she knew that Monday hated to be alone, she curled up beside her.

  “Well, Holly,” whispered Tiger, “you look like you missed Monday today too.”

  Monday was in her pen, happily snuffling around in the soil. She had begun to eats roots and grass and other things in the earth. Holly sat nearby in the sun, blinking sleepily, so Tiger crawled through the hedge to see Tom.

  Grumps was making a cake and Tom stood on a chair beside him, watching the whisking food processor.

  “What’s your favourite animal?” Tiger asked Tom.

  “Guinea pig,” he said.

  “Have you got a guinea pig?”

  “No, I’m not even allowed a pet spider at home.”

  “Have you ever even held a guinea pig?” said Tiger.

  “Once,” said Tom. “My friend Jeremy Costa has one.”

  Grumps scraped the cake mixture into tins while Tom licked the whisk.

  “What’s your favourite animal, Grumps?” asked Tiger.

  “Well, now …” He scratched his head and thought for a moment. “I like bears,” he said. “Brown bears and teddy bears.” Grumps grinned.

  Bears were nice, thought Tiger, but they weren’t tigers.

  Grumps leaned in to Tiger and whispered, “I had a special teddy bear called Rhubarb when I was a boy.” He winked. “I used to carry him everywhere to make me feel brave.”

  “Do you still have Rhubarb?” asked Tiger, touching her pocket of Tiger Bravery.

  Grumps smiled. “He’s in the attic, because I seem to be able to manage without him most of the time now.”

  The cake went in the oven, just as Tiger heard a horn honking over at Willowgate.

  Dennis had arrived with his van and, with Tom busy curling his tongue around a wooden spoon, Tiger ran down to open the gate.

  “What’s your favourite animal, Dennis?” asked Tiger.

  “I used to like pelicans,” he said, “but I prefer elephants now. Less pecky.”

  Dennis had come to check on Monday, so Tiger helped put her in a box on the weighing scales.

  Monday had reached her target weight.

  “Well done, Monday,” said Tiger, holding her a little bit longer than she needed to. “I knew you could do it.” She kissed her on her snout, which made Monday grunt softly.

  “Does this mean she’s finished growing?” asked Tiger.

  “No, there’s still a way to go,” said Dennis, “but she looks ready for the next phase of Operation Wartie.”

  “Ooh, did you hear that, Monday?” Tiger scratched the bristly wartie just behind the ears. “I’ll go and get Tom. He has been a very brave animal trainer and he’ll want to know what our plan is.”

  Dennis bit the corner of his lip. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were usually bright and sparkling, but there was a sadness in them today. He crouched down beside Tiger.

  “The next phase is for Monday to be introduced to a new family of warthogs. I’ve come to collect her and take her back to the zoo today,” said Dennis gently. “You’d better get Tom to come and say goodbye.”

  Nobody had told Tiger that Monday had to go back. It wouldn’t have mattered in the beginning, but it mattered terribly now.

  “Monday’s not ready,” cried Tiger. “She isn’t brave enough yet.”

  Tiger ran to the tent with Monday under her arm. She zipped up the flappy door to keep everyone out. She pulled her sleeping bag under the camp bed and made a den for her and Monday to hide in.

  A little while later, Tiger heard someone walking towards the tent. “Tiger,” called May Days, “come out for a cuddle.”

  “I’m not coming out,” sniffed Tiger. “And neither is Monday. She needs me.”

  Tiger heard more footsteps. “Tiger?” said Tom. “Can I come in?”

  “No,” said Tiger. “Monday is asleep and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Ever again!”

  It went quiet for a while.

  There was rustling and whispering and things moved about outside the tent, making noises that Tiger didn’t recognise. She unzipped the flap a little and she a
nd Monday poked their noses out to see what was going on. Holly was sitting there, right by the tent, watching too.

  May Days and Dennis, Tom and Grumps, had pulled up a picnic table and chairs outside. They had a teapot and mugs, and a fat vanilla sponge decorated with stripes of apricot jam and cream, so it looked a little tiger-ish.

  Tiger zipped the tent door back up. They could all stay out there for the rest of the week eating cake, Monday was not going back to the zoo. She would be lonely and scared without Tiger to look after her. But Tiger couldn’t help listening when the conversation was all about her favourite subject.

  “There’s a magician in America who makes tigers appear,” said Tom. “Grumps saw it for real.”

  “Where do the tigers come from?” said May Days.

  “I don’t know – they’re magic!” said Tom.

  May Days laughed.

  “We had a Bengal tiger at the zoo once. She was fiercely protective of her cubs,” said Dennis.

  “Tigers were my favourite animal when I was a girl,” said May Days, and Tiger sat up. She still held Monday in her arms, but wished she was outside on her grandmother’s lap, just as much as she wished for Monday to stay at Willowgate.

  From inside the tent, Tiger said, “Were they really?”

  Tom, Grumps and Dennis tiptoed away quietly.

  “Did I tell you about that time when I was a girl and my parents lived in India?” said May Days. “I was at boarding school in England, which made living with wildlife a piece of cake.”

  Tiger leaned over and pressed her ear against the tent door.

  “During the school holidays I would go and stay with my parents,” continued May Days. “One day, I was wandering around the garden. It was a beautiful garden, some of it landscaped, and some overgrown and jungle-like—”

  “Like Willowgate?” said Tiger through the canvas.

  “Very much like Willowgate,” said May Days. “Perhaps even wilder.”

  “And?” said Tiger.

  “And one day, as I wandered around,” said May Days, “you will never guess what I came face to face with.”