The Cat

Looking back, Gus had always decided the trouble had started with a scraping sound. Not a normal scraping sound of the other worried animals’ claws, as they scratched the door to their cage. No, it wasn’t a sheep scratch or a dog scratch ,or a rabbit scratch, or even a mouse scratch, but the sound of a new and dangerous animal’s claws . . .1

Gus had just finished his round of the room, opening each cage in turn and wishing the occupying animal goodnight (you see, although none of them had spoken the fact out loud, Gus was definitely the boss of Kennel block 13, and they all loved him and respected him), and was about to return to his own cage when he heard it.

“Hello?,” he called to the scratching, feeling just a little nervous, “Who’s there?”

Silence, until suddenly a shape sprang out of the gloom, right at Gus, who skittered back in surprise. The shape landed delicately in front of him, and arched its back. It was a cat.

Gus blinked in surprise. Why would a cat be at the ARC (Animal Rescue Center)? Cats never needed to rely on humans, and that was exactly what everyone in the kennels did.

The cat seemed to read his mind. “Oh, I’m not here for the humans” she purred in a voice as smooth as silk, which sent shivers down Gus’s neck, “I’m here to help you.”

“Oh yeah,” snorted Gus who had a natural distrust of cats who, in his opinion, were sly and crooked animals, “Well we don’t need your help. The .humans look after us!”

“The humans?!” The cat said incredously, “Honey, the humans are what got you in here in the first place!”

“Tha-that’s ridiculous! We’re in the RSPCA- the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. It’s run by the humans to help us get better.”

“ Ha- but to get better from what?! The treatment you were given by other humans! ” the cat jeered.

Gus looked at her doubtfully.

“Yes, yes. I know I can’t spell!” snapped the cat “Look, just give me a tour of your little minions, or whatever the others are.”

“Family,” said Gus quietly.” They’re my family.”

But never the less he obliged.

“This,” he began, coughing at the smell of smoke, “is Baxter.”

In the far corner of  the cage sat a small, hunched up beagle. His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, slid towards us, but his mouth never stopped chewing. The cat’s own eyes glanced at Gus, questioningly.

“Erg . . .nicotine gum,” he explained awkwardly, “ Baxter was chosen for scientific experiments on cigarettes. He’s still recovering from the treatment he received from the  . . . the . . .”

The cat smiled, a bitter, humourless smile.

“From the humans,” Gus sighed.

“You w-wouldn’t have just a tiniest, little cigarette on you? Just a very little one, a very little, very little one . . .”

“No Baxter,” Gus spoke gently, “You don’t want them any more, remember? They’re bad for you.”

But Baxter wasn’t listening. He just sat, a pitiful creature huddled in a corner, whispering listlessly over and over “Just a very little one, a little one . . .”

“These,” said Gus, “are One and Two,”

“Hey Gus!” two sheep chanted simultaneously, “W-Wait! Did he just copy me again?! He’s still doing it! Guuuus,”they whined, “He’s copying me again! Make hi  stop- make him stop!!”