YOWL!
By
Stephen Jansen
ONE: CATEGORIZE.
The summer’s getting fat and lazy.
It smells of old hours and bad trash jammed in the gutters.
A sullen violence hangs in Friday’s stale late afternoon, like a rotten body twisting from a hangman’s rope. Violence is waiting for the sun to sink below the rooftops, waiting for the night.
This is the time of all our lives.
Perhaps I hear the voice of a last desperate summer, and a chance to be really alive, just one more time.
*
My name is Yowl.
It says so on the silver medal hanging from my collar.
That makes it true in two ways.
One, Yowl is my given name, and two, Yowl is a good way to describe my nature. Tough, credible. No crap accepted here.
For the enthusiasts out there who are interested, I’m a blue tabby American short hair. To John Q. Public in general, I’m your average suburban cat. At this moment, I’m enjoying the feeling of oncoming violence because there’s every reason we’ll come out on top again. That’s me and the others in the gang. You can meet them later.
Today is a special day.
This is the last day of school for my owner’s kid. He is fourteen human years old and today is the last day of school for six weeks. I thought I’d show a little loyalty and trek out here to meet him. He should pick me up and carry me home and then I’ll get some early food and milk.
You have no idea the amount of planning that goes into getting fed.
So here I am, lying on the edge of a warm brick wall that borders a pub across the street from his shiny school. I could just curl up and go to sleep here. If it wasn’t for the importance of the day, I probably would.
A bell sounds from the school.
This is it.
Zero hour!
They burst out of the building like a wave of invading soldiers bent on rape and pillage. The kids are all colours and sounds to me. They move as one collective animal bent on escape. Sharp white teeth line pink mouths and trails of striped coloured tie flash against creased white shirts. The writhing beast emits one stored up yell of release that echoes across to the pub. Shoes thunder across hot playground concrete. Lessons are forgotten, homework is a receding memory, and the future is nothing more than an endless summer.
And there’s Peter, my owner’s kid.
A ruffled monster capable of devouring entire sweet shops without a trace of effort. Each item of his clothing is perfectly out of place, his shirt flapping, his tie a crinkled strip, grey shorts are held up by a tattered belt, and his socks bunch at the regulation different heights above scuffed trainers.
That’s my boy! That’s a real rebellion. The expression in that dress code, the statement in that fashion of young alienation carries more weight than all the holy wars I’ve ever seen on his dad’s TeeVee.
Ah! He sees me, early milk, here I come.
He’s telling his friends about me.
This is too easy, I can almost taste and smell the fridge interior as the door swings open to reveal Milkopolis, and maybe a bit of Tuna. I raise my head and give him the “take me home” stare.
What’s this? He’s picking up a…
JUMP!
I’m off the wall as a chunk of concrete lands where I had been a second ago. I dive low and scramble through the bushes on the other side of the brick wall, getting a stink of dust and old anthills up my nose.
The little swine is too slow as usual, but that was close.
So much for the milk. I wonder what’s got into him? Probably thinks he’s too tough to own a cat. I hear that dogs are the rage now. You’ve got to own a stupid Rottweiler that can bore through solid rock for breakfast just to impress the girls on the beach.
My owner’s brick induced rejection leaves me at a loose end for now.
I’m not meeting the others until sundown.
I turn onto Red Bank Road and head back towards the Miner’s home.
I know…I’ll stop in at the map and look at all those far away places.
What better way to kill a late afternoon on a Friday? With any luck, the caretaker will come up with the milk my suddenly violent owner has denied me.
Saint Stephen’s on the Cliffs is an old church with a modern glass and wood front. It is surrounded by grass and hedges that smell of a ripe summer so powerful it makes the old humans sneeze.
To get there I walk along Holmfield Road. Once past the shopping village and the big traffic island, it’s easy going. The stink of car smoke drifts away once on Holmfield because the sea is only a block to the right.
I pass the abandoned Miner’s home, a place of gothic silence that reminds me of a prison. It’s emptiness has faced the sea for a few years now, and it looks out of place in the middle of all this suburbia, but that’s a story for later…I was talking about the church.
I keep up a good pace along side the garden walls. I find this tactic discourages any human intervention, such as people who want to stroke my fur, or worse. If they see me hurrying along on light paws, they see a cat with a purpose. I pass the lamp posts, ignoring the marker smells of dogs and other cats, some of which I recognise, invisibly staining the brown stone.
The afternoon seems even hotter here, the heat increasing as if the sun has joined one of those human work incentive schemes that makes them older quicker and their superiors richer. I often wonder if the humans will ever learn to do something just for themselves.
A row of comfortable houses between Holmfield and the sea forms a wind barrier, and I’ve got quite a sweat on by the time I get to the open door of the church entrance. The air tastes of silence and prayer just beyond the inner door, and I wait for the coolness of the tiles beneath my feet to dissipate the afternoon heat from my fur. No one seems to be here, so I go to the big map and stare up at it.
The map is a street plan of the town encased in glass and fixed up right so that it’s level with a human’s head. I can look at the map for hours and hours, considering and remembering the familiar places of past adventure and the occasional narrow escape.
I know of nothing beyond its boundaries except the things that I see on the TeeVee in the front room of the house. I heard once that some of the places on the TeeVee aren’t real, so I can’t trust all of those pictures, but the map is true, I have been to many of the places named on it.
The proof of existence is in the visiting.
The bottom of the map is blue and shows where the waters edge begins and flows out to the place where the sun soaks into the sea to cool off after a hard day’s heat.
This town is built on the edge of the land and the weather crashes onto the shores and spills across the sky in the winter. That’s when I’m glad to be a cat. A warm fire and a soft carpet and all the smells of security for the long winter months.
If I stare at the map long enough, I can see a transparent veil settle over it, and on that veil is the map of cat territories. Our territory is marked well and is called Yowl, after me. We’re the best gang in the area and many have suffered in its wars. The boundary of this fine area of coastal suburbia stretches up from the waters edge, across the promenade and along Clarendon Rd. It runs along North gate and circuits the golf lands. A place of wind swept hills and strange markers where the humans hit a ball with a stick and chase it down a small hole. This activity seems to make some of them happy, but I noticed that the more important looking humans always win.
From Devonshire Road, the boundary moves east to surround the small park land where we sit among the sleeping trees in autumn’s silent evenings, and look out over the chilled and twinkling lights of distant Bispham. The boundary comes in again after the park, taking in Links Rd. and ending at Claremont Rd. then returning to the coast and waters edge once more.
This is my rough semi circle of turf, enforced by the gang, run in the name of fun and defended by my gang, who would rather die than live under another regime. The other regimes, or gangs, live beyond the Yowl boundary. Out there live cats and people gangs that I care not to imagine, but the map shows their vast universe of streets that sometimes hurts my head to think about, for over the map of the streets should be a map of the alleys.
Behind every block of houses lies a sub network of alleys that would make the map twice as complicated. The alleys are the only way to travel. They keep us out of the way of traffic and people, and we can move faster and with secrecy to where ever we are going, but they can lead to some truly horrible places.
Just east of my territory, lies the Dog Land Death Zone, a place known to the humans as Grange Park. A big and mighty gang of humans called ‘Council’ built the vast maze of streets and alleys and houses that to us are the stuff legend and rumour. I’ve never been there and I don’t intend to start now. Hundreds of dogs live there and prowl for the many expeditions of exploring cats that go in and rarely come back out. Only a fool or a mad cat goes in after dark.
I heard once that evil humans live there. That may be true. But I’ve learnt in my years that evil humans live anywhere. It’s the nature of the streets that make us what we are, and the Death Zone is such a place.
Humans rarely intervene in the real lives of cats. We share the streets and the spaces with them, and most of us are pets, me included. But the cover remains forever because the humans will never realise that within their society of rushing and panicking and buying, lies many a familiar world.
These are the lives experienced from alleys and rooftops, we are born to sit and think, and watch. This is not true for dogs. They are either going some where or coming back.
So, I’ve told you the Dog Land Death Zone is a place to avoid if you want to see your grand kittens grow up. That’s one of the bad places, but the town has some other areas of equal interest to the adventurous.
To the south, is Stanley Park, our Free Zone. It’s a big area of tree-surrounded fields and gardens with a tall clock tower in the centre. A big lake sits near the east side of the park and boats float gently on tiny waves. We go there to visit other gangs and trade legends. If the network is not maintained, how else are we to learn? There may be plans too big for us going on around our lives that we cannot prevent, but we need to know what they are. The Free Zone allows all cats a territorial equality; there are no wars here. This place is for everyone’s mutual benefit so that information may be exchanged for the good of all.
Further to the east, at the top of the map, far beyond the Death Zone and the Free Zone, lie the wild lands. The sun rises there after its cool dip in the sea the evening before, and that’s all I know about the wild lands and the last frontier known as Staining. Beyond Staining lies the emptiness of a place known as Marton Mere, then there are only fields and lakes where darkness and ignorance melt into weird legends.
At the southern edge of the map lie more wild lands and places I will never see.
Along the coast, following the water’s edge to the south lies the Pleasure Zone. I have spent hours with the gang and the other cat citizens of the territory as they sit spell bound by my story of the one occasion I was taken by my owners to the town centre lights at night, and beyond to the great Pleasure Zone where humans scream in delighted terror on trains that roar on tracks built high up into the night sky, and young humans spin round on brightly coloured cars and all of it is noise and music and light, light, light!
I went there three summers ago, and to this day I have no idea why I was taken along. Peter carried me the whole time while people carrying sticky purple sugar smelling wool on thin sticks stroked me with hands still shaking with excitement from the strange place. I have never seen so many humans at once. I smelled all the foods of the world cooking and rotting within a few yards of each other. The clouds of these strange aromas boiled invisibly between the lit towers, and men with painted faces and big hats with loud colours.
What I saw when we left the Pleasure Zone has stayed with me to this day. I looked into the distance, towards the southern wild lands and the unknown, and I saw a gateway to heaven. People were climbing into huge metal birds. When they had all gone inside, these birds made an awful roar as though in pain, then they rolled on fat wheels along a wide black road and then sailed up into the air. We had all seen this on the TeeVee, but we had put it down to one of the box’s lies.
Now I saw it was true. The human’s could fly, almost like the birds. They needed help, but they could do it. I remember how intoxicated I felt, carrying that knowledge home in the car journey back to Yowl territory. I bathed in the lights and the stars and the smells on the coast road. The seething thunder of the town centre, the danger and the fear all burning and I felt that all this was made for me. My owners were singing to the music in the car…la, la, la, la, lala la-la…
As soon as I was home we all made the journey to the Free Zone to tell the Trolls, the two wise cats of the park, that the human’s could fly. They were very interested because some cats desperately want to be able to fly, but the birds are very secretive and keep this information to themselves. That’s why cats catch and torture birds. Not for fun or food, but to try and beat the secret of flight out of them. So far, not a single bird has talked, but now it seems that the birds have made some kind of deal with the humans and passed the technique on.
I’m not too interested in flight, or torturing birds for that matter. If God had meant cats to fly he’d have given them wings, but I was quite a hero that summer. I provided a missing link of information that earned me the position of leader.
Heaven took the humans up, and the wise cats knew it must exist some where, because they already knew about Hell.
Hell is a thing called M55. It is the flood of cars that spill like a metal waterfall over the edge of Marton and away into distant infinity. The road punches in from the eastern territories and sucks the traffic out of the town, perhaps never to be seen again. I’m glad we live a long way from it.
North is better. It sits comfortably in its own space at the left side of the map where the last place marked is Cleveleys, but I know about the ships at Fleetwood and the other strange lands up near the places of good fresh country side.
The furthest point North West on the map is a place just beyond Opal and Spot’s territory. They live in Thornton, near the city of steel pipes and chimneys that Opal’s owner calls Bad Odour.
Bad Odour is a thing called “factory,” and belongs to another gang of humans called ICI. They are too far away to threaten us, so we don’t worry about them.
In and among these boundaries and cat lands lie the streets and alleys that make our world possible. To journey among them all would be too dangerous and time consuming to bother with. But some do it. We’ve had some strange visitors in the past and life is rarely dull.
The sun is falling past late afternoon and I should be getting back to eat. As I said earlier, this is a special day.
“Hello there.”
A human voice echoes behind me. I heard him several yards away but only turn when I hear that voice. It makes the human think he’s actually managed to sneak up on me. Flattery gets you everywhere.
The voice belongs to the caretaker, the guardian of Milkopolis!
I walk slowly to him and curl around his ankles, feeling his rough old hands on by back as I nuzzle my head against his fingers and start to purr.
“Come on then.”
Suddenly I’m airborne and level with that old face which is cracked like dusty concrete and breathing the tobacco and coffee of his lunch break. He carries me into the church and through to his cramped and musty office and before I know it, the cold milk and tuna is on two saucers before me.
Heaven.
*
TWO: CATASTROPHE.
It’s dark now, and the heat of the day has settled into the pavement.
I leave my owners half-asleep before the light of the TeeVee, and slip away through the cat flap in the kitchen door and out into the cool garden. The hedges and the bushes smell sweet and ready to receive the morning dew.
A fat yellow moon glares down over the rooftops.
On Shaftsbury Avenue I quickly run to the end of the garden walls and cross Holmfield road. On the other side I dodge between car and wall, heading for the corner of Holmfield Rd. and Empress Drive. I’m near the corner when car headlights pin me for a second and I crouch close to the wall. I watch as the car pulls in to the curb and stops. Someone is arriving.
Heavy human shoes step onto the pavement from the car and I duck down so that my eyes do not glitter in the street lights and give me away.
This is a special night, and no one must see the outcome.
The human walks from the car and I look up at his towering frame, what’s this? He is carrying a cat box. I look at the box and…
…I’m struck by lightening!
Inside the box is the most beautiful Seal Point short hair Siamese I have ever seen. Her almost silver fur flexes the light into perfect waves of lust for me. Blue eyes burn from a dark furred head that sprouts regally pointed ears. Our eyes meet across this unexpected distance and I’m on the hook!
In the few seconds that it takes for the human to carry her from the car to the front gate of the house, I understand the hidden meaning of tonight.
The look she gives me means, “See you later.”
Bet on it!
When the human has carried the cat box into the house, I creep up to the front gate and take a peek. The house has a name.
BRAXFIELD.
Quickly I move on and turn the corner at Empress Drive and follow it down about half way then turn into the alley that runs along the back of Holmfield Rd.
I find the crew waiting for me in the moon lit alley.
We greet each other and quickly dive into the garage with the broken bottom door panel. This is our secret hideaway.
‘How’s it going?’ I ask.
Desperado is my second in command. He is a black same colour. His eyes are very green. I like him because he has the nature of a risk taker. White line fever gripped him at a very early age and he’ll cross a road at speed and damn the cars to Hell. He moves about the territory during the daylight and scouts the other gangs.
‘I followed Flix today. He didn’t see me, but he was on his way to the Persian’s hide out. What ever is going on, it’s going to be tonight.’
I agree. The summer has gone on far too long for this to be avoided.
Claw has his own opinion. ‘I say we fight them. Blind them and send them running as a warning to the other crews not to mess with us!’
Claw is the muscle. He’s a big over weight brown Burmese with fierce golden eyes. I know why he wants to fight.
‘Hoping I’ll get killed tonight Claw? That would get you nearer to the top wouldn’t it?’
Claw looks at the ground, not in shame, but in guilt. ‘I never said that. If we don’t fight them off we’ll have to let them have the territory!’
‘I’m scared,’ whimpers Gladys.
Gladys is a nervous and shyly pretty black and white house cat with long whiskers and big brown sensitive eyes. She is a first class look out.
Desperado pulls a face, ‘You’re always scared! I don’t know why you’re in this gang!’
‘She’s here because she can see further than any of us. She’s an excellent spotter and we need her to watch our backs if we take them on.’ My defence of the weakest member of the gang gives me some respect with Claw.
‘She closes her eyes when she’s scared!’
I silence Desperado with a low growl, ‘leave her alone!’
This quietens them.
‘Speaking of lesser crew members,’ sneers Claw at Desperado, ‘where is Floyd?’
‘I’m here man, chill your paws.’
Floyd is an Abyssinian with a warm glowing red coat distinctly tickled by chocolate brown strokes. His eyes are a rich golden green. Floyd is the unfortunate by product of his exotic herb-smoking owners. Years of contact with the smoke from his household’s narcotic habits have affected his perspective on the world. Floyd is into the patterns formed by random brickwork, he likes sunsets more than anyone I know. He’s in the gang because of his mind. His strange slant on reality makes him a very clever and lateral thinker. When he’s sober he’s as fast as Desperado. Must be the smoke.
‘What’s happening?’ drawls Floyd, as he sits down next to Desperado.
‘It’s fight night you spaced idiot!’ Claw loses his cool, and yelps at him.
We all hiss at Claw.
‘Keep it down will you?’
I get down to business. ‘Now that we are all here, what are we going to do about Flix and his crew?’
No one answers, so I put forward the only two alternatives. ‘Who is for negotiation?’
Silence.
‘Who is for a war?’
They all yelp and cry.
‘A war it is then.’
Claw is adamant. ‘We’ve no choice. We fight or surrender. There’s no way I’m living by that creeps rules.’
‘It’s agreed then. We fight.’
A collective yowl echoes around the garage and the yowl is echoed again from outside!
We all stare at the doorway.
‘That’s them,’ says Claw.
‘I’m scared,’ whimpers Gladys.
‘Positions!’ I command.
We file out of the garage and take our places in the alley, fanning out like a wall of fur and talons before the five sets of yellow eyes shining from the Empress Drive end of the alley. Gladys jumps up to the roof of the garage and keeps a look out for the humans or any other cat gangs looking to take advantage of the situation.
Slowly, the Persians come out of the shadows and walk to us, stopping a short distance away.
Flix is a fat long hair Persian who has eaten too many KFC left overs. He suffers for his food because his territory does not contain any good scavenging grounds.
Flix’s land borders mine. It loops around Warley Road and then back to the west to encompass parts of Devonshire Road and Enfield Rd. He has control of the bridge at the biscuit factory and some power over the no cat’s land of the railway sidings that lead away from Town centre. In the west, his lands cut off sharply at Sherborne Rd. and do not reach to waters edge because he lost the wars with the town centre berserkers two summers ago and never recovered from it. As a consequence, his territory is a wasteland of bad cooking, bad kids, bad owners and useless artefacts. There is nothing to work with and the train yards leave him wide open to attack. Now he thinks he can throw his over fed belly into my territory and get away with it.
He’s going to learn a painful lesson tonight.
Flix has his gang with him. They are all Persians who prefer bad company and worse pass times, such as torturing birds for the secret of flight.
There is Maid and Taipey, brothers in crime. To the right of them walk Tiddles and Ollie. Don’t be fooled by the name. Tiddles is a mean bastard. With a name like that you either fight or die. Tiddles fought, and won. He shares his household with a dog called Boddington.
It must be a tough neighbourhood to grow up in.
Our two gangs sit and face each other in the alley. Tension crackles in the air and I can feel Claw wanting to dispense with the talk and get to the war.
I ask a stupid question. ‘What do you want Flix?’
Flix lifts his right paw and extends his claws; he studies them for dirt and threatens us with this gesture by playing the unconcerned visitor.
‘I have a deal for you,’ he purrs.
‘No deals Flix. Turn around and we’ll forget you even crossed the boundary with out an invite.’
‘Oh, that’s unfriendly,’ says Flix.
Maid sidles up to Flix, ‘can I do him Flix?’
Flix slaps him back into line. ‘You must excuse my over zealous companion. The heat of the night is affecting him. His sense of smell is rather heightened in this neck of the woods.’
I shrug. All I can smell is the scent from that gorgeous Siamese and the odour of fried chicken left over from last night’s feast, wafting out of the garage. I can also smell Flix’s lies.
‘I have a proposition,’ says Flix.
‘Go on.’
‘My area of town is very under rated for food scavenging. Now you on the other paw have plenty of Chinese take aways and dairy shops with fat wedges of cheese and pints of cream.’ He starts to drool. ‘What I want from you is a delivery of this food once a week at the boundary of our territories.’
‘In exchange for what?’
Flix puts his claws away and looks at me with confusion. ‘Exchange? There’s no exchange. You give us the food we ask for and this territory remains yours.’
Claw begins to laugh.
Desperado joins him and then says, ‘you’ve been going to Floyd’s owners for a smoke, haven’t you Flix?’
Floyd frowns, ‘hey, that’s a slander man.’
Flix does a double take of Floyd. ‘He made a sentence! Did you hear that?’ His crew laugh out of respect. ‘Well, do I have a deal?’
There is no point answering.
I look up at the dark backs of the terraced houses that form the alley and see the curtain blind windows with the blue glow of the TeeVee behind each one. Then I notice that one of the rear windows of Braxfield is lit and filled with the voluptuous shape of the Siamese.
This is now more than a war. I must win this battle and claim the paw of the Queen of Siamese. I look back at my crew. Claw is looking up at her, and I twinge with the beginnings of jealously.
‘Nice babe. Know her?’ asks Claw.
He knows I don’t. If he tries to claim her after the fight, he knows that this will increase the rivalry between us by ten fold. I’ll fight that battle when I get to it.
The crew sees me tense. I look up again at the window in time to see her swish her tail at me. That’s the only signal I need!
‘In to ‘em!’ I yowl.
We charge forward and choose our opposite number as the Persians run at us. I meet Flix in a head on collision of ripping talons and ripped fur. I get first blood and he yelps in pain as I slash the top off his right ear. He ducks and his left paw comes up and slices the air where my head had been a second before! That was close!
The wind is blasted out of me as Taipey crashes onto my back and I twist out from under him and double slash his face. Taipey’s right eye slurps from its socket and blood drenches me. There is a smell of hot lashing urine and a scream of horror as Taipey bolts from the fight and vanishes growling into the night, his eye hanging on torn threads. Flix is shocked just long enough for me to twist back to face him again and deliver a crushing bite to his head. I yank his neck forward and he spins away to hit his skull on the brick wall of the alley, leaving him stunned and dazed.
I look for the rest of the crew and dive into a huge pile of tangled claw and fur as Floyd, Desperado and Claw smash and batter the remaining Persians into ripped ruins.
We are demolishing them!
Tiddles comes out of the scrum and tries to attack Floyd from the rear but I get there in time and slash his right eye into four watery segments. Ollie leaps into the air and Desperado sinks his long fangs into Ollie’s throat. Blood pours from a gaping wound, flowing over his collar and into his mouth. Ollie falls and dies after choking on the warm stained alley floor.
In a fearful panic, Maid and Tiddles take to the shadows and run for their lives in the wrong direction. They run squealing into the north end of the alley, off towards Bispham. When we get ourselves back together I’ll put the word out that Maid and Tiddles and Taipey are loose in the boundary and should be wasted before being thrown back over the border as a wounded warning to the other crews.
All opposition defeated, we crowd around the stunned body of Flix, who is lying cross eyed by the alley wall.
‘Wake up you fat bucket of lard!’ I yelp at him.
Flix gets to his feet and backs against the brick while Claw leers at him, wanting blood.
I lean close to him; “here’s the story. Go back and tell your friends what happens when you bring invasion plans to our side of the boundary, go and show them your cuts and bruises and tell them you got off lightly, understand?’
‘I-I understand,’ stammers Flix, and we let him pass. Soon he is gone and the victory of the night is ours. I look up at the window to bow to my queen, but she has gone.
I signal to Gladys instead and she jumps down from her look out point and joins us all as we dive quickly back into the garage.
‘We did it, we beat them!’ Claw is breathing the smell of his own fear and sweat, the blood of our battle is a heavy odour on all of us and we are drunk with victory.
‘Looks like you’ve got an admirer,’ says Gladys, as I lick my whiskers.
‘She was looking at me!’ says Claw as he preens his coat.
Gladys winks at me. We know the truth, so I don’t challenge Claw just yet. This slight altercation is broken by the sound of Desperado sharpening his claws on the broken old chair at the rear of the garage, ‘Celebration time! What shall we do?’
I make the sensible suggestion, ‘the first thing we should do is get home and lie low for a while.’
They see the reason in this but they still want to party, and why not. We deserve it.
Floyd comes up with the answer, ‘a messenger from the Thornton Lands came by last week, he says the big party at Spot and Opal’s is still on.’
Claw frowns, “that’s a long way.”
‘But it’s fun when we get there. Remember last time?’
I certainly do.
‘Well then, we can stay over there while the dust settles here, we let our new heavy reputation get around by relaxing at a party.’
I think for a minute, ‘that suit you Desperado? You Gladys?’
Desperado grins, ‘sounds like my kind of fun.’
Gladys shivers, ‘I get scared that far from home.’
Claw shrugs, ‘is there any thing you aren’t scared off?’
‘Home, warm fires, thick carpets, Milkopolis.’
‘All right!’ says Claw, ‘I get it. We’ll look after you.’
‘I’ll come.’ Says Gladys, out numbered by popular opinion.
‘Come on. I’ll take you home,’ says Claw, and they leave the garage after a good night to us all.
Gladys and Claw live on Leckhampton. That’s across Warbreck Hill road and past the small park. They live with their owners who have a big lazy chocolate obsessed dog called Max, who isn’t a bad sort when you get to know him.
Desperado stretches and says goodnight. With a flick of his tail he is gone. That leaves Floyd. He looks at me with those far off, almost lunatic eyes, and wonders at the future. ‘Getting tougher isn’t it?’
I am forced to agree, ‘you’re right, it is.’
‘Better enjoy the summer while it lasts.’ He advises. Then he winks at me and leaves the garage.
Floyd is right. The violence it takes to avert a full invasion is twice what was once required. Things are changing. Maybe we’re all getting too old to be young. How frightening!
I’m alone now in the aftermath with the smell of blood and dust. I step from the garage and look at the shattered body of Ollie. A pity it had to come to this, but they had a chance to back off and they didn’t take it.
I look up at the window of Braxfield. There is no sign of my fan, but I hear the unmistakable sound of a cat flap coming from the back door of the house and her scent reaches me. It is the luxuriant scent of years of grooming and good food. I hear her paws padding towards the gate, a quick swish of air and she appears on top of the wall.
I make the first move, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ she replies, ‘quite a killer aren’t you?’
‘When I have to be.’
She jumps down off the wall and sits next to me. I notice her collar.
‘Do you like it?’ She asks me, begging for some flattery.
‘I’ve never seen one like it before,’ I take a closer look and see that hanging from the collar is a patterned and engraved silver ball.
‘I won some prize, and my owners like to let people know.’
‘Must be fun to be famous.’
She frowns, ‘not really, it attracts trouble some times.’
‘Like me?’
She stares at me to let me know I’m doing just fine. Her blue eyed gaze appraises the dead body of Ollie, ‘local trouble?’
‘As always,’ I tell her, as if this sort of thing occurs every night.
‘What’s your name?’
‘February.’
That’s it! I’m in love. ‘I’m Yowl.’
‘Hello Yowl.’ She licks my face, ‘is there somewhere more private we can…talk?’
‘Sure,’ this is too easy. We go into the garage, and then there are no more words. She is catastrophic, exotic, fortissimo, explosive, definitive. A red hot and cool implosion of smooth fur and accessible flesh. We tumble and bite and grip and roll through the old oil and dust, the smell of scent and fear is heavy in the garage and she squeals and sings and dances until we can stand the sex no more, and with one last joint yelp we separate and lie next to each other on the warm Earth.
When my powers of speech return, I ask her where she is from.
‘Garstang Rd East.’
My fur stands up on end for a second. ‘The Dog Land Death Zone?’
She is so cool about it, ‘that’s right.’
I purr in praise, ‘what’s it like? Is it as bad as the legends say?’
Her curiosity about me turns to surprise, ‘you’ve never been?’
I almost laugh, ‘no way.’
‘I’ve been there with the girls from my old crew; it’s easy to get in and out if you know the ways and the places to have fun.’
She’s a cool one! ‘You were a crew leader too?’
‘I was. We ran the whole Poulton Zone with an alliance.’
I’m impressed, ‘wow, big out fit.’
She dismisses my concern, ‘it’s gone now. The dogs run too much of it and my owners got scared I’d get chewed up and be no good for any more contests.’
She spits out the word ‘contest’ like it was bad fish.
‘You’re a show cat?’
‘That’s me. I got on the TeeVee once. Some big show. You know how it is?’
I love this girl. She is real class! A TeeVee star no less.
A human voice calls across the walls of the alley. ‘Feb? Feb?’
‘I wish they wouldn’t call me that. February is my name.’
The voice calls again.
‘I have to go now. It’s their first night here and they’ve just moved in. I can’t go missing on the first night.’
I remember the talk of the party and see the golden opportunity, ‘I know, listen, we’re all going to a big party up at Thornton tomorrow night. We’ll be away for at least two days, why don’t you come with us?’
‘Sure, I like to travel. I’ve never been up there. It’s near Bad Odour?’
‘That’s the place.’
‘I’ll see you here tomorrow then.’ She licks my face again and swishes elegantly out of the garage. I hear her leap the wall and the owner making a fuss of her, then the kitchen door shuts and she is gone.
I’m beat. I am really dead beat. That means it’s time to go home.
I follow the alley and cross Northumberland Avenue and Knowle Avenue, finally arriving at Shaftsbury. I run up the empty and silent street to the front gate of the house and nip quickly through the garden and along the side of the house. It’s late and it’s nearly midnight back at the kitchen door, maybe later than that.
Before I go inside, I sniff the air. The scent of another summer’s day heat waits over the horizon, beyond the eastern Wild Lands. To the west I can hear the gently lapping waves of waters edge.
In the distance, empty milk bottles shatter. Human voices echo far way as their owners come awake by accident or design. The night is mine to savour. It’s moments like this that make it all worth while. The wars, the games, the adventure, the threat of on coming age makes the experience of youth so much richer as I stand at the edge of a summer night and know that I am here.
Good night world, see you tomorrow.
I slip through the cat flap and go to the warm kitchen where I find a plate of tuna and milk waiting. Gladly I tuck into this unexpected feast.
When I’m done, I go into the bedroom and curl into my basket of warm blankets and preen my coat, cleaning off the spots of blood and the taste of fear. Then I put my head between my paws and close my heavy eyes.
When I fall into a black sleep, it is filled with the sounds of wailing agony and slippery sex echoing between oppressive alley walls that stretch into the black sky.
THREE: CATALYST.
Next day. Late morning. Already it is uncomfortably hot, and a lazy warm wind is blowing grit into the air.
I’m on my way to meet February.
It’s only now when I look back at last night, that I see something in her that’s different from the other females I’ve known.
This one is dangerous. She lived near the Dog Land Death Zone and there isn’t a mark on her, she’s far too cool for comfort, and maybe that’s why I like her.
It’s hot again today. I feel lazy and the day knows it. I could curl up some where and nap, but she’ll be waiting.
I’m acting like a damn dog!
In the alley behind Holmfield, she is perched on the wall. She smells of perfume and her owners self indulgence.
‘Hello again,’ she purrs and leaps off the wall, almost drifting down to land next to me. She licks my face and we have a brief play fight, ‘what time are the others coming?’ she asks.
‘Soon.’ I say. I’ve never been one for the time. It’s light or its dark, I’m hungry or I’m not… ‘Tell me more about yourself,’ I ask.
‘Why?’
I pause for a second, weighing up the plus and minus of her character, ‘because you smell of flowers but you remind me of bad trouble.’
She lowers her head in a coy gesture, ‘Now why should that be?’
‘Because of where you lived before.’
‘That’s no big deal.’
Her matter of fact statement surprises me, ‘I would say it is a big deal. I’ve had friends go in there and never come out.’
She shrugs, ‘perhaps you think I’m dangerous?” She licks her lips. I guess it’s then that I accept the challenge of finding out for myself.
Claw appears. He is wearing a new collar and dressed to impress. I wonder how he worked that?
‘Hi.’ He glints his teeth at her, and tries to ignore my presence which has cramped his style already.
I take great pleasure in announcing, ‘this is February.’
He ignores my introduction, ‘I’m Claw. I’m the muscle.’
She looks nonchalantly at his groin, ‘I’ll bet you are,’ she winks at him but he takes it as flattery, unable to see that her grin is patronising. The poor lug!
Desperado, Gladys and Floyd arrive together and I introduce them to her. She seems at home with them which is OK, but I can feel an unease in Desperado. He doesn’t mind her being here, but I get the feeling he’d rather she wasn’t coming with us.
‘All set?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, just one thing,’ says Desperado. ‘I want to discuss the route with you.’
I can feel a recrimination approaching, ‘Go on.’
I excuse myself, and February looks at the floor. She’s not dumb.
Out of earshot, and around the corner on Empress Drive, Desperado lets the act slip, ‘what the hell is she doing with us? Are you mad?”
I’m genuinely shocked at this objection. ‘Why?’
‘She’ll slow us up. Gladys is going to be work enough. How come you didn’t tell us you wanted her to come?’
I try to patch things up, ‘it was short notice. I only got to…you know…last night and it seemed OK.’
‘To you it did!’
‘She’s not soft.’ I protest, ‘she comes from right next to the Death Zone. She was a crew leader out there.’
‘So?’
The remark is defiant, but I can see that Desperado has taken this fact to heart, ‘look at her, she’s a show cat, been on the TeeVee. There isn’t a mark on her. That’s heavy protection or she can fight! After last night, I can testify that she can fight!’
‘Yeah, I can see she’s got you by the collar, just don’t get hung by it because of her. Look at Claw, he’s in a jealous rage. Out there on the street you can’t afford to have that kind of feeling running high. We have to stick together or we fall apart and we need each other out there.’
‘I know. It’ll be OK. Give it a chance.’
‘OK, just for you I’ll give it a chance.’
We go back into the alley. Gladys and February are discussing preening tips and fur styles. Claw is sullenly glaring at us. ‘Happy with the route now?’
No fooling him on that score, ‘Yes, we are.’
Claw stands up, ‘glad to hear it, shall we go?’
I gather everyone around me, ‘here’s the drill. Desperado and I have been before, we know the route and some clever dodges if things go bad and we hit trouble. Stick close to us and well be there before dark. Save energy, it’s a long walk, any questions?’
Floyd lifts his paws, ‘I gotta question, what if her majesty here needs to run, or dive into a pile of dirty water to save our lives, is she gonna sacrifice her looks?’
February walks up to him and her eyes burn blue, ‘listen dopey! I’ve been in more dog fights than you’ve ever seen cat fights. That little dance in the alley last night was play time compared to the Death Zone; pray I don’t prove it on you!’
Floyd settles back, ‘it’s cool, it’s cool!’
‘Everyone happy?’
They all nod, except Claw who just accepts for now.
‘Let’s go then.’
We leave the alley.
*
FOUR: CATECHUMEN.
We set off along Holmfield Road. February and I in front, then Floyd and Gladys, Desperado and Claw guard the rear. I like that. It keeps Claw out of my whiskers for the duration. This is going to be a journey of baptism for us all. I can feel the chemistry of the crew changing and shifting uneasily because of February’s presence, and if the team work suffers because of this, we may all die. Maybe Desperado was right, maybe she has got me by the collar.
A strong wind blows on us and it’s still hot.
The street is warming my paws and grit blows pollen and the odd stray insect into my face which I bat out of the way. I don’t like travelling in a group like this. Cats don’t usually do it because it attracts attention.
We pass Carlin Gate, then Wolverton Rd. and the church where the map stands and explains our world to me. Without that map, voyages like this would be captained by rumour and false scents, hearsay and guess work.
Not with this crew. I know the way. Well begun is half done.
Holmfield stretches away from us and we keep to the garden walls.
When we reach the miners home, we stop and stare at the huge decaying monument.
February looks at it with awe, ‘what is it?’
‘A place where the humans who worked under ground came to stay when they were old. It’s empty now.’
‘Have you ever been inside?’
‘No.’
February looks up at the grey monument as she asks the inevitable question of me, ‘why?’
I already have the answer ready. ‘Ghosts. The humans can’t see them, but they roam the halls and the rooms at night. We hear them talk and laugh about old times.’
‘The ghosts of cats?’
‘No, people.’ Scolds Claw.
‘We should explore it one day,’ says Desperado.
‘You would,’ says Floyd. ‘Why bother, it’s empty and it’s falling to dust.’
‘I’m scared of it,’ says Gladys.
We all sigh.
The stony glare of the Miner’s home looks down on us as if we are its lost children. How the windows and the bricks must talk. Stories that may never be told live in the walls and the roof slates. One day we will have a look inside.
Holmfield Rd. ends and we join Warbreck Rd. No trouble so far. A couple of curious humans but that’s it.
We all stop at the edge of Warbreck Rd. and February turns and looks at me, ‘what is it?’
‘A mark of respect, this is the edge of our territory.’
February sits on her haunches as I give my yearly pep talk. ‘Remember, from this point onwards, where ever we go, we are strangers. We will be as unwelcome as Flix was yesterday, keep your eyes and ears open and your claws sharp. Let’s move.’
We are now a fighting unit rather than an expedition.
It’s a short hop across the empty main road to Cavendish Rd. Strange how I never look back at Holmfield when I know I’m going to be away from it for a while. Perhaps it’s my faith in seeing it again no matter how far I roam, or perhaps I just don’t care.
My crew is around me. February is keeping up OK but Claw is still green with envy at my new girl. I guess Gladys is still scared. I look back and see she is glancing furtively around, her big eyes wide.
‘You’ve been this way before?’ asks February.
‘Just me and Desperado. We went to Opal and Spot’s party last year and I remembered the route from the map in the church back there.’
We pass a small garden where old humans are rolling black globes after a white one across a square of perfect grass. Another one of their games. Our life is a game, but it’s not a joke!
‘Tell me about Opal and Spot.’
As we walk along Cavendish, I tell her. ‘Opal is a kind old cat with a nice daughter called Spot. They live at a big house with two owners. There’s a big party on the same day each year and Opal puts the word out across the map lands and sends messengers to all the known gangs. It’s a free for all left over feast. I’ve never seen so much Salmon. After the long trek up there, it’s a great sense of arrival.’
‘The other cats are cute too!’ shouts Desperado from the rear.
‘How would you know?’ I taunt back.
February smiles. ‘You like your crew don’t you?’
‘Yeah, they’re the best. For this trip they need to be. I wouldn’t do it with any other cats.’
I hope you heard that Claw!
Cavendish Rd. is wide and curves in the middle. It also rises to a small hill lined with neat separate houses with steep gardens and shiny cars. One garden is total rubble and we stop for a second to check for scents among the warm brick. It’s hot! I’ve never known it this hot!
At the top of the rise on Cavendish, we stop again and look in awe at the far away hills, big in distant haze beyond the edge of the town so very far away.
‘What’s that?’ asks February.
‘The wild lands, ‘ Floyd tells her. ‘Those are the places off the map.’
February is impressed. ‘What’s out there?’
‘More of the same, or worse,’ Says Claw, gloomily.
‘Not better?’ she asks.
At the end of Cavendish is the first of many obstacles. Here is a cross roads with a big traffic island besieged by fast noisy cars and clouds of car breath.
We slink behind a hedge. Desperado can’t wait to go for the road dive, his white line fever is full on. ‘I’m ready! I’m ready!’ He snarls.
I hold him back, ‘take Gladys with you. If anyone has a chance of getting over the road it’s you, so take her.’
‘I’m scared,’ said Gladys.
‘Be scared afterwards.’
‘On three,’ I tell them.
‘Three!’ shouts Desperado, and they bolt away from us and under the hedge and across the pavement. The gap between the rushing cars is timed perfectly and the cars wail and moan on their round feet as they slip and almost bump each other, but Desperado and Gladys are through.
Between the gaps in the continuing traffic I see them disappear through the hedge on the other side of the road and into the safety of the library park.
Claw is next.
‘Take Floyd with you,’ I suggest.
Floyd takes exception to this, ‘Hey man, I’m no invalid. I can dance the traffic.’
‘Go with Claw!’ I order.
‘Sure man no prob.’
They prepare themselves, timing the gaps in the cars and the trucks that surge toward the traffic island like bees to a hive. The smell of the car breath is heavy and choking, it has settled into the dry soil under the hedge and the flowers are slowly dying from it. We can’t stay here long.
Claw tenses his back legs and screams. ‘Goooooooo!’
Floyd leaps after him and they shoot out from the hedge, barely missing an old human pulling a small trolley bag, and shoot out into the path of on coming death. Cars wail and scream in tune with the battle charge of Claw and Floyd. I squint in fear as a big truck almost catches Floyd’s tail. Then they are across and diving through the hedge at the other side to join Gladys and Desperado.
My turn. I look at February.
‘Ready lover?’ she squirms.
We lick faces and turn to the road. She is actually loving this and I can smell no fear on her. What a girl.
‘GO!’
We dive out of our cover and into the road. I haven’t lost my touch, I can see the cars looming ahead and baring down on me with killing speed but they are just far enough away to form a moving gap mere seconds wide. In the centre of the road I leap across the white line and glance back, there is no sign of February!
In the glimpse of time I’m allowed, I look around and then I see her, she has jumped high into the air and is bouncing off the roof of a passing car.
She sails over my head and lands on the roof of the car heading in the opposite direction and springs like an agile angel to the gutter and casually onto the pavement at the other side.
I leap forward and beat a big black truck coming at me, and get to the other side and past her and into the library garden with the others.
Another hedge keeps us from the prying eyes of the road and we all stare at her with new respect.
All except Claw. ‘What drama school did you attend?’
‘Pardon?’ Purrs February.
‘Hey Claw…’ I protest.
Claw is indignant. ‘No, I’m sorry, What kind of stunt was that?’
Floyd chuckles dryly. ‘A flying cat…far out.’
Desperado wipes his face with his left paw, ‘that was neat, what’s your problem Claw?”
‘He’s too fat to fly,’ laughs Floyd.
‘I was scared,’ moans Gladys.
I can feel this turning nasty. ‘Come on break it up, let’s keep moving. Well done everyone, but we’ve got our next problem right ahead.’
We cross the park, our rank and file restored, but I’ll have to ask her where she learnt that stunt, and not to do it again. This is a stealth mission.
Perhaps they do things differently near the Death Zone. No wonder she was so cool about it.
We are near Peter’s school now and I can hardly believe it was only yesterday that the little swine threw a brick at me.
At the other side of the library park we scramble as one across a less busy road and walk along a path to the down slope that leads us to Bispham village.
‘Stick to the walls and keep your heads down,’ I say.
But they know that. This is human territory, and some of it not friendly.
The journey through the village is a desperate game of dodge and survive.
The first thing we pass is the police station where bad humans are kept and the others in uniform sometimes take cats that have no owners and keep them in small cages where they wait to be killed.
‘I’m scared,’ says Gladys.
For once I agree with her, and we quickly file past the building of dark brick and the uneasy smells and sounds.
Now we are in the village proper, the smell of raw and cooking fish pours from the first place we pass, a line of humans wait inside, hunger on there faces.
‘What would I give for an afternoon in there,’ wails Floyd.
Desperado tells him to be quiet. Claw looks mean and on his guard, for once we are of the same mind.
We dodge along the wall and then into the gutter, skipping from under the army of human legs and heavy shopping bags that glide over head and almost hit me square in the face. For a while we get under the parked cars and the stink of car breath and engine blood makes us sick among the smells of the drains, bugs and trash. The surge of people becomes too much and we stop together under a parked car.
‘Too busy! We must be opposite the pub.’ says Desperado.
I peer around the wheel rim of the car and see the sign, THE OLDE ENGLAND. February snuggles up to me and I touch her paw. This makes Claw exhale in disgust.
The car we are under suddenly starts up and we squeal and dive out from under it and onto the pavement.
Desperado glances wildly around, “Ingthorpe Rd!” He yells, “come on!”
We run along the front grounds of the pub and dart in single file across Blackpool Road and straight on to where Red Bank becomes Ingthorpe.
Almost immediately, the people disappear and the cars move faster now they are free of the village centre.