Mrs Van Dam, who lived downstairs from Tibble, said to her husband, “I used to have a small green teapot. Whatever did I do with it?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” said Mr Van Dam. But a little later he said, “Didn’t we used to keep that teapot in the caravan? In our old caravan.”
“Oh, yes… that’s right. Well, it’s gone then, with the caravan, to the wreckers. Because that’s what we did with that old caravan, we took it to the wreckers!”
“Now you mention it,” said Mr Van Dam, pondering the question. “I think it’s still at the back of that car park. Remember?”
“After all these years?”
“I’ll go have a look,” said Mrs Van Dam. “Maybe the teapot’s still there… It was such a handy little thing. There might be other things we can use too.”
And so it was that Mrs Van Dam walked into the car park just when the Tatter Cat had gone for a drink. Like every day, the Tatter Cat dragged her crippled leg along behind her on her way to the puddle under the tap. She’d always left her babies behind by themselves and nothing had ever happened; they’d never come to any harm because it was such an out-of-the-way spot where there were never any people.
But now Mrs Van Dam pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first thing she saw was the whole gang of kittens on the old blanket.
“Well, I never!” she scowled. “In my caravan! A whole litter of kittens… and neglected, filthy kittens at that. And they’re on my blanket.”
It was a very old blanket. Torn and dirty. But Mrs Van Dam still thought it was too good for the kittens. She grabbed an old floral pillowcase and dumped the six little kittens into it.
Then she picked up the green teapot and a tablecloth and a torn mat and said, “There.”
She left with a bag in one hand and the pillowcase full of kittens in the other.
The Tatter Cat saw her leaving the caravan, but she was still a long way away. And she couldn’t run. She limped home as fast as she could, dragged herself up the steps and saw that her babies were gone. A mournful, howling caterwaul rang out over the car park, but no one heard it because the radio was playing in the petrol station. And Mrs Van Dam would have ignored it anyway, even if she had heard it. She stood next to the petrol pump and looked down uncertainly at the heavy bag of kittens in her hand.
What on earth am I going to do with these cats? she thought. I can’t take them home with me. What do I want with six dirty little kittens?
Now she saw that there was a car next to the pump. A big blue car. Mr Ellmore was buying petrol.
Mrs Van Dam went over to him. She bent over and said, “Oh, hello, Mr Ellmore,” through the open side window.
“Hello, Mrs Van Dam.”
“I have a litter of kittens here. I found them in my old caravan. I’ve got them in an old pillowcase. May I give them to you?”
“To me?” Mr Ellmore asked. “What would I do with a litter of kittens?”
“Well,” said Mrs Van Dam, “I read that you’re the president of the Animal Lovers’ Association. You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Mr Ellmore.
“Well, what that association is for… I mean… the aim of that association is to make sure the little creatures have a home. That’s what I read.”
“Yes, but right now I don’t have much time,” said Mr Ellmore.
“And if there’s no home available,” Mrs Van Dam continued, “you’d take them somewhere where they could be put down painlessly. It said that too… So could you take care of that for me? I’ll put them in the back.”
She laid the bulging floral pillowcase on his back seat, gave him a friendly nod and hurried off.
Leaving Mr Ellmore sitting there with a bag of kittens in his car.
“The woman thinks I run a cat shelter,” he growled. “What am I supposed to do with a bunch of kittens?”
He drove off.
The poor Tatter Cat stayed in the caravan moaning and mewling for a moment and by the time she came out again, Mrs Van Dam was gone. But the Pump Cat walked up to her.
“They’ve taken your kids,” he said. “In a bag. In Ellmore’s car. He drove off with them.”
The Tatter Cat sat down and started whimpering.
She knew now that her little ones were lost, that there was no point in looking for them, that they might already be dead. And to make things worse, she could hardly move. She was totally helpless.
“I’ll pass the news on,” the Pump Cat said. “To the Cat Press Agency. I don’t know if it will do any good.”
The Tatter Cat couldn’t speak. She whined softly.
“Well, good luck,” said the Pump Cat. “It’s a tough break.”
As he walked off, the Tatter Cat called out after him, “They’re your babies too.”
The Pump Cat turned back for a moment. “That remains to be seen,” he snarled.
The Cat Press Agency was always very fast. But no news had ever come through this fast. In less than ten minutes, Minou had heard it from Fluff.
“Where did Ellmore take them?” she asked quickly.
“His car’s in front of the post office.”
“Are the kittens still in it?”
“No,” Fluff said, shaking his head sadly. “They’re not there any more. Simon looked in through the window. The car’s empty.”
“Where are they then?” Minou asked. “What’s he done with them?”
“No one knows,” Fluff said. “The Pump Cat saw him drive off and Ecumenica saw him drive past the church. And later a few cats spotted the car at the post office. But nobody saw what he did with the kittens.”
“Maybe he drowned them somewhere,” Minou cried. “Oh, this is terrible. The poor Tatter Cat. She was always calling them names, but she was so proud of her children. Let’s get all the cats searching and tell them to keep their eyes and ears open… I’ll go out and start searching too.”
She went down to the street and headed off in the direction of the post office. The cats she met on the way couldn’t tell her any more than she’d already heard. Not a single cat had seen what had happened to the pillowcase. They’d only seen the car driving around and, later, parked and empty.
Minou didn’t know where to look and wandered aimlessly through the back lanes until finally Muffin, the Bakery Cat, came running up to her.
“They’ve found them,” she called. “The School Cat heard them squeaking!”
“Where?”
“In a rubbish bin near the post office. Hurry, we can’t get them out.”
Minou was there in less than a minute.
All six kittens were still alive. They were still in the floral pillowcase; they’d been dumped, pillowcase and all, in a big grey rubbish bin. The little tykes squeaked and trembled as Minou pulled them out one by one, but they were alive.
Just up the road the rubbish truck had started its round… If Minou had arrived just a few minutes later, the bin containing the Tatter Cat’s children would have been emptied into the back of the truck. They would have been crushed.
Carefully, she put the six kittens back into the pillowcase to take them with her. And she stroked the School Cat who had found them. “That was brilliant,” she said. “Thanks. Just in the nick of time…”
“I’ve got some news too,” the School Cat said.
“Tell me…”
“Henry the Eighth got divorced.”
Minou didn’t take the kittens back to the caravan. She took them to the attic and laid them in her own box for now.
“What’s the idea?” said Fluff. “You’re not planning on keeping them here, are you?”
“Absolutely,” said Minou. “And the Tatter Cat too. I’m going to go get her now.”
“I’m not sure I approve of that,” said Fluff. But Minou had already climbed out through the kitchen window.
The Tatter Cat hadn’t heard the news yet. She kept circling the caravan, going in every now and then as if the babies might have reappeared inside in the meantime. And she kept miaowing helplessly the whole time. No matter how rumpled and grimy the Tatter Cat had been… she’d never been pathetic. She’d always remained proud and cheerful. But not any more. Now she was a sad little stray, miserable and inconsolable.
Until Minou suddenly appeared on the caravan step.
“We’ve found them,” she said. “All six. They’re at our house. In the attic.”
The Tatter Cat didn’t show any signs of being happy. She just sat up a little straighter.
“Get them back here then,” she snapped.
“No,” Minou said. “It’s not safe here. You know that now. I’ve come to get you.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I don’t let anybody come and get me,” the Tatter Cat said with icy contempt. “Nobody comes and gets me.”
“It’s only temporary,” Minou said. “In a few weeks we’ll look for homes for your children. Until then, you’re coming with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Your children still need you. They need to feed.”
“Bring them here and I’ll feed them.”
There was no point in trying to argue with the Tatter Cat. And you couldn’t take her anywhere against her wishes. She’d fight you tooth and claw.
But Minou was just as stubborn. “If you want them, come and get them,” she said. “You know where I live.”
The Tatter Cat shouted something at her as she left. It was the worst insult she knew: “Human!”
Minou made a soft nest for the kittens in the corner of the junk room. Tibble wasn’t home, he was off wandering around town in search of evidence.
“I don’t know that I’m really happy about this,” Fluff complained. “I can’t say I’m pleased. Six howling strangers in my attic… but yeah, just go ahead, make yourself at home.”
“It’s only temporary,” Minou said.
“All we need now is for the mother to show up too,” Fluff said. “You needn’t think I’m going to put up with that.”
Minou didn’t reply. She stood at the kitchen window and looked out over the rooftops.
An hour later the Tatter Cat did show up. Slowly and with great difficulty, she’d climbed up to the rooftops with one lame leg. With her last bit of strength, she dragged herself through the gutter and let Minou lift her down through the window.
She didn’t say anything. Minou didn’t say anything either. She just put the Tatter Cat down next to her babies, who squealed with delight, squirmed and began feeding at full speed.
“What did I say?” said Fluff. “The mother too. And now I know I’m not going to put up with it.”
He fluffed up his tail, put back his ears and let out a horrific growling sound.
“Behave yourself, Fluff,” Minou said. “And keep out of the junk room.”
As long as the Tatter Cat stayed close to her children, everything went well, but as soon as she stepped away for even a moment, on her way to the kitchen or in search of the cat tray… it was all-out war.
And just when Tibble came in, a furious fight was in full swing. A screeching tangle of fur rolling over and over on the floor with big tufts of hair flying everywhere.
“What’s going on for goodness’ sake? Have we got another cat?” Tibble cried.
“We’ve got another seven cats,” said Minou, pulling Fluff and the Tatter Cat apart.
She told him what had happened.
“You mean Ellmore dumped live kittens in a rubbish bin?” Tibble asked.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Minou. And now, finally, Tibble got really angry.