About Cats by Sandra Horn

My picture book Nobody, Him and Me features a murderous, bullying cat, Biter the Fighter. Three small, smart mice trick him into chasing them up onto a high beam and then they scamper down, leaving him stranded and quivering because he’s afraid of heights. Ultimately, he’s carried off on a cushion to Mrs Kindly’s Rest Home for Distressed Moggies. 

 

I had to change ‘Moggies’ to ‘Cats’ which was a shame, I thought. Anyway, after a school visit in which I used the book, a teacher came up and fixed me with a decidedly evil eye. ‘You don’t like cats, then,’ she snarled. I defended myself by drawing her attention to my other book featuring a cat, The Hob and Miss Minkin stories. Miss Minkin is a beloved tabby in a farmhouse modelled on the smallholding we moved to when I was in my teens. At night, when the family is asleep, she swaps stories and has adventures with Hob, who lived under the hearthstone.

 

"Hob lived under the hearthstone at Ghyllside Farm, but no-one had ever seen him except Miss Minkin the tabby cat. The farmhouse was very old, and Hob had been there for more years than he could count, although he remembered talk of Good Queen Bess, and Henry the Something, and beacons being set along the Sussex coast in case the French invaded.

In the days long ago, if one of the housemaids had been extra kind and good about her work, Hob would put a silver sixpence in her shoe.  If she had been bad and grumpy, he would tie her apron-strings in a tangle.  Now that there were no maids and no sixpences at Ghyllside Farm, he didn’t get up to many tricks at all. 

At night, when the farmer and his wife and their children were in asleep, Hob liked to come up into the kitchen and tell yarns by the fire with Miss Minkin.  They had been friends since she was a small kitten.  They shared the dish of cream Jenny the farmer’s wife put out each night, and talked about the days gone by.  In the morning, before the sun came up, Hob slipped back under the hearthstone and Miss Minkin took a little nap until breakfast time.

Miss Minkin was very fussy about her appearance.  She washed and smoothed her beautiful fur several times a day.

“I like to be clean,” said Miss Minkin.

Jenny the farmer’s wife liked to be clean too.  She kept the house neat and tidy all year round, but every Spring she went cleaning mad.  She tidied, dusted, polished and scrubbed the house from attics to cellars and there was nothing anybody could do about it.  It was all most upsetting to Miss Minkin’s nerves. 

Early one Spring morning, Miss Minkin was dozing by the hearth when Jenny flew downstairs with her arms full of dusters, mops and polishing cloths.  Miss Minkin waited for Jenny to bring her breakfast, but no breakfast came.  When she meowed very loudly to remind Jenny about it, Jenny only said, 

“I’m too busy Spring cleaning to think about anything else.  Why don’t you fend for yourself?  Go and catch something.”

Miss Minkin could hardly believe her ears.  She did not want to go and catch something!  She wanted her dish of nice white fish with all the bones taken out.  She sat up very straight in the middle of the kitchen, with her back to Jenny, and thrashed her tail from side to side. 

“Oh, all right then!” said Jenny, “but you can have it outside in the yard so you’re not under my feet.”

“Under her feet indeed!  How very rude!”  said Miss Minkin under her breath.  She would like to have stalked off with her tail in the air and not come back until Jenny thought she was lost forever, and then she’d be sorry, but she was hungry.  She ate all the fish first and then stalked off.

 In the evening, when the house was quiet, Miss Minkin slipped back through the catflap into the kitchen, and hoped that Hob would appear soon from under the hearthstone.  She wanted to tell him what a dreadful day she’d had, and how nobody had nice manners any more.  But what was this?  The  fire was out!  The hearth was swept clean  and in the grate was a heap of crinkly red paper instead of warm glowing coal. 

“This,” said Miss Minkin, “is the giddy limit.”

“What is?” asked Hob, appearing from the shadows, “I see the fire-irons have been polished.  Shine up nice, don’t they?  And the fire’s been let out.  It must be Spring.  I thought there was something in the air.  Old Mother Mouse has built a nest under the wash house floor and she’s got a nice little brood in there – must be seven or eight mousekins.”

Miss Minkin pricked up her ears.

“Oh really?” she said, licking her lips and looking thoughtful.

Hob got out his pipe.  “That’s a good dish of cream,” he said.  The dish was brimful.

“I expect it’s Jenny’s way of making up for being so unkind,” said Miss Minkin, “and I forgive her, but the hearthstone is cold with the fire out and I’m not very comfortable.  I do not like Spring.  It’s too much disturbance.”

  I think my affection for her comes shining through. We had various cats then – Dad had a decidedly yey-yey attitude to spaying, preferring to save money and hope for the best. It rarely if ever worked, as was shown by the myriad rabbits, puppies and kittens which appeared as if by magic from time to time. The cats were variations on black and white, smooth and fluffy: Pussy Cat Willum, named for a children’s programme about which I remember nothing except the name, was the mother. Her offspring were Arfa, who had ‘arf a black face and ‘arf a white one, Twinkle, and Buster, the fluffy one. Twinkle had a ‘thing’ about people holding a newspaper up to read so that it covered their face. At least, I think that’s what caused her to jump from a standing start clean through the middle of the paper, splitting it in half, to land on the lap of the hapless reader. It was very funny for the rest of us.

 So that’s my history with cats. Do we have one in our city house? No. We live right on a major road into the city centre for one thing, but our garden is also a wildlife haven and we don’t want any killers in it, thanks! In fact, we’ve recently installed a cat-deterring electronic gadget to try to keep the many neighbourhood felines out. It works quite well except for one determined black-and-white prowler who is either deaf and doesn’t hear the signal, or smart enough to dodge the beam.

Still and all, I’m intrigued by the secret lives cats live at night when we are asleep, and by what their dreams might be, so here’s my tribute to the little beasts, bless ‘em.

 

The Daytime Cat

Some cats sleep curled in a ball,

Oscar sleeps in a sprawl.

 

Most cats are quiet when they doze by the fire;

Oscar sounds like a choir.

 

His whiskers twitch, his ears flick

His tail goes pit-a-pat.

 

He's dreaming of his other lives,

When he's The Moonlight Cat.

 

The Moonlight Cat

 

When the moon is up, Oscar cleans his paws,

Stretches his claws,

and says, 'I'm going out.

There may be something about.

 I wouldn't want to miss it.'

 

I open the door and wave him goodbye.

'Have fun,' I say, and he closes one eye

As if he knows a secret.

 

What does he do out there in the night

When the moon is riding high and bright?

I know he’s got something up his sleeve…

And I think it’s a game of make-believe –

But Oscar won’t admit it!

 

Summer Moon

 

The quarter moon rides on the clouds, billowing to and fro.

"A pirate ship!" says Oscar, "Look lively! Yo ho ho!"

 

He smiles and twitches an ear-ringed ear.

"I'm Cap'n Oscar Moonlight, the fearless buccaneer."

 

He shades his eyes with a paw and peers round and about.

"There's Spanish gold hid somewhere, and I mean to have it out!" 

 

The gold is under the lily leaves, feeling rather shy.

It whispers *"Cuidado del Gato!" and winks a fishy eye.

 

A flick of a tail and it's gone, among the twining roots;

"Eow!" says Cap'n Moonlight, "well bless my old sea-boots!

 

A cat can't get his paws wet, for all the gold in the sea.

I shall give up being a pirate; it's not the life for me"

 

He strikes the Jolly Roger and puts his cutlass by

Off with his golden earring, (but not the patch on his eye)

 

"Farewell to my peg leg and parrot, farewell to my baccy and grog,

I'm a-going to be a land-cat, instead of an old sea-dog.

 

*I hope this is Spanish for "Beware of the cat!"

 

 

Halloween Moon

 

It’s Hallowe'en, and through the mist

The moon peers, ghostly white

A will o' the wisp, a phantom,

Gliding through the night.

 

Shadows haunt the trees

All the world is black.

"The garden's full of spooks!"

Says our fearless cat,

 

“Let me get out and at 'em!

I’ll give ‘em a surprise!”

He puts his head through the catflap.

Just then, the screech-owl cries.

 

Where is our bold brave Hero?

Is he out there in a brawl?

No. He's underneath the sideboard

And he's crouched down very small.

 

He says "I've just remembered -

can't think how I forgot;

Spooks are not really nasty,

They're a charming, friendly lot;

 

But very shy and nervous.

I might give them a fright

If I go out in the garden……

So I'll stay here, out of sight.”

 

 

December Moon

 

Oscar salutes the Christmas moon;

"Round as a pudding,

Bright as a balloon,

It's carol-singing time!"

 

Up on the fence goes Oscar,

"I’ll give them 'Silent Night'”

He thinks he nearly knows the tune

But he doesn’t get it right.

 

Windows open on every side;

The neighbours are all awake.

"Oh no! It’s ‘Noisy Night’," they cry,

"Go home, for goodness' sake!"

 

Pennies rain down all around

"Luckily, most of them missed us,"

Says Oscar, dashing for the door

"I'm stopping inside for Christmas!"

Hunter's Moon

 

Rat-ta-ta-ta-TUM!

The autumn moon

 is round as a drum

ta-ta-TUM!

Close to the ground

With never a sound

Creeps Oscar, the mighty hunter!

 

Rat-ta-ta-ta-TUM!

Booms the jungle drum

ta-ta-ta-TUM! Ta-ta-TUM!

You'd better go inside,

You'd better go and hide

Here comes the mighty hunter!

 

He's prowling about

He'll soon find you out

You won't hear him coming

Says the drum.

 

Like a phantom in the night

He will give you such a fright

When he springs from the shadows,

ra-ta-TUM!

 

Is he here? Is he there?

He could be anywhere

'Run, run away,' says the drum.

By the tree, by the wall, anywhere at all.

You won't know 'til he pounces,

ra-ta-TUM!'

 

You lie flat against the ground

And you think you can't be found...

But ‘You can never hide from Oscar!' says the drum.

Rat-a-TUM!

Carnival Moon

 

Limbo, limbo! The carnival moon

Dances through the branches of the tree

They're all dressed up in the garden tonight

Carnival time - it's a wonderful sight

Come on! Let's go and see.

There's a butterfly, a Beefeater and Little Bo Peep

Look! An Astronaut, a cucumber, a chimney sweep

And who's that over there?

 

Samba! Rumba! It's Oscar the clown,

Somersaulting, vaulting through the air.

Watch him dance along the wall -

Do you think he's going to fall?

Has he got no fear at all?

Does he care?

 

Tightrope walking! Oscar the clown

Never has a harness or a net.

He has no need of things like that,

Because he’s not a scaredy-cat,

And he’s never fallen yet.

 

Danceband, handstand, over he goes!

Keeping to the rhythm, Cha-cha-cha!

Now he's standing on one leg

While he juggles with an egg -

There's no scrap of doubt about it -

He’s a star!

 

 

New Moon

 

The new moon is a promise,

A sliver of light, a door in the night

That no-one can see through.

 

Up in the tree, Oscar watches

Watches the door in the sky,

Will the wind blow it shut?

Will it open wide?

What is it like on the other side?

 

Finale

He’s a pirate, a hunter, an expert on spooks,

A clown, and the lead in a choir.....

When Oscar’s asleep

In a fidgetty heap

In his basket by the fire.