Leroy set off, proudly, the bucket clanking in his hand.‘New potatoes with butter,’ he sang, and the three of us headed for the kitchen, me with my tail up.
Angie was definitely an earth-angel, I thought, and almost believed I saw the shimmer of her wings. But what had Poppy meant when she said,‘Earth-angels always take on more than they can manage’?
Chapter Ten
PURE CELESTIAL ENERGY
It seemed a long time to me before Angie finally got what she wanted. Vati and I were cats now and we had lived through our first autumn and winter. Our coats were glossy, and we were beautiful and strong. The only bad time was when Angie took us to the vet to have us‘done’! ‘Sorry, guys,’ she explained. ‘But it’s better for you long-term, and better for the Planet. We don’t want you making hordes of unwanted kittens.’ Rick was gentle with us, and we went to sleep together and woke up together, and got safely home in the luxurious travellingbasket Angie had bought us.
When the blossom was on the apple tree and the bees humming in the spring sunshine, the social workers finally allowed Leroy to come and live with us. I supervised while Angie set up a bedroom for him with a cosy bed. She put posters on the walls, and bought him a blanket with lions on it. He had a brightly coloured beanbag, which I loved, and a bookshelf, and boxes of stuff which I remembered from his home. Even the old teddies were there, freshly washed and pleased with themselves.
The only thing Leroy wanted when he arrived was me. He seemed awed by the majestic cat I had grown into.
The other thing Leroy wanted to do was climb the apple tree, and we did that together, Vati and I showing off as we led him up through the branches. When he’d done it once, Leroy called out to Angie, ‘I climbed the flower tree.’
‘The flower tree?’ Angie came out into the garden, looking puzzled.
‘That one,’ said Leroy, pointing to the apple tree.
‘Oh … that’s an apple tree!’ Angie said, her voice kind.
‘No it’s not,’ Leroy grinned. ‘It hasn’t got apples on it … it’s a flower tree.’
Angie smiled at him.‘You come and look at this, and I’ll tell you a secret.’ She held one of the blossoms still for him. ‘See that little blob in the middle of the flower?’
‘Yeah.’ Leroy frowned.
‘THAT,’ said Angie, ‘will turn into an apple.’
‘No it won’t.’ Leroy rolled his eyes incredulously.
‘It takes all summer,’ said Angie. ‘The petals fall off and that little green blob swells up like a balloon and becomes an apple.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No, it’s true. You’ll see it happen. In a few weeks the flowers will have gone and you’ll see tiny green apples, too small to eat. BUT … ’ Angie widened her eyes even more, and Leroy looked mesmerised. ‘It won’t happen unless a bee goes into the flower. There’s one … look. Let’s watch it and see what it’s doing.’
‘It might come out and sting you.’
‘No it won’t, it’s too busy pollinating.’
‘Pollinating,’ repeated Leroy. ‘Are you joking, Angie?’
‘No.’
Leroy didn’t look convinced. ‘Well, Mum got her apples from Tesco,’ he said. ‘She didn’t get them off a tree.’
At night Leroy’s bedroom door was left open so that I could go in and lie close to him, purring, as he slept.
One night he didn’t go to sleep, but lay there talking to me. ‘My mum didn’t want me, Timba. She left me alone in the house and the social workers took me into care. They wouldn’t listen when I said I wanted to live with Angie. That’s why I missed playing with you when you were a kitten, but I still love you now you’re big.’
He got up and put the light on. Then he roamed around the room in his bare feet, a box of pens in his hand. I watched anxiously. I knew what he was going to do!
The walls in Leroy’s bedroom were covered in posters, and he couldn’t find a space. He drifted out onto the landing and listened with his ear to the closed door of Angie and Graham’s room. He turned and gave me a thumbs-up and a beaming smile. ‘They’re asleep,’ he said in a stage whisper. He switched the lights on and surveyed the pale green bare wall along the landing, took the lid off a pen, and began to draw. First he did a pair of hypnotic yellow eyes. I watched anxiously, my tail twitching, as he drew with swift, skilful strokes, and the rest of the lion appeared on the wall.
A fox was barking out in the night, and the wind blew scatters of rain against the window. Leroy worked on, in a silent frenzy. I felt as if that lion was in the house, drawing its own picture through the wildly moving arm of a pyjama-clad boy.
I knew that in the morning Leroy would be in terrible trouble. I wanted him to stop. An ordinary meow had no effect, except that Leroy put his finger to his lips and whispered,‘Shh, Timba. We gotta be quiet. I’ll draw the curly mane now … in colours!’ And he worked furiously, doing crinkling lines around the lion’s face. His pens fell to the floor, the white tops rolling everywhere, and I couldn’t resist playing with them, batting them through the banisters to the hall floor below.