Tempted to hang around and become an accomplished thief, I found a sunny corner and tried to wash. I had brushed against a burdock plant and my lovely fur was matted with prickly burrs. Annoyed, I worked at getting them out and was distressed to find I couldn’t shift them. I rolled on the floor, scratched, and tugged at my matted fur, but the burrs refused to come out and began to be painful. Angie had never let my fur get in such a state.
Time was passing. The leaves were falling, the songbirds silent, the nights longer. Winter was coming, and I would be cold and alone. The immediate challenge was the field of cattle. They weren’t amiable milking cows. They were hefty young bullocks, alert and interested in anything that moved. The field was enormous, and I wasn’t used to long runs. Short bursts of speed were OK. A field that huge, with no cover, looked impossible. The bullocks might surround me, and blow their hot breath at me, and toss me in the air, or even trample on me.
So I sat outside the gate in the middle of a lemon-scented patch of wild camomile, and once the bullocks had seen me and done some snorting and stamping, they got bored and wandered away. My only chance was to wait until they reached the far side of the field, then make a dash for it.
I had to believe that I could run that far, that fast, on tired paws at the end of the day! I waited ages for the cattle to retreat, and I was getting more and more agitated.
When the last bullock reached the far side, I made a run for it. Low and fast was how I wanted to go, but the turf was covered in thistles and cowpats, so I was jumping and dodging.
I was out in the open when I heard their roar and felt the thunder of their hooves. I ran for my life, my paws splashing through mud. The bullocks crossed the field in seconds, their tails in the air. I was going to die, horribly, in the pungent stench of them and the mud. I tried and tried to run faster, but there was no place to hide. Bewildered, I turned and found myself surrounded by steaming red-brown faces.
In my moment of need, Vati flashed into my mind, and I remembered the way he used his winsome little face and kinky tail to bewitch any creature who threatened him. The power of the cat! Come on, Timba, use it!
I sat down in the middle of those red-brown faces, and scrutinised their minds. Actually they didn’t WANT to kill me. They were just having fun. If they killed me, it would be by accident, not intention.
I was terrified, but in control. The intense power of my absolute stillness shone like a dazzling star. Stiff whiskers gleaming, my aura fierce with light, I focused on one particular bullock. Eyeball to eyeball, we exchanged an animal rights agreement.
I, Timba, have a right to occupy my bit of Mother Earth, even if it’s smaller than your bit. I, Timba, am a cat, and cats have been here longer than cattle. You are going to end up on someone’s plate, covered in gravy and next to a potato. Whereas I, Timba, will become an indispensable, pampered cat with supreme influence over my humans. Therefore, you will grant me free exit from this field, at my own pace, with my tail up.
Then I did something VERY brave. I walked towards the ring-leader and kissed his outstretched nose. I visualised myself as a shining cat, my light so vivid that no one would harm me.
With deliberate slowness and calm, and with a flagrant wave of my tail, I walked away and on towards the forest. The bullocks trailed behind me, clumped together and at a respectful distance. Keep it slow, Timba, keep it slow, I was thinking, and finally… finally, I was out of the field. I even turned and blinked my golden eyes, a cheeky goodbye to the bemused red-brown faces.
After that, I had no more trouble from cattle, ever again.
It’s important to have fun, even if you’re miserable, I thought as I strolled into the towering twilight of the forest. My paws were sore, my once lovely fur matted with burrs, my heart heavy with the weight of Vati’s mysterious problem. Added to that, if I sat thinking for too long I got homesick and wanted to turn back. But I was a young cat, bright-spirited and strong, and there was power in being totally alone in a place of magic.
Magic was everywhere in this forest. I sensed it shimmering between the leaves, teasing me with dancing patterns of light. Crisp autumn leaves floated down, twirling through the stillness, and landed light as cheese puffs. The urge to play with them tugged at the edges of my misery until I gave in and went totally mad, diving and sliding into them, leaping high in the air, my paws akimbo, my tail flying.
I felt brilliant. I was Timba again. My play got more and more creative. I hid behind the stout oak trunks, and leaped out, wild-eyed, my back and tail arched as I sped across the glade. Charged by the magic, I ran into another dimension. The joy was re-creating me: I was a spirit cat being born again from the tatty remains of a tired black cat with burrs in his fur.