The slip road was easy, but once the grass disappeared there was nothing but iron and tarmac between me and the traffic. The lorries towered over me. The rush of air and the vibration threw me sideways. Each time it happened, I ended up crouching, pressing myself against the metal with my eyes closed. The noise was thunderous and relentless. It rang in my skull. The whoosh of each vehicle blasted gritty air through my fur, almost lifting me off the ground.
I glanced up a few times at the drivers, hell bent on crossing that bridge as fast as possible. Didn’t anyone see me? Didn’t anyone care about a fluffy black cat, all alone, trying to survive? Surely someone would stop and pick me up, wouldn’t they? I was getting unbelievably tired. It needed every bit of my strength just to stay on the road and not be blown off balance, or knocked intothe river far below.
Nobody stopped for me. I thought about the love I had given to humans. Was I invisible? Did I actually look like a cat now, or like a piece of rubbish blown into a corner? I had a go at putting my tail up and trying to look like a successful cat, but it was impossible. The next thundering lorry sent me rolling sideways until I hit the iron and scrabbled desperately to get back on my feet. And then a man shouted at me from a speeding car.
‘Get off the bridge, you stupid cat! Go back. You’ll be killed!’
The tone of his voice cut into my consciousness. I paused, realising I was not making progress. I was surviving, but only just, and for how long?
Turning to face the oncoming traffic, I saw the pathetic little distance I had covered, and realised how ill it had made me. My eyes stung so much it was hard to keep them open. My paws shook. My tail dragged in the oily dirt. Even breathing was painful.
In a moment of despair, I curled into a ball and pressed my face against the cool of the metal. What a place to die, I thought, here on this terrible bridge, alone, with no one to love me. I wanted to die on Angie’s lap, or in her beautiful garden. Not here. Not like this.
That one thought made me decide to give up. I couldn’t cross the bridge, but I could try to go back. Even to live again in the green forest with my matted fur and lonely heart had to be better than this. So, as long as I breathed, I would drag myself to a quiet haven where I could die in peace.
A blessed break in the traffic gave me a minute to recall a healing place. With absolute clarity I remembered the owl woman, Mrs Lanbrow, who had rescued me from the trolley. I saw her, and felt her, as if she was really with me, holding me in the glow of her hands. The memory encouraged me to try and save myself.
I didn’t dare stand on my wobbly legs, for the rush of air from the rumbling lorries would have bowled me over. So I crawled on my belly, my fur dragging on the dirt. Long reaching steps, like a panther stalking, my mouth open now gasping for breath, tasting the acrid smoke from the vehicles. The owlwoman seemed to be in front of me, guiding me with the power of her voice, teaching me to wait for gaps in the traffic when it was possible to run, low to the ground. Each time a lorry came I lay flat and clung to the road while the huge grey wheels trundled past.
At last I reached the slip road and the welcome softness of the grass. Had it not been for the owl woman constantly telling me to move on, I would have collapsed and probably died.‘You must get away from the road, Timba,’ she kept saying. ‘Get back into the clean air of the forest. Find some water, and rest.’ I wondered how she knew I was in trouble.
It was dark when I reached the soothing canopy of trees. The damp moss had never felt so beautiful. I licked the moisture from leaves and grass. I wanted to wash, but my fur tasted poisonous, so I drifted into a deep sleep, only vaguely aware that rain was falling, cleansing me.
When I woke I remembered the owl woman helping me. She wasn’t there now, but she’d said, ‘Before long you will meet me again.’ Did she mean meet her in my memory, or for real?
My fur was soaking wet. Cold, but clean! And I could breathe again. I stood up and stretched.
The longing to go home overwhelmed me. To hear Angie’s voice and have her brushing me so caringly, to see Leroy’s bright smile and hear him say, ‘Hello, Timba.’ I loved my humans. What they did for me was awesome, and I enjoyed giving in return. It was an easy kind of giving … purring and entertaining and comforting.
I seriously considered turning back, across the miles of fields and lanes, through that nightmare maze of streets. Could I find my way?
Thoroughly miserable, I crawled into the solid arms of an ancient oak and found a dry place, protected by overhanging branches. I stayed there for most of the day, occasionally bothering to open my eyes and watch the sparkle of raindrops over the white sky.