With John now clinging round her neck, Ellen opened the fridge and took out one of the tall black and gold cans of beer that Joe liked. She handed it to him silently. He took it, and leaned on the car with his back to everyone.
‘Come on, we need some time outside.’ Ellen carried John down the steps and dragged his plastic tractor out from under the caravan. I followed them with my tail up and sat on the path, which was warm and dry, while John pedalled up and down.
And then the dog appeared. It was ambling down the path, all by itself. It hadn’t seen us yet. I froze, knowing that if I even twitched, it would see me and charge, putting John and Ellen in danger too.
Jessica seemed to have some sort of radar. She came out immediately, running low in the grass like a stalking tiger. I could feel the heat of her as she swept past me. She sat down in the middle of the path, and started washing. Her audacity was breathtaking. The dog ambled nearer and nearer, but Jessica went on washing.
I wanted to run, but how could I leave Jessica, John and Ellen to face that dog?
Suddenly it looked up, saw us and charged down the path, its paws rattling on the tarmac.
Jessica stood up and transformed herself into a dragon. She arched her back, flattened her ears, blackened her eyes and lashed her tail. Her fur bristled until she was twice her usual size. She stepped towards the dog, her mouth open showing an array of ferocious little fangs, and she yowled and growled.
‘Mummy, look at Jessica!’ squeaked John, and we all stood like statues, watching.
The dog stopped barking. It hesitated, then slouched up to Jessica, snuffling and snorting, its glinty eyes fixed on her. She looked so small, like a toy cat against the massive bulk of the dog. Still she inched towards it, glaring and spitting. Then she sprang forward and lashed out with a long paw. Her claws flashed in the sunshine as she caught the dog right on its sensitive nose.
It yelped and backed away, rubbing its hurt nose with big soft paws. Not content with one slash, Jessica flew at the dog and boxed its ears. It fled, yelping and whimpering, back up the path, its tail tucked in and its ears flapping.
John and Ellen, and even Joe cheered and clapped Jessica.
‘What a gutsy little cat!’
But Jessica wasn’t interested in accolades. She sat down again and resumed washing as if nothing had happened.
Later on, the little man with the purple aura came walking down, without the dog. Ellen gave him a mug of hot tea and he sat in the caravan slurping it and apologising.
‘He wasn’t meant to be out. Some idiot left the gate open,’ he explained. ‘He’s a rescue dog. Daft as a brush he is, daft as a brush. And he’s all I’ve got since my wife died.’
I walked along the seat and stepped carefully onto his lap, looking up at him. His name was Nick, and his scratchy old coat smelt of dog, but I tried not to mind as I rubbed and purred. Nick was horrible, and so was his dog, but I could see the loneliness in his eyes. I spread myself out, stretching my long paws over his heart.
‘What a beautiful cat,’ Nick said. ‘He’s got a shine on him, and so friendly. Daft as a brush.’
‘That’s Solomon,’ explained Ellen. ‘And he’s a big softie.’
After Nick had gone, Ellen picked me up and cuddled me.
‘You’ve done something really important, Solomon,’ she said. ‘Nick is the campsite owner and we’ve got to stay friends with him. Otherwise he could chuck us out.’
I felt proud. I was a healing cat. What I did was just as important as Jessica’s moment of glory. I loved her for her courageous performance with the dog. She was a star and she’d been given a whole tin of sardines to herself.
After that encounter, the dog, whose name was Paisley, would not come anywhere near us. When Nick took him out on the long lead, Paisley made a wide circle around our caravan, and Jessica would magically appear and sit on the steps ostentatiously washing, just to wind him up. Paisley never barked at me again, or at John. We were part of Queen Jessica’s domain.
Pam-next-door soon became a friend. She had a dog, if you could call it a dog. It was smaller than Jessica and had legs like a fairy, and ears like wings. Pam dressed it up in tartan coats and put bows in its hair, and it travelled around in the basket of the shiny white bike she rode out on every day, pedalling vigorously.
Pam didn’t like Joe. She would only come in if he wasn’t there, and when he talked to her she looked at him sceptically as if she knew his darkest secrets.
Joe never did finish fitting the puss flap. It stayed under the caravan where he had chucked it, and there was just a square hole in the door. As autumn turned to winter, the wind and rain howled through the hole and it was freezing in the caravan. At night Ellen wedged a cushion against it, and Jessica and I learned to push it aside when we wanted to go out.