King of the Vagabonds by Colin Dann Page A

there’s no food to be had.’
    ‘Good. I’ll trust you, then.’
    ‘I hope you will.’
    ‘Well – good luck.’
    ‘Good luck, Tiptoe.’
    In the morning, Sammy stayed on in the shed whilst his mother and sister roamed the garden. He wanted dearly to show his affection for the last time to his good mistress, but he thought her kind words and caresses would make him regretful at leaving her. And there was always the chance that she might shut him in, after his recent absences, to prevent his wandering off again.
    Later, Molly’s grizzled nose sniffed at the shed door. She came in, wagging her tattered old tail.
    ‘Oh Molly,’ Sammy said softly, ‘you’re the one friend I shall miss most of all.’
    ‘I feel the same about you,’ she murmured.
    ‘I – I’ll never forget you.’
    ‘Of course not – nor any of us here,’ said Molly. ‘And Sammy, don’t be afraid to come back here. It’ll always be your real home. Our mistress will always be—’
    ‘I know,’ Sammy broke in quickly. ‘You think I’m making a mistake. But I have to do this, you see. I can’t help myself. It’s in my blood.’
    ‘Yes. But, let me caution you. Watch out for B – Beau. He’s a jealous, proud creature. And he won’t know who you are.’
    ‘We’ll get along, I’m sure, if we ever do meet,’ Sammy said confidently.
    Molly looked at him long and hard. She seemed to be on the point of saying more, but gave him a loving lick instead across his crossed-out face, and then waddled sadly away. Sammy almost wavered. Then he steeled himself, ran out of the shed and up, over the fence and away.
    Behind his back as he ran on the cockerel called out: ‘Run, run, run. But you can’t fly!’
    Sammy made himself comfortable in the hedgerow where he had devoured the rabbit with Brindle. As the late August sun dipped towards the horizon, he stirred. Now Quartermile Field beckoned. Sammy went slowly across Belinda’s meadow. The goat watched him but gave no greeting. The cat reached the road and waited for the passing vehicles to disappear. He ran nimbly across and was at the bomb site at once, threading his way through the vegetation. He traversed the waste ground, remembering the route to the tall wire fence which Pinkie had shown him. The high wire mesh fence reared up in front of him, and Sammy looked for the way through. He found the hole and glanced round for Brindle. He had not yet come but dusk was closing in.
    Sammy decided to get on the right side of the wire, amongst the wild cabbage and other vegetable plants. He wanted to see the rabbits coming. He soon noticed Pinkie was there before him, lying low. She ignored him. Brute was there too. Sammy guessed the other cats were dotted about the place, all in hiding. He wondered where Brindle was.
    From the far end of the old allotments, where they adjoined open country, Sammy noticed some movement. A group of some dozen or so rabbits, of various sizes, were spilling into the area in fits and starts. They stopped often to check all around for safety, their ceaselessly twitching noses working hard to identify every scent. They came on, closer, closer. . . . A large one, accompanied by a youngster, paused by a cabbage plant. . . .
    Brute shot from cover and pinned the adult rabbit to the ground. The cat’s muscular shoulders produced agrip from his front paws like a vice. Almost at the same instant the youngster was easily caught by Pinkie. Sammy saw the remaining rabbits scatter. They dashed away in all directions, their white powder-puffs of tails showing vividly in the early evening light. Now the other cats showed themselves as they raced in pursuit. Sammy realized that if he himself did not move at once his chance would be lost. He singled out the nearest animal and bolted after it. But he was a mere novice in the knowledge of rabbits’ ways. He was no match for the animal’s speed or tactics. Its zigzagging course confused him and when he stopped to look about him, all