Editorial Cat was back up on the window sill and winked at Tibble to encourage him.
“No? What do you mean,
no
? Are you refusing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Tibble said.
“This is getting serious,” the boss said. “You’ve been going so well recently. And now your pig-headedness is going to cost you your job. Be sensible, Tibble.”
Tibble looked the Editorial Cat in the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not doing it.”
“It’s a shame,” his boss sighed. “But you’re not leaving me any choice. You’re finished here, Tibble. You can go.”
And Tibble left.
On the street he met Mr Smith.
“What have you done now, Tibble?” he asked. “I just got the paper out of the letter box and what do I read? Gossip! Lies!Mr Ellmore, the president of our Animal Lovers’ Association… dumping kittens in a rubbish bin? And knocking down the fish stall… and not reporting it… and just driving off? Tibble, where do you get this nonsense? Bah! And I was going to ask you if you’d like to come to my reading. I’m holding a reading next week about ‘The Cat Through the Ages’. I wanted to ask if you’d like to write an article about it. But now I’m not sure you’re the right person for the job…”
“I can’t do it any more anyway,” Tibble said. “I’m no longer with the newspaper.”
And he walked on with his head hanging.
“Now I’ve been fired after all, Miss Minou,” he said. “First I was able to keep my job because of the cats, now I’ve lost it again because of the cats. But I’m not in the least bit sorry.”
He sat down on the couch and the cats sat around him looking serious. Even the little ones could feel how serious things were—they hardly played with his shoelaces at all.
“We haven’t given up yet,” Minou said. “We’ve got something planned for tonight. As soon as it’s dark, all the cats from the whole neighbourhood will come to meet on our roof. We’re going to have a Miaowwow.”
That evening Tibble stayed home with the kittens, who were too little to go to a meeting. He could hear the Miaowwow perfectly though.
He couldn’t guess how many cats there were, but, going by the sound, it must have been at least a hundred. They screeched. They squealed and every now and then they sang the Yawl-Yowl Song.
At about eleven o’clock the doorbell rang.
It was Mrs Van Dam. She came panting up the stairs in her fur coat and snapped, “Mr Tibble, I’ve talked to my husband about it and we think enough’s enough.”
“What do you mean?” Tibble asked.
“This is no longer a respectable house, not with you living in it. It’s become a hotbed of cat activity. Just listen… Listen to them.”
On the roof the caterwauling started up again.
“It’s unbearable,” Mrs Van Dam continued. “And here… What’s this I see? Six kittens as well. If I’m not mistaken they’re the little beasts I found in my caravan. Six kittens plus those two big cats, plus that strange lady who’s more cat than person… that’s nine! Plus another hundred on the roof, that’s a hundred and nine…”
“Plus twenty dead cats,” said Tibble, “that’s a hundred and twenty-nine.”
“
What do you mean
?”
“I mean your coat. There’s twenty in that.”
This made Mrs Van Dam absolutely furious. “The cheek of you,” she yelled. “My mink coat! Are you claiming it’s cat fur? Are you trying to insult me, like you insulted poor Mr Ellmore in the newspaper? Because I read it! It’s a disgrace. And that’s why my husband and I agree that you have to go. Out of
my
attic. With all your kitties and caboodles. I’ll give you until the end of the month. After which I shall rent my attic out to someone else. Good day, Mr Tibble.”
I shouldn’t have said that about the fur coat, thought Tibble once she was gone. Not that it makes any difference. She would have kicked me out anyway. But it still wasn’t very nice of me. And now
“No? What do you mean,
no
? Are you refusing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Tibble said.
“This is getting serious,” the boss said. “You’ve been going so well recently. And now your pig-headedness is going to cost you your job. Be sensible, Tibble.”
Tibble looked the Editorial Cat in the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not doing it.”
“It’s a shame,” his boss sighed. “But you’re not leaving me any choice. You’re finished here, Tibble. You can go.”
And Tibble left.
On the street he met Mr Smith.
“What have you done now, Tibble?” he asked. “I just got the paper out of the letter box and what do I read? Gossip! Lies!Mr Ellmore, the president of our Animal Lovers’ Association… dumping kittens in a rubbish bin? And knocking down the fish stall… and not reporting it… and just driving off? Tibble, where do you get this nonsense? Bah! And I was going to ask you if you’d like to come to my reading. I’m holding a reading next week about ‘The Cat Through the Ages’. I wanted to ask if you’d like to write an article about it. But now I’m not sure you’re the right person for the job…”
“I can’t do it any more anyway,” Tibble said. “I’m no longer with the newspaper.”
And he walked on with his head hanging.
“Now I’ve been fired after all, Miss Minou,” he said. “First I was able to keep my job because of the cats, now I’ve lost it again because of the cats. But I’m not in the least bit sorry.”
He sat down on the couch and the cats sat around him looking serious. Even the little ones could feel how serious things were—they hardly played with his shoelaces at all.
“We haven’t given up yet,” Minou said. “We’ve got something planned for tonight. As soon as it’s dark, all the cats from the whole neighbourhood will come to meet on our roof. We’re going to have a Miaowwow.”
That evening Tibble stayed home with the kittens, who were too little to go to a meeting. He could hear the Miaowwow perfectly though.
He couldn’t guess how many cats there were, but, going by the sound, it must have been at least a hundred. They screeched. They squealed and every now and then they sang the Yawl-Yowl Song.
At about eleven o’clock the doorbell rang.
It was Mrs Van Dam. She came panting up the stairs in her fur coat and snapped, “Mr Tibble, I’ve talked to my husband about it and we think enough’s enough.”
“What do you mean?” Tibble asked.
“This is no longer a respectable house, not with you living in it. It’s become a hotbed of cat activity. Just listen… Listen to them.”
On the roof the caterwauling started up again.
“It’s unbearable,” Mrs Van Dam continued. “And here… What’s this I see? Six kittens as well. If I’m not mistaken they’re the little beasts I found in my caravan. Six kittens plus those two big cats, plus that strange lady who’s more cat than person… that’s nine! Plus another hundred on the roof, that’s a hundred and nine…”
“Plus twenty dead cats,” said Tibble, “that’s a hundred and twenty-nine.”
“
What do you mean
?”
“I mean your coat. There’s twenty in that.”
This made Mrs Van Dam absolutely furious. “The cheek of you,” she yelled. “My mink coat! Are you claiming it’s cat fur? Are you trying to insult me, like you insulted poor Mr Ellmore in the newspaper? Because I read it! It’s a disgrace. And that’s why my husband and I agree that you have to go. Out of
my
attic. With all your kitties and caboodles. I’ll give you until the end of the month. After which I shall rent my attic out to someone else. Good day, Mr Tibble.”
I shouldn’t have said that about the fur coat, thought Tibble once she was gone. Not that it makes any difference. She would have kicked me out anyway. But it still wasn’t very nice of me. And now
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