left me more treats and more toys. Each time saying good-bye became a little harder. I think they knew that, which is why they didnât come very often.
By and by, I began to notice that some of the other catsâ families also came to see them and then left again without taking them away. Many cats would cry for hours afterwards; it was heartbreaking to hear. Yet other cats were collected and left happily with their families. This gave us hope. Maybe one day our turn would come when we would leave our cells, never, ever to come back.
Well, you guessed it: my day came eventually! Mum and the children arrived, and I could tell immediately by their happy voices that I would be going home with them this time. I was right, as usual. We didnât sit down together for long. Mum packed up my toys and Emilyâs sweater, then she picked me up and I only just had time to call my good-byes to my neighbours before we walked out, past all the cells containing my fellow-sufferers, past the ever-cheerful red brigade who waved to us over their morning tea and biscuits, and out by the front door! I took a deep breath of fresh air â it wasnât actually very fresh, as I found myself practically in the middle of the city, but I just felt I should â then we climbed into our new car. It was a great big white car with chunky tires. We sat very high up, where we could look down on all the other cars, on the dogs and people, as Mum drove us right through the centre of the big city that was to be our new home. Caroline told me it was called Melbourne.
We arrived at our new house in time for lunch. Dad was there to greet us. The children couldnât wait to show me everything. It was a tiny house: just two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, one for Mum and Dad, the other one for all three children, and a large room downstairs with the kitchen in one corner and the laundry room, where my bowls and a litter tray had been prepared. I didnât like the look of the litter tray; I had hoped finally to be able to do my business outside again. But nothing could spoil my happiness for the time being: I was home!
3
LIFE IN A BOX
After a couple of days in the tiny new house, I was more than ready to return to the great outdoors. I had not hunted in weeks; I had had to use horrible litter trays instead of lovely, brown soil; I had had no exercise and was feeling sluggish and unfit. Mum was not keen to let me out: our house stood right by a road. That didnât scare me, though. I knew all about roads, since we had lived on a busy one when I was a kitten. Besides, there was a small fenced garden outside the living room for me to explore. We battled for several days: each time a member of my family left the house, I was right there, waiting to slip out between their legs; each time, they caught me. It was infuriating.
I tried to entertain myself with what little excitement was available, but the best I could get was a large, empty cardboard box that stood in the middle of the living room. Robin had rescued it from the recycling bin and was using it as a cubby house. There were pillows, books and a camping light in there. He also insisted on having all his meals in the box, so I joined him and we snacked on bits of cheese and an assortment of crackers, hidden away from the strange new world outside. I think Robin missed our nice, big house and garden in America just as much as I did. Above all, he missed his little red Jeep, which he had had to leave behind as he was getting too big for it. According to Mum, Robin was now almost eight years old â his birthday was coming up. According to Robin himself, he was only five if you didnât count the holidays. Either way, the two of us sat in Robinâs box, felt sorry for ourselves and waited for something interesting to happen.
It happened quite out of the blue, as these things often do, when Mum came back from the shops and proudly pulled what looked like a length of rope
By and by, I began to notice that some of the other catsâ families also came to see them and then left again without taking them away. Many cats would cry for hours afterwards; it was heartbreaking to hear. Yet other cats were collected and left happily with their families. This gave us hope. Maybe one day our turn would come when we would leave our cells, never, ever to come back.
Well, you guessed it: my day came eventually! Mum and the children arrived, and I could tell immediately by their happy voices that I would be going home with them this time. I was right, as usual. We didnât sit down together for long. Mum packed up my toys and Emilyâs sweater, then she picked me up and I only just had time to call my good-byes to my neighbours before we walked out, past all the cells containing my fellow-sufferers, past the ever-cheerful red brigade who waved to us over their morning tea and biscuits, and out by the front door! I took a deep breath of fresh air â it wasnât actually very fresh, as I found myself practically in the middle of the city, but I just felt I should â then we climbed into our new car. It was a great big white car with chunky tires. We sat very high up, where we could look down on all the other cars, on the dogs and people, as Mum drove us right through the centre of the big city that was to be our new home. Caroline told me it was called Melbourne.
We arrived at our new house in time for lunch. Dad was there to greet us. The children couldnât wait to show me everything. It was a tiny house: just two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, one for Mum and Dad, the other one for all three children, and a large room downstairs with the kitchen in one corner and the laundry room, where my bowls and a litter tray had been prepared. I didnât like the look of the litter tray; I had hoped finally to be able to do my business outside again. But nothing could spoil my happiness for the time being: I was home!
3
LIFE IN A BOX
After a couple of days in the tiny new house, I was more than ready to return to the great outdoors. I had not hunted in weeks; I had had to use horrible litter trays instead of lovely, brown soil; I had had no exercise and was feeling sluggish and unfit. Mum was not keen to let me out: our house stood right by a road. That didnât scare me, though. I knew all about roads, since we had lived on a busy one when I was a kitten. Besides, there was a small fenced garden outside the living room for me to explore. We battled for several days: each time a member of my family left the house, I was right there, waiting to slip out between their legs; each time, they caught me. It was infuriating.
I tried to entertain myself with what little excitement was available, but the best I could get was a large, empty cardboard box that stood in the middle of the living room. Robin had rescued it from the recycling bin and was using it as a cubby house. There were pillows, books and a camping light in there. He also insisted on having all his meals in the box, so I joined him and we snacked on bits of cheese and an assortment of crackers, hidden away from the strange new world outside. I think Robin missed our nice, big house and garden in America just as much as I did. Above all, he missed his little red Jeep, which he had had to leave behind as he was getting too big for it. According to Mum, Robin was now almost eight years old â his birthday was coming up. According to Robin himself, he was only five if you didnât count the holidays. Either way, the two of us sat in Robinâs box, felt sorry for ourselves and waited for something interesting to happen.
It happened quite out of the blue, as these things often do, when Mum came back from the shops and proudly pulled what looked like a length of rope
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