Folks - we decided to bring you one of most recent of our stories called #thecatwhoneverwas - it is special and even more so as it stars a kitwit close to our hearts - we do think our own little newbie(squeak) was out there waiting for me Rug and Owner to love OH alright and playfight with too. Do enjoy this story won't you - our gift to you all for January. XX
Herewith our story, as written by Owner and will be told by me, Wonka XX
Forward:
New readers or old might
like to know a little background to the making of this story; the idea came to
me like always, from maybe a dream or a wisp of something and I immediately
wrote it down. And waited. You must let
the story come to you! Anyhow, bit by bit it started to seep through and I did
wonder as it was rather a different story from my usual ones, and the setting
was very exact too; involving night time excursions around chimney tops and
roofs and always with a good vista. A while later, I moved house which was a
terrible upheaval for me and of course Wonka my cat and the others, but we made
it. The thing was, we made it to exactly
the home I am talking about in this story.
When I look out, I see the very scenery my original idea brought with
it. So this is a special tale, brought
from rather a special house I think – an old house, over one hundred and fifty
years’ old it has its secrets no doubt and sometimes I glimpse them, but mostly
just an odd feeling or two. enjoy this short story,
and remember to hold fast to your ideas, they are as real as you and me. As for Wonka, who is my beloved cat, as per, he tells the tale.
MM 1 May 2017
Chapter
One
I had a roaring cold and
Wonka told me off for sneezing so much as it made him jump. The sneezing was loud and long and wearing me
out rather.
‘How about one of my
stories?’ he offered.
I blew my nose and took a sip
of hot orange. The same drink had once
really annoyed a colleague I was working alongside, to the point where she had
to move away from me (blaming her pregnancy no less for the exit). Luckily I was now alone, in my own dining
room with just Wonka to say things.
Bertie was in the Narnia cupboard fast over and Ruggles had retired to
the luxury shed.
‘Go on then,’ I replied at
last to Wonka who was preening himself on the sideboard.
Easter was lurking round the
corner bursting with renewal and eggs and cards; every school child would be
busy at it, either concentrating on an event that easily put Game of Thrones in
the shade, or wondering why it still echoed down the years.
However you approached it,
it was stuck there, on the calendar, the big four day break; Jesus would not be
ignored, or, any of his followers. I
particularly liked Mary Magdalen who being a woman and practical with it, was
the first on the scene after he had disappeared from the tomb; and, the first
to see him back to life. Yes, it was one big story brought back to life over
and over again.
‘Are you listening then?’
Wonka sounded a tad impatient and gruff.
I smiled over at him, my pride and joy not to mention chief adviser, and
said I was.
‘This story,’ he announced,’
is called The Cat Who Never Was.’
The cat in question lived
upstairs and was a neat and tidy black and white cat. She
had a name she had a special bed, toys and an old blue feeding bowl which had
two sections: one for maybe biscuits and the other for water – it allowed for
choices. ‘The thing was,’ Wonka told me, ‘She wasn’t there.’
The cat who wasn’t there and
never was, belonged to Anya who called the cat Oodles. ‘How is Oodles?’ her mother used to ask after
Anya had closed the door to the stairs.
‘Has she eaten her breakfast I wonder and then jumped onto the
windowsill to inspect her domain,’ Now Anya’s mother would have been startled
to hear a reply because her daughter did not speak; no first words had ever
been spoken and the delight of hearing those early efforts to communicate had
been longed for and waited for, but nothing.
All the experts had been consulted and the answers given, quite simply
no one really knew why Anya would not speak as her hearing was excellent and in
all other respects, for a seven year old child, she was more than capable.
Meanwhile, and for a good
few years, Oodles had been living upstairs and apart from not being there, was
Anya’s best companion and friend.
You will be saying to me,
how can that be Wonka – an invisible cat and a child who cannot speak!’ Wonka
waited for me to say just that. Of
course I was thinking that, but I knew better than to stop him in his
story. Lots of children have invisible
friends who listen to them, find them funny and clever and make them feel
safe. I supposed for me, my stories were
my friends doing the same job when needed.
‘What does Oodles look
like?’ I asked Wonka, as the picture in my head might not be the same; but
funnily enough when he described her, it was.
Oodles was a neat and tidy
black and white cat, with fluttery whiskers and big green eyes. Her white chest was so clean you could have
eaten your breakfast off it, pronounced Wonka (who was pretty hygienic
himself), and her fur was soft and gleaming.
All in all, a most beautiful and splendid creature – if only we could
have seen her. Now Anya was a lucky
little girl in all other respects, and had the kind of bedroom most of us dream
of. Hidden at the top of the house, and
guarded by a small wooden door with stairs leading upwards, the room itself was
in the attic and had its very own skylight.
Fancy! A window that looked onto the roofs and chimneys, beyond that to
the church spires and tall buildings and surrounded by sky. When Anya was not
well, or even just in bed not asleep, she would lay there watching the clouds
drift by, shaping themselves into fantastic creatures. At night though, it was a different
story. This was when Oodles became even
more magical than before.
Wonka paused for a moment,
to check I was listening. I was
spellbound though, and back in the days of my own childhood reading my stories
which were more alive to me than the world I lived in.
The strange world of
children is such that the imaginary worlds and dreaming selves seem to merge
into one providing a shield against the life we are a part of. Perhaps, I thought, Anya can talk in her
dreams and just hasn’t bothered to do it when awake.
Wonka continued the story
and I fell deeper under the spell of Oodles and Anya and their strange
friendship.
When dusk appeared at the
little skylight window, which was built into the roof and had a proper
windowsill and a latch to keep the small window open Oodles would slip out onto
the roof and begin her night time adventures.
Skipping up to the roof top and then jumping onto the chimneys she would
sit with the gulls for a while, even joining in with their mewling cries. For so long, Anya could follow her adventures
until Oodles sprang down and went on her longer journeys, travelling mostly as
cats do, but occasionally, as cats don’t, flying from one roof top to another.
Ah, what a happy time was
that in the life and times of Oodles, when she slipped into the cool clear
night and circled the wispy clouds lit up by star light; on special nights, her
journeys would be lit by the large serene globe that humans called the
moon. Oodles loved her, for it was a she
shining down and sending her soft beams of light moving along the gardens and
yards and spreading out over the countryside beyond.
On one such night it was,
that Oodles flew to Whitby and found the church of St Hilda. Now you may not know this, but St Hilda was
pretty important to those Whitby people, founding the famous Abbey (to be later
toppled by Henry VIIIth) and generally bringing comfort and grace to the poor.
Oodles as I say, swooped down to the Church,
dedicated to this wonderful woman, and landed with ease in the entrance. There it was that she communed with the other
felines of the night, and shared the wisdom.
‘Do the mean ‘The Wisdom’ Wonka?
He looked over at me, and
confirmed that indeed it was, the old laws and secrets governing our world and
carried forward by all creatures – thus Oodles was partial to it and was able
to learn from it and pass this learning on.
It turned out, that St Hilda had done all this in her lifetime, as the
legend goes, even driving out a load of snakes from Whitby, over a cliff and
into the waiting sea! On a more mundane
level, she had visited the very town where Anya and her Mother now resided,
bringing her healing powers with her.
This was of interest to Oodles, who being of a particularly
compassionate nature, was ever on the lookout for Anya’s missing voice. If she could find it, and bring it back one
night, and slip it under Anya’s pillow for her to find in the morning – well,
it would make her purr like a train and wash herself all over twice or three
times for joy!!
So it was, Oodles exchanged
purrs and soft crooning noises with the other felines gathering at the
porch. You could say (Wonka gave me one
of his looks), that it was a sort of service for us cats! Usually, at some time in the evening, the old
lady they only knew as Mother, would calmly walk round the path at the side of
the church, bringing with her their supper; this was a routine known to all
felines in the area, and neither was it overused. It was, declared Wonka, a feast for the
needy!
Ah, the tales that were
exchanged here, and oh, the wisdom too.
Some of these tales found their way back to various homes and assorted
owners. For Oodles, the joy of purring them to Anya, was a nightly treat and
was rewarded by the listening child, who stroked her fur and smiled in her
sleep. Yes you see Anya did hear the stories and often drew them
in pictures and coloured them in for her mother. Her favourite story was the one about a
little girl who did not speak, and spent her life listening to and helping
others, from a very ancient priory it seemed too. At least this is what she drew, and what her
mother admired.
This was in fact, how her
mother knew of Oodles, as Anya drew her from the beginning of their friendship
and she made an appearance in all the pictures she drew. ‘Ooh!’ she said when she first saw the
drawing. And Anya, who of course knew
the cat’s name already, having been informed of this, was delighted to see her
mother knew it too – well half of it anyway.
The days and nights passed,
and Oodles played amongst the chimney tops and skated down the frosty roofs as
it drew closer to what we call the season of goodwill.
The School that Anya
attended was also busy with said season, and this year, were putting on their
version of the Christmas Story. When
Anya met her Mother at the entrance to her classroom, she had dancing eyes and a
big smile; the letter she passed to her Mum confirmed why she was so happy.
Chapter
Two
‘Year 3 is to put on the
play ‘Our Christmas Story ‘, and Anya has been selected to play the part of the
Angel. Please let us know if you are
able to help with costumes and props by contacting Miss Claire Form Teacher.’
Later, in her bedroom, Anya
set a rather nice tea down for Oodles and sat on the bed to watch her eat. Oodles was a very careful eater, with none of
that slurping and grumbling noises, just a delicate picking out of a morsel and
swallowing it neatly. This was followed
by a good grooming session and finally a visit to Anya to say thank you, and
then off on her nightly rounds. She knew
of Anya’s happiness and did think that to play the part of an Angel, and not
just any old angel but the Angel of the Lord, was a triumph for her little
friend.
Now when Wonka mentioned
this part of the Christmas Story, I did wonder how Anya would portray this
powerful and frankly amazing creature. I
mean Angels are guiding spirits for us humans at the best of times, but this
Angel was proclaiming future events and guiding Mary and Joseph as well as
Shepherds and Wise men too. In dreams
and out of them, this Angel was at the beginning and end of the story.
‘Hallo?’ went Wonka breaking
into my chain of thought and bringing me back to Oodles and his night time
ritual through the skies.
‘Yes I’m listening!’
And he continued with the
story.
One of Anya’s favourite bed
time stories was not surprisingly, about a cat.
Like all favourite stories it had been read and re read, losing none of
its magic on the way.
As she listened to her Mum
telling the story, and coming up to the bit where the cat, Ginger Tom was busy
criss crossing the night time streets on a mission, she wondered if Oodles was
also engaged in some secret work; as her Mum closed the story, marking the
place with one of Anya’s drawings, she reminded her of the trip to the
Christmas Fayre the following morning, and didn’t seem to notice Oodles
scratching at the window to come back in.
She did follow Anya’s pointing hand though, and with a smile went to let
the invisible cat back into the room.
‘Night Anya! And you too
Oodles,’ she called as she left the bedroom.
Oodles had been out in the
rain and had a thorough grooming session on Anya’s bed and so she was nearly
asleep when her little friend began to tell of the latest adventure. There was mention of Mother, the kind lady
who looked after all the strays of the parish of St Hilda’s, and also an update
on Oodles’ search for Anya’s voice.
Anya was asleep by this time, but who knows what we hear when we are
asleep and dreaming? The thing was,
Oodles had still not found it, the missing voice but had spread the news as far
and as wide as she could. Purring away
with the intense concentration on washing her fur down, Oodles too fell to
sleep and dreaming.
Anya found herself outside
the very church that Oodles had been talking about, so didn’t feel out of place
or confused at all; even better when she had a proper look, there was Oodles just
in front of her and leading the way It
was such a happy place to be, even inside the church too, cats sitting in the
pews using the cassocks like special cushions, and all talking away to each
other exchanging news and such.
The time seemed to pass and
Anya did not feel in a hurry or for a minute that she should be somewhere else;
when she met the lady they all called Mother, it seemed in keeping with all the
rest of it. To her surprise, she thought
she saw her Dad over the far side of the Church polishing one of the big
Crosses on the Altar. He smiled over at
Anya and carried on with his work, and as he moved slowly round the table she
saw he had a cat lying across his shoulders, like a small fur stole! Even from
a distance she could see it was Oodles, and smiling with delight she walked
quickly up the way between all the pews towards them. The next thing she knew was waking up to hear
her Mum calling her name, and telling her to get dressed and come down for
breakfast; Anya knew she had been on a special dream journey though, and as
soon as she could, drew it in her diary.
Returning to her bedroom, she felt full of joy what with the day out to
the Christmas Fayre and the Christmas play ahead; oh and the feeling of
happiness her dream had left her with.
‘And Oodles?’ I enquired,
thinking she had stayed behind at St Hilda’s Church, perhaps to keep Anya’s Dad
company.
‘She came home that time,’
continued Wonka, indicating that perhaps she would stay behind in the end.
With the Angel of the Lord
nicely out of the way, and all the glow and glitter of December melting away,
January arrived and so did the real winter time. Anya and Oodles watched at the skylight
window as the first flakes fell and then settled. Soon it was a white world outside dented here
and there with the footprints of the pigeons and gulls on the roofs. Still Oodles went out on her night time
excursions and still came home – sometimes late into the night squeezing
through the tiny gap between the latched skylight window and the sill. Until
one night, in February, she didn’t return.
Chapter
Three
Now Wonka had to leave the
story for a bit to have a well-earned treat; this was a bowl of fish to which
he was partial these days, and had me dashing round the maze like supermarket
to hunt it down. Wonka said I couldn’t ‘hunt’ fish down you had to catch it or
fish for it! I suspected that all the other shopping couldn’t be hunted down
either but it all felt like an expedition to me, tracking it down to this shelf
or that icy compartment. ‘Finished?’ I enquired.
Wonka had finished, and even
washed himself round. The story began
again.
Time passed and Easter came
nearer. Instead of the angel of the
Lord, Anya’s class were told a different story.
This story, like the disappearance of the cat who wasn’t there, was at
first a bleak reminder of high hopes gone to nothing. Oodles, who always came
back to Anya’s bedroom had not come back, and Good Friday was nothing of the
sort.
Talk of renewal and rebirth
did little to lighten Anya’s mood who drew a cat appearing by the tomb instead
of Jesus. The rest of the Class were
all dutifully drawing Easter eggs on pieces of paper, or crosses with daffodils
sprouting up and so Anya’s drawing was awarded a special star for bringing a
different message; the miracle of life had even reached down and made Oodles a
real cat!
The picture was there now,
pinned on Anya’s noticeboard and the last thing she looked at before she went
to sleep. Perhaps she would dream of her like the other time and perhaps this
time, she would come home. When you
lose something precious it just takes over everything, and in the case of this
cat, who you will recall wasn’t there to begin with, well she popped up all
over the place. Anya saw her on cars, in
windows, in the street and finally in her dreams.
In the dream, it was that
lady again, Mother, and she had a basket with her full of-
‘Full of what Wonka?’ I had
to prompt him but he would not be rushed.
‘It was full of strange
things.’ He said finally, and carried on.
And Wonka carried on the
story by returning to Oodles, the not there cat. Everyone knew Anya did not have a real cat
and mostly did not take much notice when the not there cat went missing. Her Mum did take notice and without Dad there
to share it with (her worries) took to talking to his photo instead. These conversations with her dead husband,
Anya’s Dad, would centre on a problem or worry and tonight were all about
Oodles. The outcome was simple
really. If Oodles did not return, then a
real cat must be found to be the same loving companion that she had been.
Oodles had started to fade
in February but it was so slight at first that Anya could still see her and
that was alright. So she still hopped
onto the windowsill and went skipping out onto the rooftops and flying through
the evening in her quest for Anya’s voice; she swooped on the hidden treasures
of the night, the puff of evening air so clean and sharp or the last cries of
the blackbirds as they bid farewell to the day, all these sights and wonders
below as she turned towards her home.
She even thought she had
found the Voice, such a pretty thing shimmering like a rainbow, until that
started to fade just like her; and in keeping with the ethereal beauty of the
rainbow, vanished back into the early evening sky.
One night though, she could
not get back in and realised that her little companion could not see her either
and her not thereness was complete. In a
hurry now, Oodles shot through the night sky, forgetting all her usual games
and tarries to arrive suddenly at the Church of St Hilda. It was late and the gathering of all the cats
of the parish had been and gone but luckily for Oodles, Mother was still there
and seemed to be expecting her too.
‘Oodles!’ She gave her a
special look, and at the same time nodded over at Anya’s Dad who smiled
back. He was busy at work although
Oodles couldn’t see what it was. It was the same work though that he had done
when ‘he was there.’
‘Now, he’s not there, just
like you Oodles!’ observed Mother.
‘You are just a little
shimmer in the moonlight, my dear friend!’ and she reached down to where Oodles
was and gave her a whisper of a stroke.
‘I know you are still searching for that voice, and if you will look in
my basket, tell me what you see.’
Oodles did look, and it was
same basket that Anya would later dream of and also think full of very strange
things.
There was some confidence,
pretty hair, rosebud lips and a fair complexion; there was height, there was
gumption and a healthy appetite. But no
voice. The old lady who they all called
Mother smiled at Oodles and said this: ‘You must bring her to me and then
you’ll find what you are looking for.’
The matter of Oodles’ not
thereness was the more important problem and Mother had another answer. It meant a sacrifice though, a giving up of
all the night games, no more flying with the gulls and skipping the rainbows,
no more sitting on the chimneys and thus an end to this way of being.
‘Did she mean not being
there Wonka?’ I had to ask him.
‘Yes, and this meant a new
beginning as a cat who was there.’ He
replied, mentioning that in the run up to Easter this was the way of it. It is always Easter somewhere he said, things
coming back to life or getting one.
‘Ah,’ I thought, this is
Wonka being all sage in his middle years. I rather liked it.
Now Oodles wasn’t as
reassured by what Mother was saying.
Talk of sacrifice and the hidden treasures of doing so, well what of
it! She missed Anya and knew her little
friend felt the same. ‘Will it mean we are back together again?’
Mother said it did mean
that, and Oodles found she was agreeing to something that made her very nervous
indeed; only the thought of jumping onto the bed and rubbing her face up to
Anya’s reassured her. ‘I’ll do it!’ she
decided and put her trust in Mother.
Anya found, that in the
dream she was able to be wherever she wanted and used this freedom to look
inside Mother’s basket. She listened
too, as Mother was talking to Oodles nearby.
They were outside the church this time, and it was in the afternoon,
according to the sun dial in a small grassy area behind the building.
As she listened in and
watched, it seemed that her little companion was searching for something. Surely not from the basket which even in the
dream had odd things inside. Who,
thought Anya, wanted a piece of gumption! Wandering round the side of the
church towards the back, she noticed a gardener tending to some of the old
stones and further down the pathway, an outhouse. She liked the look of the outhouse as it had
a cat flap in the wooden door and behind her the gardener was telling her
something.
His name was Jacob, and in
the tradition of dreams, she knew this without asking even thinking to herself
that he sounded like his name; but the call of her name was louder and more
persistent, drowning out whatever Jacob had been saying and it was this that
woke Anya from her dream. Her Mum was
waking her up!
The only thing Anya could
remember was to do with a new kit. Did
he mean a gardening kit? A sports kit?
Whatever it was she felt slightly better having seen Oodles, and the
lady they all called Mother again.
What do you think Anya,
about us having a cat? I know there is Oodles, but she seems to have
disappeared – ‘ her Mum inspected the windowsill and even put the window on the
latch. Then she looked down at the bowls
and the bedding. She looked back at Anya
for confirmation that the Oodles Cat, who never was, was also not there anymore.
Anya stared back, with a new and stubborn expression.
‘Well I know how much you
loved her and everything, which is why it might be time to take in a cat
needing a home. You know, a rescue cat.’
Anya was not ready to give
up on Oodles. Not that quickly, and
especially not after her dream. She was
out there somewhere, and must be found!
At least her Mum was thinking about cats, and Anya knew where they all
met up too. So many times had Oodles
whispered all the gossip to her, about this cat and the other one who had been
taken in and now had their very own companions to keep them safe. She showed her Mum the drawing of the Church
and the cats, and the old lady too.
She had made sure Oodles was
the biggest cat in the picture so her Mum could not fail to notice her.
‘That looks like the church
where we went for the Christmas Fayre,’ said her Mum, but Anya shook her head.
‘No?’ She studied the picture some more and told Anya to get dressed; as much
as she didn’t want to go anywhere, Anya slowly picked out a tunic top and some
leggings. Holding onto her dream, she
went downstairs resigned to going somewhere she didn’t want to go.
It has many names, the kind
of happening where the impossible comes true, or what you dreamt becomes real,
and more than one professor has given it a clever meaning but for Anya, finding
Oodles was just a matter of when. Not
if, or maybe but when. For she believed
she would find her cat as much as Oodles believed she would be with her little
companion again.
And with this happy thought,
Wonka paused the story, only for a short while as it was time for his tea. You remember how partial he is to some fish,
and as this makes for a fulsome diet I popped a little on a small saucer. This vanished rather quickly.
‘I’m ready,’ said he ‘to
tell the story to the end.’
Chapter
Four
Oodles was a small sparkling
dot to begin with, growing bigger and then bursting like a pea from a pod into
a furry purry world. To her delight,
from the very first wash round from the large warm creature that filled the box
they were all in, Oodles knew she was there.
No longer a not there cat, no
more of that thank you! She had arrived
into the world of being and seeing and feeling; and she had brothers and
sisters. Home appeared to be a small
wooden room, which smelt earthy and fresh, and their bed was a good sized
cardboard box well-padded out with newspaper and soft blankets. Someone is looking after us, thought
Oodles, in the short periods between snoozing and feeding.
Eventually the small bunch
of fur that was Oodles grew into a decent size kitten, able to tackle a saucer
of milk for itself. Where did the food
come from? Alongside her siblings, Oodles had watched the hands reach down and
gently guide them towards the food; this had been funny to begin with, bobbing
around the saucer and not really knowing what to do. Like humans though, instinct took over, and
before they all knew it, they were busy lapping and licking. Then purring and sleeping.
‘Ah.’ I said, recalling my
own excursion into the world of kittens.
‘Yes,’ observed Wonka, ‘That
was when I lived on a shelf in the Narnia cupboard,’
He had as well. Fostering a stray cat and her kittens had
upset the whole feline dynamic and Wonka had taken it badly. In human terms, he was put out, and jealous. These days, and restored to his rightful
place as chief adviser and teller of tales, the household was fairly calm. And, you will want to know that said cat and
kittens, all found happy homes too.
‘Are you ready for the end
of this story?’ asked Wonka. Yes I was,
but more than that, I wanted a happy ending, like all the best fairy
tales. Life doesn’t always follow
through on this, so I supposed that stories must pick up the slack.
‘Does Anya find Oodles?’ I
quizzed; but Wonka went all enigmatic and said she does and she doesn’t. With that, I had to be content and hear him
out.
Returning home from an
expedition round town and a failed rescue cat mission, Anya and her mum felt
deflated. ‘Surely there’s some kittens
or cats in need of a home?’ her Mum was busy dialling the local Vets now, in
search of the elusive needy creatures. After a long conversation with a very
friendly receptionist, she put the phone down, and turned to Anya with the
news. ‘ – and he knows the receptionist at the other Vets and they have one cat
and kitten left!’ Excited no end by this, Anya’s mum was already planning their
trip to see them. ‘They will wait until we get there!’
The journey there seemed to
takes ages, like all journeys do when you are anxious about where you are going
to. Anya could not see a happy ending, and
had not bothered to clean the bowl in her bedroom (which was Oodles’ bowl) or
give the blanket a shake out (Oodles’ blanket).
The dream had been about the
church, and the old lady called Mother and even a man called Jacob. There had been no dream about a Vets which
was where they were headed. The only
hope to cling to was the fact that this Practice was in Whitby, which was where
the St Hilda’s church was.
‘We are here!’ exclaimed her
Mum, congratulating herself on good driving and only spoiling that with a shaky
left turn into the car park. ‘No patience!’ she shouted at the driver
behind. Together they entered the
reception and up to the wooden hatch.
All Vets have that
distinctive smell, and the young man leading the way to the mysterious back room
with PRIVATE, and STAFF ONLY, on the door, said as much.
‘Just in here,’ he said
showing them through the door, and over to a small pen with a rather pretty cat
and her one remaining kitten. ‘We’ve named them, Jemima and Mouse – this was
the smallest kit and for a while we wondered if he’d make it.’
Mouse looked quite chunky,
and sported a pale marmalade coat with touches of white here and there. Jemima had a more chocolate and orange
colouring also spattered with white. They
both had white bibs and socks, and Anya’s Mum was already keen. Anya, had only this to say to the small tubby
kit nibbling at his mother’s tail. ‘That’s not Oodles!’ to the kitten and ‘Neither are you!’ to the
mother cat. Not out loud, as we know
that Anya does not speak, but her unspoken words were heartfelt just the same.
‘This old lady brought them
all in,’ the young Vet was saying,’ and said they were all born at the back of
the Church where luckily the gardener found them and kept them safe in the
shed. She wanted to come in and meet
you, as she has been fostering them; the others all found homes quickly but
Jemima and Mouse are still waiting.’
With that, the old lady in
question arrived into the very same room and was introduced to Anya and her
mum. She picked Mouse up, in a wink of
an eye, and placed him on her shoulder. ‘This one is my favourite, the weakest
of the litter, and for a moment not breathing; but I rubbed him all round and
he lived!’ Anya was listening hard now as now she recognised this old lady as
the one they all called Mother. She
wondered if the lady knew it was her.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you
Anya, and it’s little Mouse that’s brought you here.’
With that a strange thing
happened. Now we all know that cats
don’t fly and if they do, they must be like Oodles and not really there, but
suddenly as the old lady leaned down towards Anya, the little kitten known as
Mouse, seemed to fly through the space between and land on the girl’s
shoulder. He clung there for a bit and
then nestled right up to Anya’s ear. ‘It is me,’ he said, ‘and I might look
different on the outside, but I’m Oodles on the inside.’
And then Anya knew. She would have known her Oodles’ voice
anywhere and this was she. Now a he, and a marmalade kitten. Which just goes to show that life returning
can take on unexpected shapes and guises.
This wasn’t at all what Anya had set her hopes on, and even her mum
wondered if they had done the right thing.
‘I wish I had found your
voice,’ said Mouse who was really Oodles.
‘You are my voice.’ Anya told him, in Cat, which she spoke better than
any language.
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed to Wonka.’
but that’s just like you and me!’
‘Precisely.’ He said and
asked nicely for some more tea.
The End
The Epilogue
You will all want to know
that Jemima found her home too, and she did! Mother took her home and still
found time to care for all the other wanderers gathering at the side of the
church. Jacob, who was the real gardener, kept an eye out for those who had no
shelter and made sure they knew about the cat flap to his shed. Inside, he made a special shelf with warm
boxes and always left water and food.
As for Anya, well she always
listened and took account of her dreams and continued to draw them – her Mum
took comfort from seeing her daughter so happy, and whenever loneliness settled
on her, had another conversation with Anya’s Dad, looking out of the photo
frame where he was busy at work and smiling at her.
The End
Folks, I do hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did telling you it and the more I think about it, the more I reckon little Squeak is our oodles! Thought about long before she arrived and, what is the saving grace folks is she puts right all those kitwits that Owner let go - the missing piece you might say - and to find out more, you will have to read another of out stories!! See you again soon, Big Love Wonka XXX PS this story is just one of the Wonka Stories all on smashwords.com and two of them are in print!! That is Wonka's Christmas Story and also The Egyptian Tale - the print version of the Christmas Story is illustrated too!! XX
