Pam Pheasant

  

 

Chapter 1:   Exploration

 

Casper’s morning started just like any other.  He had as much as he wanted of his  breakfast, took a short stroll and then found a suitable spot to settle down and plan his day.  Casper believed in the importance of careful planning.   The top of the car in front of his house was an ideal vantage point to survey this aspect of his kingdom and of course to allow himself to be seen.

Casper’s house was set in a corner plot almost at the top of a  hill.  From the top of the car he could look straight down the road.  All the other houses in the road were terraces or semi-detached, but the corner plot was a odd shape with only enough frontage for a single house, but allowing for a large garden behind and to the side. 

It was amazing how much noise, scurry and commotion the human occupants of the house made in the mornings.  Casper really preferred to have his planning session outside, unless it was raining, when he would reluctantly return to the house.  In the house, someone was bound to trip over him.  He could never understand how this came about when he so carefully stationed himself in the middle of the passageway where he could easily be seen.    

On this particular Saturday, he was planning one of his longer excursions.  There were  signs that the humans were to be away from the house that day - more running up and down stairs than usual, an increase in the general confusion and most telling of all, bags and carriers by the front door.  The dogs slouched about the house, ears drooping.

When he felt the moment was right, Casper stood up and stretched.  He was quite a small black cat with neat white markings on his nose, shirt front and feet.  As he stretched, he appeared, for an instant, much larger and his cool green eyes flickered gold.  The change was only momentary and if you had blinked you would have missed it.   He slid down from the car and moved quietly to stand in the shadow of the house close to the front door.   Despite the bell on his red tartan collar, he could move amazingly quietly when he wished.

The front door opened and the humans, man, woman and two children, boy and girl, blond, angelic-looking and noisy, bundled out carrying various bags and packages.  Under cover of the general exodus, Casper slid quietly through the door and into the hall, watched the door close behind him and stood listening to the voices as they faded down the drive.

“Have we got everything?”

“Did you check the dogs have plenty of water and all the bedroom doors are shut?  All of them?  Are you sure?  I don’t want a heap of dogs spending the day on my bed.”

“Where’s Casper?  He was here a minute ago.  Did you leave some dry food by the back door for him”

“Don’t forget we’ve got to drop the key in to Mavis, so she can come in for the dogs”.

Doors slammed, surely more times than the five doors that the car possessed.  Casper shuddered and shook himself.  The engine started with a cough and splutter and with much revving the car pulled out of the drive. 

The four dogs, who had been running up and down stairs and from the front door to the back door, gave up and slunk back to the kitchen where, after some slight disagreement, each settled on one of the four bean bag beds.  Casper moved purposefully into the kitchen.  The dogs eyed him nervously.   He batted his favourite, Merlin, in a friendly way in passing and the small blue Cocker Spaniel jumped up to follow him as he made for the work surface at the far end of the kitchen.   

A saucer had been placed over food he had not finished at breakfast, but this was no problem to Casper.  When planning a long trip, in Casper’s opinion, it was important to eat well first.  Even so, there were a few remnants left in the bowl when he had finished.  Usually, he relied on the dogs to clear these up, so there was no chance that he would have stale food dished up for his next meal.   

Moving with apparent carelessness, Casper turned round so that his back foot gently nudged the bowl over the edge.  Merlin waited for a moment to make certain that Casper was not going to follow the bowl.  Casper had all his dogs well trained and not one would have dared to go to his bowl before being sure that he had finished. 

Casper’s body language was always clear.  He turned deliberately away and Merlin understood that he was free to finish up the bowl, which he did with great speed before the other three had time to reach it.

Casper leapt for the ventilator and with the skill of long and undetected practice, knocked up the broken catch.  Balancing for a moment, he pushed open the ventilator sufficiently to allow a suddenly very slender cat to pass through.  On the ground he returned to his normal size, sniffed disdainfully at the dried food in the bowl on the step, drank a little of the water left for him and set forth.

It was a lovely garden, full of corners and hiding places, but today Casper wasted no time on home ground.  His plan was to walk the northern boundary of his territory.   It was important to do this on a regular basis to ensure that his Kingdom remained undisputed.  He started off over the side fence by way of the dustbin.  He trotted across the next door garden jauntily, his bell jingling.  He knew very well that the little Siamese cat was hiding under the Buddleia bush and peering out in terror, but he was not looking to pick a fight, just to establish his right to cross her garden.  The next garden was empty.  Casper hesitated.  He was approaching dangerous territory.  The cat who lived in the garden beyond had a dog, only one dog, it is true, but a cat chaser.  It had even been known to chase its own cat, a practice that Casper deplored and would never have allowed of his own dogs.  

Deciding on discretion, he leapt lightly on to the fence in the corner and walked carefully along the back fence of the neighbouring garden, waiting to be spotted.   Towser was large and so hairy, it was amazing that he could see anything through the fringe of ginger hair that fell across his eyes.  Casper shook a little to jingle his bell and draw attention.  This brought Towser hurtling up the garden in a fury of hysterical barking.  Casper remained on the wall. He wobbled a bit to make his position look more precarious, causing renewed frenzy.  It was amazing how the dog could keep it up.   Would he go on for ever?  He was beginning to get bored with the affair when he heard the house door slam and an angry voice calling to the dog.  Casually, he dropped down on the allotment side of the fence and stood listening, not without satisfaction, to Towser getting his just deserts.    As he turned away, he could hear the big dog whimpering as he was dragged indoors, claws scuffing on the concrete path.

Casper could have reached the allotments over his own back fence, but it was important to reinforce his sovereignty over the neighbouring gardens.  He set off at right angles heading towards the high ground where the railway dived into a tunnel.  All the plots in this area were well cared for with neat rows of vegetables and solid wooden sheds.  There were a few people working on the plots and outside one shed sat a fluffy white cat, a slight acquaintance.  Casper raised his tail politely in greeting, but did not stop.   When he reached the end of the fifteenth plot, he turned right.   He didn’t have to count the plots, he knew exactly where to turn.  The plots carried on almost to the railway.  Cats who travelled further in that direction had been known not to come back.  He stopped briefly to mark the place. 

Six more plots and he reached the edge of civilisation.  There were derelict sheds with their doors swinging open and plots so overgrown it was difficult to follow the paths between.  There were no more people digging in the soil and the sound of the last radio faded behind him.  This was wild country, the only place where Casper could be himself.  If you had seen Casper when he was being himself, you would have noticed that he was a much bigger cat, on a good day, at least six or seven times as big.    If you had got close, which you wouldn’t, you would have seen that his eyes were no longer cool green, but a glowing amber.  Unnoticed, the smart tartan collar dropped from his neck.

Casper was careful to follow no particular path and to leave no scent markings.  He didn’t want any other cats following.  He enjoyed exploring.   The predatory fox, who thought he owned all the mixture of woodland and scrub that covered the top of the hill, gave way to Casper, particularly when Casper was being himself.  

Finally, Casper came down from the wild country.  Beyond the wilderness was a stable building and yard beside a small stone cottage where Casper was expected.  As he passed the gate of the little paddock beside the yard, an old grey pony whinnied softly and leant over the gate to blow at him through extended nostrils.  He stopped briefly to press his face against hers before hurrying towards the cottage. The door was opened by an old man and Casper stepped directly into the kitchen. 

You will appreciate that Casper was not a demonstrative cat, but in his joy at greeting his friend, he became almost ecstatic.  He walked round and round his ankles, purring and rubbing his head violently against the old man’s hands as he bent to stroke him. 

The greeting over, the two set out to enjoy each other’s company.  The man carried out his few household chores, then to Casper delight went out to the stable building, where he had his workshop.  He made wooden dolls houses and toys that he sold for a small sum to a traveller, who sold them for four times the amount to a shop in Covent Garden.  The shop in Covent Garden sold them to tourists for twice as much again.

The toys were of no interest to Casper, but the building fascinated him.  He explored the loft and investigated all the odd corners and crannies, before settling down in a manger to watch the old man at work. 

The building had been the coach-house for the big house that once stood further up the hill.  Casper knew just where the old foundations were, hidden in the undergrowth.  After the house had burnt down, the coach-house, cottage  and a small piece of land had been purchased by the old man, then only a middle aged man, who used it to run a small, not very successful market garden, growing produce for the local market and shops.   The stables were used for his own and other local trolley ponies. Briefly, he had tried to run a children’s riding school, but more and more people had cars and preferred to go out of town to the real countryside to ride.    Even when he had given up the riding school and got a proper job on the buses, he had kept up as much of the market garden as he could manage in his spare time and ponies for his two daughters.  Old Polly, the grey,  was the last of these, belonging to his younger daughter who travelled the world as journalist, but came back to visit now and again.

There were sardines for lunch that Casper could share, although as he had hunted successfully, he really needed no supplement.  Whenever Casper thought about moving house permanently, he remembered that here he would be expected to find his own food or share the old man’s sparse diet.  Today he left at sundown. Under cover of darkness he took the most direct route home, hoping to arrive before the family, so that he could pose as a pathetic cat left out in the cold all day with nowhere to go.  Unfortunately, it was not to be.   Herself was outside banging a tin and making the neighbourhood free of his name in the most embarrassing manner.  He hastened towards the door, darting inside before he could be scooped up and cuddled, out in the open, where anyone might see.        

“Oh Casper.  Where have you been? And you’ve lost your collar again” 

A mile and a half  away, the old man, taking his evening stroll under the stars, picked up the collar with a smile.  He was the only one who ever caught a glimpse of Casper being himself.