Today's chapter is a tribute to my friend Elaine's real life Orange Cat. Enjoy the photograph taken by my son, Joshua, in his beautiful garden and the drawings by the lovely Maria. More in a few days. Granny Ruth x
Chapter Three: Raymond Meets the Girls
Chapter Three: Raymond Meets the Girls
Squeezed flat in a narrow space underneath a large oil tank, Raymond tried not to breathe. Whatever it was lurking in the undergrowth, it surely could not reach him here. Oh to be able to fly! Or climb trees.
Light played with shadowy shapes as the creature slunk towards him. A tiger in the rain forest could not instil a greater sense of terror. Was this the end? His mother had warned him about cats’ eyes:
Stay off the road, Raymond, or you’ll be squashed like cats’ eyes. This was something different.
When he presented himself, however, Orange Cat was less feline foe and more fat friend rubbing his furry bottom along the side of the tank. He sneezed twice, wiping a paw across his snotty nose. He’s got a cold, oh happy days! thought Raymond. He can neither smell nor see me and anyway he’s too out of shape to give chase. All the same, he stayed where he was until the cat lost interest and wandered off. Raymond fell asleep, snuggled in his own smallest of spaces, hedged in by bits of crispy leaves and garden debris.
He woke hours later to a terrible cacophony of sound. Above and around him was trilling, piping and singing. The indigo sky was melting into pink and blue pastels as the sun pushed its way above the horizon. Raymond felt like he’d been through a mangle as he stretched out his flattened muscles and shook his fur free of fungus. What was that noise?
Keeping to the edge of the flower bed, Raymond crawled stealthily towards the dawn chorus. They were everywhere, preening, gossiping and feeding. It was breakfast time at the bird table.
Light played with shadowy shapes as the creature slunk towards him. A tiger in the rain forest could not instil a greater sense of terror. Was this the end? His mother had warned him about cats’ eyes:
Stay off the road, Raymond, or you’ll be squashed like cats’ eyes. This was something different.
When he presented himself, however, Orange Cat was less feline foe and more fat friend rubbing his furry bottom along the side of the tank. He sneezed twice, wiping a paw across his snotty nose. He’s got a cold, oh happy days! thought Raymond. He can neither smell nor see me and anyway he’s too out of shape to give chase. All the same, he stayed where he was until the cat lost interest and wandered off. Raymond fell asleep, snuggled in his own smallest of spaces, hedged in by bits of crispy leaves and garden debris.
He woke hours later to a terrible cacophony of sound. Above and around him was trilling, piping and singing. The indigo sky was melting into pink and blue pastels as the sun pushed its way above the horizon. Raymond felt like he’d been through a mangle as he stretched out his flattened muscles and shook his fur free of fungus. What was that noise?
Keeping to the edge of the flower bed, Raymond crawled stealthily towards the dawn chorus. They were everywhere, preening, gossiping and feeding. It was breakfast time at the bird table.
There were fancy feathers everywhere: tawny chaffinches, hooded great tits and, loveliest of all, multi-coloured goldfinches pecking at a separate black seed feeder. Their red faces made them look like guests at a masked ball.
Pretty girls! Of course, the rolling pin woman’s pretty girls!
The last thing Raymond expected was to be shown to a table by a waiter. A huge bird had landed in the garden, lord of all he surveyed. The little birds scattered at his approach. He strutted along the lawn wearing a black jacket over his white waistcoat, his long midnight blue tail feathers brushing the dew. He was huge and self-important, intimidating anyone who blocked his path. Not that anyone dared. The finches and tits had taken cover in the nearby bushes and the wood pigeon was fumbling about on the grass.
Having surveyed the scene, the huge magpie rose into the air and then hurtled back towards the garden like a dive bomber. What on earth was he doing? Soon it was clear to Raymond that there was method in his madness: he was hitting the suspended bird feeder with his strong wings trying to dislodge it from the nail. But why?
The first few attempts failed, then, with a clatter, the full feeder hit the deck, spilling its lid and contents into the flowerbed below.
Geronimo!
The well-dressed bully was first to the feast, and when he had had his fill, the wood pigeon plodded over to help herself. Raymond was salivating with desire. He edged closer, unsure of his welcome. There was none. The great brute of a magpie screeched in his face but then he lifted up and flew to the fence, watching him with beady eyes.
He crunched and nibbled and filled his belly without lifting his head. When he did look up he realised that it had started to rain – huge globules of spit. Raymond hated the rain because he was vain and did not think the wet look suited him. He retreated to his new home under the oil tank to think.
Aside from Smudge, no one had spoken to him, except the crazy woman who wanted to kill him. What had he ever done to her?
Nevertheless, Raymond decided to hang around for a while: big garden, plentiful supply of seed, ingenious birds – what was there not to like? Even Orange Cat seemed to be too lazy to pursue him, preferring to lounge around on the grass.
Raymond was in paradise: in among the shards of bark which covered the flowerbed he found wheat, maize, millet and his favourite: sunflower seeds.
The last thing Raymond expected was to be shown to a table by a waiter. A huge bird had landed in the garden, lord of all he surveyed. The little birds scattered at his approach. He strutted along the lawn wearing a black jacket over his white waistcoat, his long midnight blue tail feathers brushing the dew. He was huge and self-important, intimidating anyone who blocked his path. Not that anyone dared. The finches and tits had taken cover in the nearby bushes and the wood pigeon was fumbling about on the grass.
Having surveyed the scene, the huge magpie rose into the air and then hurtled back towards the garden like a dive bomber. What on earth was he doing? Soon it was clear to Raymond that there was method in his madness: he was hitting the suspended bird feeder with his strong wings trying to dislodge it from the nail. But why?
The first few attempts failed, then, with a clatter, the full feeder hit the deck, spilling its lid and contents into the flowerbed below.
Geronimo!
The well-dressed bully was first to the feast, and when he had had his fill, the wood pigeon plodded over to help herself. Raymond was salivating with desire. He edged closer, unsure of his welcome. There was none. The great brute of a magpie screeched in his face but then he lifted up and flew to the fence, watching him with beady eyes.
He crunched and nibbled and filled his belly without lifting his head. When he did look up he realised that it had started to rain – huge globules of spit. Raymond hated the rain because he was vain and did not think the wet look suited him. He retreated to his new home under the oil tank to think.
Aside from Smudge, no one had spoken to him, except the crazy woman who wanted to kill him. What had he ever done to her?
Nevertheless, Raymond decided to hang around for a while: big garden, plentiful supply of seed, ingenious birds – what was there not to like? Even Orange Cat seemed to be too lazy to pursue him, preferring to lounge around on the grass.
Raymond was in paradise: in among the shards of bark which covered the flowerbed he found wheat, maize, millet and his favourite: sunflower seeds.
Raymond felt hungrier than ever. He hadn’t eaten a thing apart from a lick of sugar in twenty-four hours.
Now that he had decided to stay for a while, Raymond wanted to get the lie of the land. Once the rain had stopped, he moseyed along under grey skies and made a tour of the garden.
Round the far side of the house, he saw smoke seeping out of a half-open window. Fire! He thought, but no one was raising the alarm. In fact, Himself was singing. Singing in a fire?
Raymond crept closer and realised that it was not smoke, but steam. He hid in a bed of lesser celandine, lying among glossy
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.
I’m half-crazy all for the love of you.
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
For I can’t afford a carriage.
But you’ll look sweet up on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.
I’m half-crazy all for the love of you.
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
For I can’t afford a carriage.
But you’ll look sweet up on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.
And not a moment too soon. All of a sudden the rumble of an engine shook the earth. A huge lorry had driven into the driveway. Raymond stayed where he was, watching. There was a wrenching noise and down the side of the house came striding a tall man wearing a cap and overalls. Behind him snaked a long pipe. He was getting closer and closer. A huge nozzle was prodded through the bush directly in front of him.
Oh no! thought Raymond. He’s going to flush me out…
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