Geejay the Hero Read online

  “What do you think they could be?” Callie asked.

  “They’re white,” said Blossom. “Perhaps they’re dogs of some kind . . . but they are sitting very still, aren’t they? Could they be asleep?”

  “Those aren’t dogs,” I said. “They’re more like lions, only they’re the wrong colour.”

  I knew what lions looked like: exactly like me, only bigger. Every human I’d ever met had told me so.

  “Do you think”, Callie asked nervously, “that they are friendly?”

  “The Furry Ancestors say,” Perkins announced: “Friendly purring makes more friendly purring, but an angry claw causes pain’. Let us introduce ourselves.”

  “I’m not going on my own,” said Blossom. “We should go together.”

  “They’re rather large though, aren’t they?” said Callie. “What if they were to pounce?”

  “Geejay and I will go together,” said Perkins. “I, after all, am the Senior Cat. You’ll come, won’t you, Geejay?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Let’s go at once.”

  Perkins and I crossed over to the Corby house. Perkins hung back a little and let me go first. I didn’t mind. I hadn’t yet met an animal I was afraid of. When I came close to them, I could see that they were much bigger than I was, but that didn’t worry me.

  I said: “Welcome, white creatures, to Cuckoo Square. Are you lions? I’ve been told I look like a lion, so we have something in common.”

  Silence. The white animals didn’t move a whisker. I peered at them more closely.

  “Perkins,” I said. (He had crept up behind me, and was waiting beside the gate.) “These whatever-they-are don’t appear to have any whiskers.” I put out a paw and touched one of them on the foot. It felt like the pavement. “They’re made of stone!” I said. “They’re not alive. They couldn’t talk to us, even if they wanted to.”

  “Goodness!” said Perkins. “What funny people these Corbys must be, to have pets made out of stone.”

  Later on, when Wendy came back from school, she said: “Stone lions! How posh! The Corbys are trying to impress us, putting statues by their door.” She disappeared into No.2.

  “It seems”, I said to my friends, “that having statues beside your door impresses people and is a Good Thing. Perhaps we should do it for our humans.”

  “Would we have to stay very still?” Blossom asked.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “If we’re to look like proper statues.”

  “It sounds rather boring to me,” said Blossom, “and Miles will wonder why I haven’t come in for my tea. Perkins will sit with you, I’m sure.”

  “Nothing I’d like better,” said Perkins, “but alas, it is time for my nap. I think I will leave being a statue for some other day. But you go ahead, Geejay, if you feel you must.”

  “Callie?” I said, although I knew that she would never agree to sit outside for such a long time. Buggins, the little black kitten who had come to share her house, would appear from out of nowhere as he always did, and jump up and tickle her nose with his.

  “I’m sorry, Geejay,” she said. “I have to go and find Buggins. He’s disappeared again. It’s very hard to keep an eye on him.”

  I was just about to sit down next to the stone lions when Wendy came out to find me.

  “Come on, Geejay,” she said. “The boy next door is looking out of one of the windows at the back. Let’s go and talk to him.”

  I followed her round to the garden. I would have to leave being posh and impressive to another day.

  No.1 Cuckoo Square was beginning to look very spick and span, but there were still small piles of bricks lying in the path, and men in overalls still came and went carrying pots of paint and ladders.

  Wendy was very excited. She was going to tea the next day with Nicky Corby.

  “Such a shame you can’t come too, Geejay. Never mind . . . I’ll tell you all about it when I come back.”

  Another cat would have been happy to curl up and go to sleep until she returned, but not me! I wanted to get into that house, and see what it was like. I wanted to be invited in, like Wendy, but I hadn’t been, so I decided to sneak into the house first, all by myself. This should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Every door seemed to be shut, and not one single window was open.

  Just as I was losing heart, Mrs Corby came out on to the front steps and said to one of the men busily painting the outside of the house: “I’m sure these lions shouldn’t stay here while you’re working. They’re bound to get spots of paint all over them. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to help me carry them inside.”

  This was my chance! I immediately took up my position on the steps, next to one of the stone creatures. I sat as stiff and straight as I could, and waited for the man to pick me up and bring me inside with the stone lions. Amazingly, he just smiled at me, and said: “Sorry, me old mog . . . only posh stone lions in here. Mrs C. says so.”

  I made my way to Cuckoo Square, where my friends were waiting.

  “He called me a ‘mog’,” I said. “I can’t imagine why he didn’t think I was a lion too. I’ve been told I look just like one.”

  “And so you do,” said Blossom soothingly. “Never mind, Wendy will tell you all about tea at No.1 when she’s been. And all about Nicky and his parents.”

  “I’m not giving up,” I told her. “I’m going to get in there one day, you’ll see.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Callie. “You can do everything.”

  Callie is a very sensible cat in many ways.

  5. Inside No. 1

  The following evening, as soon as Wendy came home, she went over to Nicky’s house. I watched her shutting the front door behind her, and began to think of all sorts of ways that I might creep into No.1. First, I went down the path at the side of the house, and jumped up on to the window-sill of the kitchen. There were Wendy and Nicky, sitting at the table, having their tea. In our house, there were open exercise books and old newspapers on the table, but Mrs Corby had cups and saucers with roses on them, and the children were eating tiny little sandwiches and iced cakes.

  Wendy saw me looking in, but I jumped down at once. I didn’t want Nicky to see me, and tell his mother.

  I made my way to the big tree that still stood near the house, and started to climb. I’m a good climber, and soon I was on one of the highest branches, peering in through the window of one of the bedrooms. Unfortunately, the room I was looking into had Mrs Corby in it, and she opened the window to shout at me.

  “Scat!” she cried. “Get down from that tree this instant . . . go on. Scram!”

  It’s always hard to run down a tree in a dignified fashion, but I did my best. I even forgot to hiss at Mrs Corby. Never mind, I told myself. I shall have my revenge!

  I crept along the ground to one of the flower beds and dug a small hole in it. That was so enjoyable that I dug another in another place, and then a few more. Soon, all the soft earth in two long flower beds was filled with little holes. I was getting ready to make some more, when a squirrel decided to skitter down from one of the trees. If there’s one thing I can’t resist, it’s a squirrel – chase. Off across the lawn we ran, in and out of the trees at the bottom of the garden, up into the lowest branches, and away across the back patio. One hardly ever catches a squirrel, in my experience, but this doesn’t matter, because they are not the tastiest of animals.

  Mrs Corby came out to see what all the rushing about was. She was flapping a tea-towel in front of her face. “Shoo,” she cried. “I thought I told you to stay in your own garden.”

  Then she caught sight of the holes and began to shriek: “Oh, you naughty cat . . . go away! Go on. And don’t dare to let me find you in this garden again . . . or else . . . SHOO!”

  I fled, and went in search of the other Cuckoo Square Cats.

  “Mrs Corby at No.1”, I told them, “is not a lady to start a fight with. Have you come across her?”

  Not one of them had.

  “My advice to you”, I continued, “is to stay away. That garden is a dangerous place. She came after me with all sorts of weapons.”

  “Will you stay away?” Callie asked.

  “Certainly not,” I said. “That’s my garden. After all, I was there long before the Corbys were. They haven’t marked every single tree, have they?”

  My friends agreed with me.

  I said: “And I’ll tell you something else. I’ll get into the house too. You’ll see.”

  From that day on, I was on the look out. I watched the house, waiting for my chance. One day, I knew, someone would leave a door open, or forget to close a window, and then I would pounce.

  “Look!” said Blossom one afternoon. “The door is open at No.1.”

  “Thank you, Blossom,” I said. “I’d just noticed it myself.”

  I hadn’t noticed it. I had been asleep, dreaming of hunting beside the moonlit river of my kittenhood, but I didn’t want to admit it. Heroes are not supposed to sleep. Neither are hunters. I padded across the road. Cuckoo Square was deserted.

  The men with the ladders and the paint-pots had moved to the back of the house. I could hear loud music coming from their radios as I ran up the front steps. Blossom was right. The door was open. I took a deep breath, and put my head round it. The hall was quite empty. A blink of the eye and a whisk of the tail, and there I was: inside No.1 at last. I wished my friends could have seen me. I was rubbing my chin along the leg of the hall table when I heard Mrs Corby’s voice, and flattened myself against the wall.

  “I can see you in the mirror,” she said, from inside the downstairs cloakroom, where she was up on a stepladder, fixing a new light fitting to the ceiling. “I thought I told you that you weren’t allowed in this house. You are the most disobedient cat I’ve ever seen.
Shoo!”

  She started to climb down the ladder, and just at that moment a draught of wind came whistling round the front door, and the door of the little room slammed shut.

  “Open this door at once, someone!” Mrs Corby shouted, banging on the wood. “I can’t get out . . . the whole door-handle’s come away in my hand. Who was supposed to fit this doorknob? Help! Someone come and let me out NOW!”

  Nobody came. The workmen at the back of the house with their radios on certainly couldn’t hear her, and I knew that there was no window in the downstairs cloakroom of this house, because it was just like ours. But Nicky was in. Surely he could hear her? Why hadn’t he come rushing downstairs to help his mother? The same thought must have occurred to Mrs Corby.

  “Help!” she called. “Nicky! Help! How am I going to get out of here? Drat this old house! Nicky! Why don’t you come down? I know you’re in your room. Oh dear,” Mrs Corby moaned.

  I knew that our house would be empty for a long time. Wendy was going to tea with Lexie, and Angela and Nigel came home quite late sometimes. Mrs Corby went on banging on the door, and shouting.

  I knew exactly what I had to do. It was up to me to save the day, and go and find Nicky. I ran upstairs, and began looking for him. I found his room at last, on the top floor. The door was open. I ran in, and jumped up on to the table. Nicky was wearing earphones, and playing a game on a computer exactly like Wendy’s.

  “Geejay!” he said, and took the earphones off. “What are you doing here? My mum’ll be furious. How did you get in?”

  I miaowed as loudly as I could, jumped down to the floor and pushed at Nicky’s legs with my chin.

  He didn’t move. I took one of his shoelaces between my teeth, and pulled.

  “Stop it!” said Nicky. “Why are you pulling me? What do you want me to do?” I ran to the door, and then back to him, trying to make him see what I wanted him to do.

  “Your mother”, I told him, “has shut herself in the downstairs cloakroom by accident. Come downstairs. Come downstairs now!”

  I don’t know how long it would have taken him to understand me, but luckily, Mrs Corby’s voice came floating up through the house, just at that moment.

  “Nicky!” She sounded very far away. “Help! Help!”

  “Mum!” Nicky shouted, and then he picked me up. “Where is she? Why is she calling out like that? Come on, she’s in trouble. You were trying to tell me, weren’t you? Let’s go and have a look.”

  Before I knew what was happening, Nicky picked me up and we dashed downstairs together.

  “Mum!” he cried. “Where are you? What’s the matter?”

  Mrs Corby’s voice sounded muffled through the door. “I’m in here . . . I’m stuck. The handle’s fallen off on this side. Can you open it from your side?”

  “Yes,” said Nicky. He put me down on the hall carpet, and opened the door.

  “You took your time,” she said. “Where on earth were you?”

  “I was upstairs. I had my earphones on. If it hadn’t been for Geejay, you could have been locked in there till Dad came home, or at least till Mr Perry came in for some tea.”

  “We’ll discuss the cat later . . .”

  “Geejay,” said Nicky. “Not the cat. He’s got a name. He came all the way upstairs to get me. He’s a hero.” Nicky picked me up again and began to cuddle me, burying his nose in my fur.

  “STOP!” Mrs Corby yelled. “Put that animal down at once! You’re allergic to cats.”

  “Am I?” Nicky sniffed the air. “No, I’m not. Really. Look, I’m fine. Isn’t that great? It’s brilliant. I love this cat!”

  “Nicky,” said Mrs Corby. “Could we discuss cats and your allergies some other time? I’m going to find Mr Perry this minute and get him to fix this door-handle at once, before anyone else gets locked in. In fact, you can go and fetch him for me. I need a cup of tea. My nerves are all of a jangle . . .”

  Nicky went. I sat down and looked at Mrs Corby from a safe distance. In my opinion, she should have said something . . . apologized for chasing me, and being so rude to me so many times, but she went off to the kitchen, and left me alone in the hall.

  I made my way out of the front door. I wanted to tell my friends about my adventures in what was after all, Enemy Territory. As I passed the stone lions, I couldn’t resist boasting. I said: “You might be posh and made of stone,” I said, “but I am a Hero! Nicky said so.”

  They said nothing, of course, but they didn’t look too happy.

  6. A happy ending

  The children were sitting in Nicky’s room. I was there with them, because ever since my heroic rescue of Mrs Corby, and the discovery that Nicky didn’t sneeze and wheeze whenever he came near me, she had allowed me into her house. The doctors had said Nicky might grow out of his allergies, and he had. Still, she wasn’t exactly welcoming. There were no little titbits, such as I was given when I visited Perkins’ house, or Blossom’s, or Callie’s, and she would never be the sort of person who stroked me as she passed.

  “So why”, said Wendy to Nicky, “did anyone think you were allergic to cats?”

  “I had a puppy when I was little. We lived in the country then. I got him for my birthday, and he was the best present I ever had. I loved him. He had floppy brown ears. But after he’d been with us for a few days, I got really wheezy and it felt sore when I breathed, so poor little Billy had to be taken to an animal shelter for rehoming. I cried and cried. I was so sad. I can still remember how sad I felt.”

  I couldn’t imagine anyone being so upset about a puppy with floppy brown ears, but it is true that there are humans who are very fond of dogs.

  “Well, you can have a pet again now,” Wendy said. “I’d get a cat, like Geejay, who’s a real hero, but you could get another puppy if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

  The fur on the back of my neck stood up. Was there really going to be a dog living next door? That would make life very difficult for me. I am not particularly fond of dogs.

  “No,” said Nicky. “My mum doesn’t want to do all the walking. And she says dogs like the country better than the town. I want a cat.”

  “Come and see the other Cuckoo Square Cats,” said Wendy, and she and Nicky went downstairs. I followed them to the Square.

  Perkins, Blossom and Callie were all sitting near the railings. Wendy told Nicky their names, and he stroked them and chatted to them.

  “I’m going to ask my mum if I can have a cat of my own,” he said.

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” said Wendy. “He can be a friend for Geejay and the other Cuckoo Square cats.”

  I looked at my friends.

  “I don’t know how easy it will be to persuade Mrs Corby that she should share her house with one of us,” I said. “She is not a natural animal-lover.”

  “The Furry Ancestors say,” said Perkins, ‘It takes a cat to make a cat-lover’, so perhaps there is hope.”

  Wendy and Nicky walked round the Square.

  “You can come and play in my house tomorrow,” Wendy said. “Now you’re not allergic any more, you can go anywhere. We’ll play Princes and Princesses. You can be the Prince.”

  They went back to Nicky’s house, and I stayed in the Square with my friends.

  “I thought you were the Prince in Wendy’s games,” said Blossom. “Aren’t you cross?”

  “No,” I said. “I could never be cross with Wendy. She called me a hero. So did Nicky. Being a hero is just as good as being a prince.”

  All the Cuckoo Square cats purred in agreement.

  THE END

 

 

  Adèle Geras, Geejay the Hero

 

 

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