BLURB

      The novella and two short stories here are all based on real-life personages.

      Gamine, Ashe, Furry and Quark all graced my household for many long and fruitful years; while Tom was a resident of my home town and I heard rumours of his strange and improbable deliverance. There is also a tiny cameo appearance by Dougal and Shadow, whose biographies have been chronicled here.

      I have mentioned in public appearances that I have some issues with feline fiction as it is commonly practised. While I love and adore cats and feel privileged indeed that they have shared their lives with me, I believe that the following rules for feline-fic should be adhered to:

      1. Let the cats tell their own stories. We all enthuse to other cat-lovers about my beautiful cats and this is how they make me feel; but in fiction the human author should get out of the way and let cats be the centre of attention. Humans will generally be characters, but they should not hog the stage.

      2. Cats are not small, furry humans. They are cats. Fictional cats should therefore think, feel and react like cats do.

      3. The cat must not die at the end of the story. Yes, we get it. Eventually all cats become Rainbow Cats. Manipulating your readers' emotions by including The Sad Bit At The End is not respecting your audience, especially for younger readers. Don't do it!

      I promise faithfully that the above rules have been followed in all my cat stories. Enjoy!

       David Greagg

      Gamine

      I

      She woke up before dawn and washed herself all over. It was going to be another hot day. Her nest was not exactly comfortable, but it was safe and cool. So far, nobody else had found it. Under a large, spreading bush next to the huge stone buildings, there were soft leaves near the ground. She could lie on them, brace her back against the stone and curl up neatly with her face pointing outwards, ready to defend herself if need be. She hadn't had to of late. Big Stripes had chased her away from her last nesting-place, and she had run. He was far bigger than her and his lazy, slitted eyes had raked her with a glance. Go away, small cat, he had told her; and with one huge paw he had cuffed her face. She had blinked at him, backed away, and considered her choices. Fighting was hopeless. If Big Stripes wanted her nest she could always find another one.

      And so she had run away, down past the big green lawn, down the hill to the huge buildings. She had sniffed her way all around them, but there was no cat-smell there. There was a faint whisper on some of the stones, but the scent was very old. No cats had lived here for a long time. And there were definitely mice. Before her mother had sent her away, she had impressed upon her daughter that she should find her own place, with no other cats around. Somewhere safe and warm, easily defensible, where there were mice and birds and water.

      There was water here in two great lakes. All the animals and birds drank there. You couldn't catch them near water. Mother had said that was against the Rules. And occasionally humans dropped things to eat. Often she couldn't eat what they dropped, though she always tried it out, nibbling at the edges. Sometimes they tasted wonderful. Yesterday there had been some cooked meat in gravy wrapped up in a soft, crumbly yellow crust. She had eaten all of it and given herself the rest of the day off.

      It was getting light, and the birds would be pecking away at the grass by now. There wouldn't be any humans around for a long time yet. Keeping low under the foliage, she crept up the slope and hid under the last bush. Between the two lakes she looked down the long path which led back to her old life. She could see the stone just starting to gain colour in the growing light.

      There were several pigeons on the grass now. The nearest one was big and fat. There would be good meat on that one. Its head bobbed up and down, oblivious to all else. All she had to do was wait for the other three to stop looking in her direction. If any one of them saw her the hunt would be in vain. She knew how it went. As soon as one bird flaps its wings to fly away, the others all do the same even if they can't see the danger. She didn't have long to wait. When all four were looking away from her, she crept out across the grass on silent paws. One turned to look at her, but too late.

      When it was all over, she drank from the nearer of the two lakes and sat down to think. Still there were no humans, so she lay down on the stone bank and stretched out her paws. The first rays of the sun were shining on her dappled fur. She knew she would have to lie still, or she would lose her meal. Food was food, but the truth is that pigeons do not taste good. Once she had caught one, eaten it and been sick afterwards. The hollow feeling in her stomach had been terrible. All that mess of feathers and blood for nothing. Now her belly was full, and she could lie still and digest in something close to comfort. She lay there until the stone began to get too hot, and then slunk away into the undergrowth. The only problem with hunting successfully so early in the day was that you began to think about things. And of late her thoughts were disturbing. She was lonely, and missed her mother and her brother. It had been so warm and comforting being a kitten. Someone to play with would be good. Someone her own size; not like Big Stripes, who was a fat bully. She hoped she would never be like him.

      She dozed until the middle of the day. When she woke, she heard the heavy footsteps of humans walking past. Later on she would inspect the things they had dropped and see if there was anything she could eat. Another one of those crumbly meat things would be wonderful.

      But all of a sudden, she flattened her ears and listened. Somebody was watching her. She always knew when that was happening. She sat absolutely still, tail tucked around her paws. A bee wandered past her nose. She wished it would go away. Mother had warned her not to play with bees.

      But somebody was looking at her. Through the leaves she saw it was a human, towering up against the sky. This was bad. You didn't want humans to know where you lived. But maybe she couldn't be seen. Her striped and spotted grey and fawn fur was excellent camouflage. She remained where she was, flexing her back muscles. If she needed to run, she would be ready.

      Mother had also warned her about humans. They sometimes gave you food, but they were not to be trusted. They pulled tails and locked cats up in cages and did terrible things to them. Presently the footsteps retreated. They made a crunching noise through the undergrowth, and she tried not to think about getting trodden on by those huge back paws. Something that big might step on her by mistake. Injuries of any kind could be disastrous. She stayed where she was. If the human had seen her, it might return. Slowly she let the tension out of her back and put herself into the lightest of sleeps.

      Again there was crunching nearby and she was instantly awake and on full alert. It was the same human, as far as she could tell. And it was talking, though she had no idea what it was saying. Human speech was utterly alien. But the intonation was friendly. She narrowed her eyes and watched. The human was bending over. It put a stone bowl down in the undergrowth close to her. A slightly familiar smell wafted towards her. The human stood up straight again, said something else and began to walk away.

      She waited a little longer, and carefully slipped through the bushes towards the stone bowl. She looked up and to both sides for traps, but there was nothing unusual. She looked into the bowl. A strange white liquid was gently rocking to and fro. She sniffed carefully. It smelt like Mother's milk, only not quite right. The she backed away and sat down to think. Not a trap. The human was offering what looked and smelled like food, and it had not come too close to her nest. So the human knew she was there, but didn't want to scare her by coming too close. Maybe this was just what it looked like: a gift. She crept forward to the bowl, put her face over the edge, sniffed again and began to drink.

      II

      It was