Kitabı oku: «Lara The Runaway Cat: One cat’s journey to discover home is where the heart is»

Humans are fickle. And easily led. At least, that’s my experience.

Picture, if you will, a perfect specimen of cat-kind. A beautiful Ragdoll cat, with dark face and paws and fluffy white fur all over. An intelligent, stylish cat who looks after your house, keeps your knees warm at night, has refined tastes, hardly ever wanders or gets lost, and generally adds a sense of elegance to your life.

That’s me: Lara.

Now, picture a stray dog, picked up in the Chinese desert, with ears that point almost directly outwards for goodness’ sake, who scampers along with you, wins her way into your heart then manages to get completely lost, resulting in you having to go back to China to search for her. Then imagine that you want to bring the dog home to Britain with you, but that means you have to live in another country away from your perfect cat – and your wife, actually – for months on end because of some rules about animal travel. Basically, imagine a scruffy dog that causes all sorts of trouble by having adventures.

That’s Gobi. My new sister pet, ever since Dad arrived home with her, 18 months ago.

I mean, really! Which would you prefer? It’s an easy choice, right?

Apparently not so easy as you’d think.

Ever since Dad brought Gobi into our lives it has been constant chaos.

I don’t like chaos, I like prawns for supper and quiet, predictable days.

Before Gobi came, all of my days were quiet and predictable. Ever since Mum and Dad brought me home as a kitten, from where I was born in Lancashire, more than 10 years ago now, my days have followed a pattern. Breakfast, cuddles, watching the world go by through the window, lunch, nap, play, more world-watching at my window, dinner, helping Dad watch TV by offering a constant commentary, supper, then sleep. And maybe middle-of-the-night snuggles if I felt them necessary (whatever Mum and Dad’s feelings on the subject).

There was the odd bit of variety, I suppose, but all of it familiar. Comfortable.

For instance, sometimes, if I was feeling energetic, for a while I might chase a ball or my catnip toy – elegantly, of course – or a moth. And if I felt the need for an adventure, it was easy to follow Mum and Dad into the garden to smell the flowers and chew the grass.

In fact, the biggest adventure I ever had was the time I hid under the house (because squeezing into small places is fun, right?). I thought it was a game, but apparently it took Mum and Dad a while to catch on. Even then, it turns out they’re rubbish at hide and seek because they could not find me. I could hear them calling, but they never even got anywhere close.

(Then I discovered – too late – that I was a bit stuck, and I had to meow really loudly to call them to me. It was dark and cold and I was hungry and lonely. I do not recommend it as a fun game for all the family.)

The point is, I never even dreamed about going any further than under the house. Why would I need to, when everything I wanted was right here at home?

But that was before Gobi.

The thing about Gobi is, everyone thinks she’s fantastic. Special. A miracle of dog-kind.

(I think it’s because of the book all about her. People think if you’ve had a book written about you, you’re important. But of course, Dad wrote that book, not Gobi. If Gobi had actually written the book, maybe I’d have been more impressed.)

I’m not denying that Gobi has led a more varied life – more adventures, more trouble, more chaos.

I mean, yes, she ran through the Gobi Desert with Dad when he was doing his ultramarathon there, a few years ago. I suppose that takes some sort of talent. Dad’s always talking about the training it takes, the physical and mental strength, that sort of thing. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to do it. So, okay, we can give Gobi some sort of credit for running long distances.

And yes, okay, she also survived getting lost in China, after the race was done, before Dad could bring her home. Mum and Dad were so, so worried about her. Nobody knew where she was or what had happened to her. Of course, at that point, Mum and I hadn’t met her, we’d only seen photos, but somehow it already felt like we knew her. Some people say she ran away, but I know the truth, even if Gobi doesn’t like to talk about it. Somehow she kept herself alive until Dad could find her again.

That’s how Gobi got famous – when Mum and Dad started a campaign on the Internet to find her and bring her home. It worked, sort of, even if she couldn’t come home immediately because of some stupid rule about where and when pets can travel. Still, I suppose Dad wouldn’t have spent all those months in China with her if she wasn’t a bit important. Or been so excited when they were finally allowed to come home and we were suddenly a family of four, instead of three.

Lots of other people were excited too, it seems, as many of them wrote to tell us how happy they were for us.

Really? Fan mail? For a dog? She can’t even read!

(Neither can I, yet, but I imagine it’s only a matter of time before that skill comes to me. Most things do – I’m a very accomplished cat.)

The worst part about having Gobi in our lives isn’t the fans, though. The worst part is Mum and Dad: they adore Gobi.

Before Gobi came, they talked to me, or about me. I was the centre of their world, and I liked being there. I knew exactly how important I was.

Until Dad met Gobi.

Now, they’re always talking about how special Gobi is, how strong and brave, how well behaved. And they keep taking her on new adventures – without me.

In fact, Gobi goes on adventures with them every single day. A walk along the street or into the countryside with Mum and Dad, leaving me to watch them disappear from the window. Or sometimes, they go even further. I hear them talking about planes and ferries and distant lands and cities I’ve only seen if Dad’s watching TV when I’m trying to talk to him.

Sometimes, Gobi even appears on the TV. That’s the worst! Mum comes and grabs me to make me watch, like I want to see my sister doing all these things I could never get to do. The furthest I’ve got to an adventure is being allowed out along the side of the road on my harness on a long car trip to somewhere else. I’ll sit behind a window and watch other people adventuring.

My whole life, I’ve watched the world through windows. That’s what I do, you see. I’m a Ragdoll cat, and Ragdolls are indoor cats, so mostly I stay indoors. (Sometimes I venture as far as the garden, or in the car on a harness if Mum and Dad have to drive a long way away.) I watch the outside world go by, but I’m not supposed to want to be out there too. Not supposed to imagine what might be beyond the window frame. And until Gobi arrived, that was fine by me.

But now … now, sometimes I can’t help but wonder what else might be out there. What draws Dad and Mum and Gobi out on their adventures? After all, what’s the point of all the adventuring that other animals and humans do? I mean, they wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important, or fun, right? So, I wonder. And I imagine.

What would my life be like if I was an outdoor cat, instead of an indoor one? If I went further than the garden wall one day? If, instead of hiding under the house, I went out beyond it?

Especially on the nights when Gobi steals my prawns, or gets excited and knocks me over, or even starts nibbling my tail. The nights when I remember what it was like when there were only three members of our family, and I was the most important one. I wonder what would happen if I decided to have an adventure.

But Ragdoll cats aren’t made for the outside.

Or so I always thought.

The trees outside my window were blooming with spring blossoms the day I first got the idea for my own adventure. I remember, because I liked chasing the blossoms in the garden when they fell. They were light and fun and they floated along on the breeze, filling me with excitement.

Normally, anyway.

This year, I just watched them blow over the garden wall into the great outdoors beyond, and felt depressed that I couldn’t follow them. So, I stayed inside instead, turning my back on the window and ignoring them.

Mum and Dad were talking about Gobi, again, and I was sort of half listening, half playing with a ball of fluffy hair (my own, of course) that had formed under the kitchen table.

‘Well, if they want to interview you with Gobi, why don’t we all go?’ Mum said, sounding totally reasonable. ‘Make a holiday of it. It would be nice to go back to China with you both.’

I glanced up at them. They were all going away this time? Last time Dad was in China, he was gone for months.

Already, I didn’t like this plan.

Dad had his long legs stretched out under the table, but his expression wasn’t nearly as relaxed as his position. ‘I don’t know. Is it wrong that just taking Gobi to China again makes me feel nervous?’

Of course it did – look at all the trouble she’d got into the last time she was there. Maybe they should stop letting Gobi out on adventures altogether, I thought. That might solve the problem.

And I wouldn’t feel so left behind.

‘She’s not going to get lost again this time, Dion,’ Mum said, soothingly. ‘Besides, if we’re all there together, we can look after each other.’

‘I suppose.’ Dad still didn’t look convinced. I brushed up against his legs to remind him of my existence. It worked. ‘What about Lara?’ he asked, sitting up straight so I could jump up into his lap. ‘We’d have to be away for weeks, to do the whole tour. I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of leaving her for so long.’

Good. Neither did I.

‘Then we’ll take her with us!’ Mum sounded strangely excited at the idea. Maybe she thought she’d been missing out on some adventures, too.

Personally, I was considerably wary of the whole idea. I mean, I’d never been anywhere before, and now they wanted to start off with China? I might not have travelled, but Dad had a map on the wall with pins showing all the places he and Mum and Gobi had travelled to. He’d pointed China out to me one day.

It was a long way across the map from my house.

‘For the whole tour? Three weeks travelling around China, doing interviews, appearing at bookshops and so on …’ Dad shook his head. ‘I’m not sure how she’d cope with all that travel and fuss. She’s more of a homebody, our Lara.’

‘Hmm, I suppose she hasn’t really been anywhere before, has she?’ Mum agreed.

Even though I’d just had the exact same thought, my ears flattened to hear Mum say it, and my tail started to wave warningly from side to side. I would cope magnificently, of course, with whatever it was they were talking about doing. Really, Dad should know better than to suggest I couldn’t do something! Just because I never had didn’t mean I couldn’t. It only meant that it had been below my notice before now.

Before Gobi, at least. Because things were very different, now.

Suddenly, all the things I’d been before Gobi – an indoor cat, a pampered princess, a fluffy homebody – they didn’t sound like good things any more.

‘She’s just not an adventurous sort of pet,’ Dad said, pressing the point home. ‘Not like Gobi.’

It was those last three words that made my mind up. If Gobi could do it, so could I. And I’d do it better and cleverer, and with more panache too.

I’d be the most adventurous pet anyone had ever had, if that’s what Mum and Dad wanted me to be.

I focussed in on their conversation. It always takes more effort to understand humans talking than other animals. But sometimes you have to put the work in to stay on top of what’s going on.

Dad was talking about a tour – like the ones he and Gobi had been on before, around Britain, and overseas too. Gobi had travelled almost everywhere with Dad, while I’d stayed home in Edinburgh. I’d stared out of my window and waited for them to come back, when Dad would stick another pin in their map. Somewhere else they had been and I hadn’t.

But this time, I had the chance to go, too. To find out what an adventure was really like.

I wasn’t going to pass that up.

Dad petted my head, and noticed my flattened ears. ‘I’m not sure Lara likes the idea, anyway.’

Honestly, humans! Do they understand nothing?

I meowed loudly and jumped up onto the table. Maybe Mum would understand more.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, stroking my fluffy fur. ‘She’s always the first one into the suitcases whenever we go anywhere. Maybe she’s been longing to take a trip with us all this time.’

I purred in agreement. Okay, my desire for travel was only a few minutes old, and I only usually climbed in the suitcases because they were filled with warm and soft things for snuggling on, but still … It was closer than Dad’s interpretation, anyway.

‘Okay, say we do this, how would it work?’ Dad stood up, crossing to the kettle to make himself a drink. I followed, just in case he opened the fridge and there was anything interesting in there for me.

‘Well, we could all take the ferry to France together, so Lara and Gobi don’t have to travel in the hold of the plane leaving the UK,’ said Mum, obviously thinking things through as she made up her plan on the spot. ‘The overnight one, maybe, for a change? To break up the journey a bit. Then we can fly from France to China with the animals with us. We’d need to book pet-friendly accommodation everywhere anyway, for Gobi, so adding Lara into the mix won’t make much difference for the hotels. And we can all explore the country together. It’ll be fun!’

It did sound sort of fun, I supposed. Apart from the ‘with Gobi’ bit. I’d seen pictures of planes, and I knew they had windows. And Dad and Gobi sometimes videocalled from hotels when they were travelling, and they didn’t look all that much different from the bedrooms at home.

But most of all, it was an adventure. Maybe I’d finally find out what all the fuss was about, and why people wanted to have them in the first place.

‘What about when Gobi and I are doing interviews, or book signings and events and stuff?’ Dad asked. Because of course, it was still all about Gobi. Everything was.

‘Lara and I will come, too! Come on, Dion! You and Gobi have been everywhere together – the States, Canada …’

‘Holland, Italy, France and Switzerland,’ he added, in case we’d forgotten quite how many places they’d been together. Like we didn’t have the map to remind us.

‘Exactly. Maybe it’s Lara’s turn for an adventure.’ Mum didn’t say ‘and mine too’, but I got the feeling she was thinking it. ‘Besides, it would be so nice to spend the summer all together as a family.’

That was true. Even if I wasn’t completely thrilled that our family was made up of four of us now instead of three, I really didn’t like the idea of the other three going off and having fun together and leaving me behind all summer.

‘It would be nice,’ Dad admitted. Reaching down, he picked me up and held me against his shoulder. ‘What do you think, Lara? Would you like to come on an adventure with us?’

Most importantly, if I could show Mum and Dad that I was just as good at adventures as Gobi was – better even – maybe they’d remember that I was their favourite pet and quite clearly the superior animal in our household.

Even if I wasn’t entirely sure what having an adventure entailed, yet. If Gobi could do it, how hard could it really be, anyway?

So, I meowed my agreement. Loudly. It was my turn to travel with Dad for a change.

Mum laughed, looking pleased, and Dad smiled too. For one precious moment, it was just the three of us again – and it was perfect.

Of course, Gobi picked that moment to wander into the kitchen, looking sleepy. She’d obviously just woken up from her afternoon nap, and arrived just in time to butt in on my important moment with Mum and Dad. As usual.

Dad put me down and went to make a fuss of Gobi instead. I slunk back to my ball of fluff again.

‘Guess what, girl?’ Dad said, sounding excited for the first time in the conversation. ‘We’re all going on an adventure. Together!’

Gobi barked her approval of the plan. I just hoped that they had prawns in China. And that I didn’t have to share them with Gobi.