BAD CAT, GOOD CAT. Lynne Banks Reid

I just call you Tom, because you’re a tomcat?” David wondered.

      But ‘Tom’ was too ordinary for such a special cat. Carrying his cat over his shoulder, he went to look at his cat book.

      He’d already found a picture in it of a cat very like his – white, fluffy, with blue eyes. Now he read what was written under the picture. It said, “A typical Van cat from Turkey.”

      “Van,” said David. “Van? No, I might as well call you Bus or Truck.” But then he thought, Turkey. Turk. Turk! He liked ‘Turk’. He loved ‘ Turk’! You couldn’t have a more boysy name than that, and it wasn’t ordinary, either!

      “That’s it!” he shouted. “Turk! That’s your name! Here, Turk, come to me, Turk, Turk!”

      Turk – and that’s his name from now on – gave his tail a shake, and peed on the carpet, just as David’s mum walked in.

      “That’s it!” she screamed. She picked the cat up by the skin on his neck and carried him through to the garden.

      “There,” she said. “That’s where good cats pee – outside!” And she slammed the back door.

      “Mum!” cried David. “You said don’t let him loose outside before he knows where he lives!”

      “He’s got to get trained,” she said. “I’m not having him peeing in the house. No, David, leave him now, he’ll be safe enough in the garden.” And she shooed him upstairs to do his homework.

5. From Bad to Worse

      Imagine how unwilling David was to leave Turk out there alone!

      Turk, however, didn’t mind at all. He strolled around exploring, and soon found out how to get over the wall into the next garden. Which was the garden of Paloma’s house.

      Paloma happened to be looking out through the French window of her kitchen, and saw him.

      “Look, Mummy!” she said. “There’s David’s new cat! I do wish I had a cat. Couldn’t I, Mummy, please, please, please?”

      “We’ll think about it,” her mum said. She went out and shooed Turk back over the wall.

      Turk started scratching around. He found some nice soft earth where David’s dad had been planting new plants. He soon managed to dig them all up in order to make a nice, comfortable loo.

      Turk felt very pleased with himself. He rolled around among the scratched-up plants, and got very earthy. Then he started to wash himself, but that was boring, and he didn’t like the taste of earth. So he stopped, and decided he was hungry.

      He stalked a beetle, but when he caught it, he thought, Yuck! Then he saw a bird on the lawn. It looked to him like a roast chicken would to you. He chased it, but it flew away.

      That made him hungrier than ever. He went and stood outside the back door and meowed very loudly. Boy cats are good at that.

      David hadn’t been doing much homework. Now he belted down the stairs to let his cat in.

      “Good cat, you do know where you live!” he said. He didn’t even notice how dirty the cat was, because who cares about a bit of dirt?

      Turk meowed and twined himself round David’s legs. It was a lovely feeling. David showed him where his bowls were and put some dry food into one of them. His mum and dad had told him very firmly that it was his job to feed his cat, and this first time was thrilling. He had a cat that peed and ate and went outdoors and came back! A real, live, living, breathing, eating, peeing cat! He suddenly realised that watching Aristocats again and again was silly. Even armoured Japanese warrior cats were silly compared to this.

      When Turk had cleaned out the bowl, he actually put both front paws up on David’s knees. David thought he was saying thank you. Or even, perhaps, I’m yours and I love you. He stroked Turk’s head and wanted to shout for joy.

      (I hate to tell you this, but what Turk was actually saying at this stage was, Good grub, got any more? Unfortunately, this person didn’t seem to understand simple cat language. The head-stroking was nice, though.)

      Turk now made a complete tour of the house. He wanted to pick out his favourite sleeping spot. This turned out to be at the foot of David’s bed, which had a white duvet on it. By the time David came to bed that night, full of birthday cake and carrying presents, he found he had a half-white and half-grey duvet.

      Did he care? Not a bit. He was so excited that his cat wanted to sleep with him! But he wasn’t stupid. When his mum called up the stairs to see if David wanted her to come and kiss him goodnight, he called back, “No, Mum, don’t bother, I’m OK!”

      But, of course, she saw the grey duvet in the morning. It was a lot greyer by then.

      “That’s it!” she said. “I’m making a rule! That Cat is Not Allowed on the Beds!”

      Oh, well. Mothers make rules, and cats break them, and that’s that. Over the next few days, Turk tried out all the beds in the house and made dents lined with earth and white hairs in all of them. The more David’s mum chased him off, the more he sneaked up and jumped on the beds some more.

      In fact, he jumped on chairs, sofas, tables and shelves, any time he felt like it, leaving dirty paw-marks everywhere. Keeping him off the kitchen units became a serious problem. Especially when there was any food about. Turk seemed to think stolen people-food was much nicer than what went into his bowl.

      After Turk stole half a chicken while the family was eating the other half in the dining room, David’s mother nearly went spare.

      “That cat is a bandit!” she cried, and chased Turk outdoors for the night.

      Turk did something else too. Something boy cats do. He sprayed. It’s not quite the same as peeing, but very like it. The smell is awful, and very hard to get out. One night Turk sprayed David’s school-bag. It stank all day at school – even the teacher noticed it and went round scowling and saying, “If anyone thinks that’s funny…” Not that David minded. He told everyone to have a sniff – he explained it was the scent his cat put on things to mark his territory.

      But at home, David’s mum said to his dad, “That cat will have to be Seen To.” She meant an operation that makes boy cats stop spraying.

      David’s dad, who was reading the paper, crossed his legs and said, “All right, but not just yet.” He liked the cat, which was lucky, because David’s mum didn’t like him at all, and she liked him less and less as the days passed. She was secretly wondering if buying David this cat – which, by the way, was incredibly expensive – had been such a great idea.

6. A Good Wash

      One evening a few weeks later, Turk didn’t come in when David called him for his dinner.

      David was very worried. What if he’d run away, or got lost? But he hadn’t. He pretended not to hear David calling. He hid under a bush, until it got dark. Then he jumped on the wall and started making the most horrendous noises.

      Boy cats often do that. They yowl and they growl and they screech. Then other boy cats come and join in. It’s like a cat-party, only often they have a fight. That makes even more noise.