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Marshall Cavendish International - Lachlan Madsen

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76 pages

English

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Theodora Tuxedo wasn't the only feline to arrive and stay with Eugene's family at Block 223. Firstborn, a son Satu (also a tuxedo but in white mess dress), would plop out with a mewl into Stepdad's pyjama pants one early Sunday morning, with tortoiseshell Dua and calico Tiga to follow. There's a lot to learn if you're a kitten: how to use your whiskers, how to know when a rat is a rat (and when it isn't) and how to accept the tail you've been born with. Loving her life now as an indoor cat, shunning her past life as a stray, Theodora can't understand the kittens' eagerness to venture back "outdoors" into the community. Along with Theodora's (and Zigzag's) unexpected offspring, The Community Cat Chronicles 2 - New Kittens on the Block delightfully shares imagined stories of real residents, both two legged and four, around the housing estates of Avenue 1.

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Children's

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Publié par	Marshall Cavendish International
Date de parution	16 février 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789814928977
Langue	English

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2021 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited
Text Lachlan J. Madsen and Eleanor Nilsson
Published by Marshall Cavendish Editions
An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International

All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Requests for permission should be addressed to the Publisher, Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited, 1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196. Tel: (65) 6213 9300 E-mail: genref@sg.marshallcavendish.com
Website: www.marshallcavendish.com
The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents of this book, and specifically disclaims any implied warranties or merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose, and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.
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Marshall Cavendish is a registered trademark of Times Publishing Limited
National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data
Name(s): Madsen, Lachlan J. | Nilsson, Eleanor, author.
Title: The community cat chronicles 2 : new kittens on the block / Lachlan J. Madsen, Eleanor Nilsson.
Description: Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2021
Identifier(s): OCN 1233261746 | eISBN 978 981 4928 97 7
Subject(s): LCSH: Cats--Fiction. | Kittens--Fiction. | Feral cats--Fiction. Classification: DDC S823--dc23
Printed in Singapore
Cover artwork: iStock.com/cihanterlan
No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens. - Abraham Lincoln
CONTENTS
The Frosted Kittens
The Naming
Honey
Whiskers
Autumn and Picnic
A Proper Feeder
Missing
Challi
Satu and the Rat
The Coat of Many Colours
Padi
The Collar
Monikers
The Barber s Cat
The Ginger Boy
The Fourth Kitten
A Question of Posture
The Follower
The Forgotten Umbrella
The Lost Kittens
The St John s Cat
Bird Song
Dr Jon Lim
Tipping
A Sound Like Any Other
Once Upon a Time
Ling and the Ginger Kitten
About the Authors
The Frosted Kittens
Eugene s mother needed a sign: a sign that everything was going to be all right. She still felt weak and ill after the flu, and John, Eugene s stepdad, was worried about his job. Her own mother, who still lived in Indonesia, was unwell. Everything seemed black.
To add to it all, Theodora was getting on her nerves. Eugene was letting her inside more and more, and she was a terrible one for nosing around in cupboards. That very morning, she had got herself caught behind the wardrobe and meowed incessantly until someone, probably Eugene, had released her.
Theodora herself was feeling strange: restless and excited and worried, all at the same time. Tingly. It didn t matter if she were outside or inside, she still felt the same way. She ran in and out and didn t know what to do with herself. She didn t quite know what she was looking for, but she certainly couldn t find it outside. She couldn t even find her friend, Zigzag. Neither of them having a tipped ear had somehow brought them together.
She explored remote parts of the apartment and scratched in corners, mainly on the floor but sometimes on the walls themselves. Her scratching was steady and dedicated and seemed intent on making holes. She felt she was getting closer, but to what she was unsure.
Eugene thought she was cute, whatever she did. She s probably just getting to know the flat, he told his mother.
But Eugene s stepdad thought otherwise.

Christmas was fast approaching, as it always does, leaping down the slope from November and gathering momentum as it went. Eugene s mother knew it was time to decorate the apartment. The boys had always liked it when she did, but now that they were getting older, she thought perhaps it didn t matter quite so much. But in case it did, she got dressed very slowly, sitting on the end of the bed as her mother might have done, and caught the next bus to the hub. Just the effort of getting there, let alone looking in the shop windows at all the different-sized and -shaped Christmas trees, with their glass balls and tinsel, made her feel exhausted and unable.
She managed to get herself inside one shop, fingering the shiny glitteriness of the decorations, but found it hard to come to any decisions. Did she want the tree decorated in traditional red and green? Or should she go for something more psychedelic like electric blue or hot pink? She thought she liked the gold or silver balls and tinsel best. Perhaps the silver. It looked clean and fresh, like snow or frost, and would cool down the hot and dusty day, like ice cubes cooled a drink.
But with stretching her neck to look up at the trees, she soon felt dizzy and knew she would faint if she didn t sit down. She searched and searched, but couldn t find even one welcoming chair. Demoralised and with leaden feet she turned for home, waiting a ridiculously long time at the bus stop, jostled by crowds like a dying leaf.
At home, Eugene was making Christmas cards with happy faces on the outside and drawings of trees, strangled with tinsel, on the inside. His stepdad, not with a happy face, paced up and down the short length of the apartment, making himself more and more apprehensive and bad-tempered. Loyal and capable staff were already being culled at work.
When she finally got home, Eugene s mother collapsed on the floor, her shopping bag empty. Theodora approached her, giving her a sniff, as she was entitled to do to someone in her space and at her level. But Theodora was not walking. No longer dainty, she could only be described as waddling . Belatedly, and for the first time, Eugene s mother noticed Theodora s considerable undercarriage and tired eyes.
She knew at once what that meant: a money pit. Kitty litter, supplementary feeding and vet bills, all to be spent on creatures that nobody wanted in the world. Later, and an almost impossible task, homes to find for them. Heaven perhaps the only option. She wondered, confusedly, if it were better to be born and go to heaven, or better not to have been born at all. She got a clean carton, that had only held new books, and put it, lined with one red and one green towel, so that at least someone would know it was Christmas, in the corner of the bedroom.
On Christmas morning, the apartment looked bleak in its very everydayness. There was no tree shining its lights in the window, to welcome in a wider world. No glistening glass balls of any colour hung from the tree that wasn t there. No tinsel of any colour glittered and shimmered from the absent tree.
Eugene s mother was feeling even more washed-out than ever. Eugene, too, was struggling to get up. He knew there was nothing to get up for. He wouldn t be getting the shiny bike in a cheerful red he d been looking forward to, for months and months. He could hardly get excited about new pyjamas, or whatever else his mum had bought him as a substitute. His stepdad was clasping his hands behind a head that was still resting on its pillow, brooding about the job that was a bit full on, but that he didn t want to lose either. He needed the steady routine of work. Even more, he needed the steady thrumming of dollars as they landed in his hands.
Suddenly, out of the silence of early morning, came a desolate cry. Theodora dragged herself inch by inch into the bedroom and managed, after several false starts, to climb up on the bed. She buried herself inside the stepdad s pyjama pants, as the safest place she could find to get away from whatever it was that was churning around inside her.
The stepdad was still heavy with sleep and unaware, at least until something wet and slimy slid down inside his pants. It plopped out onto the bed.
Goodness, he said, almost feeling as if he had given birth himself. What have we got here?
He stared at the tiny wet whitish bundle and then picked it up gently, placing it in the carton.
You too, Theodora, as it looked as if she were about to drag herself off again. She circled inside the carton, trying to get comfortable, and eventually lay down. She gave the kitten a half-hearted lick behind the ears.
Eugene came in, alerted by the flurry. Is that it? he said, looking at the unattractive little object. He screwed up his face. Birth was much messier than he had imagined and didn t smell good.
What seemed like a long time later, another kitten appeared, dark this one, and after what really was a long interval, a third, looking like the first. Theodora sighed as if she were done.
Well, it could have been worse, said Eugene s mum. They re healthy and there s only three.

Eugene hung over the carton all day as, gradually, Theodora licked them clean. He was the one who noticed the frosting at the ends of their hair. The silver tips glittered like tinsel, or frost on snow.
It s because they re born at Christmas, like Jesus was, he said solemnly, reaching in to pat them in a reverent sort of way. He chose the black one first, in case, being different, it was feeling left out. Jesus had his star. They have something glittery too.
The red bike receded from his mind.
His mother smiled at him, her own fanciful baby son. For the first time in weeks, she realised she felt much better.
For the first time in weeks also, Eugene s stepdad felt almost relaxed. He wasn t going to be made redundant. His bo