Catcall Read Free Page B

camels that stood in a bored, sniffy group outside their shed.
    ‘It was when they learned to make fire,’ I said. ‘Back in the Stone Age. Before, they could only hide in their caves and hope the lions wouldn’t find them. But once they learned to make fire, they were much safer.’
    ‘How?’ said Jamie.
    I thought he meant how did early humans learn to make fire, and I was about to explain how they must have got the idea from seeing trees struck by lightning, but Kim told him, ‘The lions would have been frightened off by the flames.’
    Jamie frowned. ‘I didn’t think a lion would be frightened.’
    ‘Survival instinct. They know how not to get hurt.’ Dad looked at his watch. ‘Come on–only another hour till closing. I’m freezing, I don’t know about you lot.
My
survival instinct’s telling me to get inside a nice warm building.’

    We headed for the insect house and the fruit bats. We finished up in the shop, where I chose some postcards for my Book of Cats. Jamie bought a puzzle, and Kim bought a lion key-ring for herself and a disposable camera for Kevin.
             
    I t was already dark by the time we set off home. Kim drove, Dad sat next to her with the map, Jamie with me in the back. Our headlamps lit up the string of lights, one by one, that showed us the middle of the country road.
    ‘Cats’ eyes,’ Jamie said suddenly. ‘They only come on at night, don’t they? Who switches them on?’
    I gave him a little shove. ‘Durr! You really think someone goes round turning cats’ eyes on, along miles and miles of roads? Each one with its own little switch?’
    ‘They’re reflectors, Jamie,’ Dad said over his shoulder. ‘It’s the light from our headlamps, shining back. Clever idea–I wonder who thought of it?’
    ‘So why are they called cats’ eyes?’ Jamie asked.
    ‘Because cats can see in the dark,’ Kim explained.
    ‘No! Because cats’ eyes
reflect
in the dark,’ I corrected her. ‘You’ve seen that, Jamie, haven’t you? When we had our torches on bonfire night, and saw Splodge by the hedge.’
    ‘That’s right, Josh,’ Dad said. ‘Cats’ eyes are different from ours.’

    I thought about lions and fire and darkness. I saw a bright bonfire, with flames snapping and leaping, sparks lifting into the dark. A circle of faces, golden with firelight. People sitting, huddled into their furs and skins, thinking they were safe. And they would be safe for as long as the fire burned, but behind them in the blackness there would be crouched shapes. There would be amber lion eyes watching, waiting.

4
    T HE B OOK OF C ATS

    I don’t know what it is with cats and me. I’ve been fascinated by them ever since I was little. Lions, leopards and tigers, cheetahs and ocelots. Ordinary cats as well. So I suppose it must have started with Mister, who was our cat till he had to be put to sleep. This was a long time ago, when Mum and Dad were together, but Mister’s still a sort of legend in our family. Mister the Magnificent, we called him. It was Dad who thought of the name Mister, because of the M-pattern Mister had on his forehead. He was a special cat, and he knew it. The way he paraded about, you could tell he thought he was king of the street. He had a few scars, from battles he’d fought with cats who thought they could take him on.
             
    T here’s something about cats and lions that pulls me to them. It’s not just how beautiful they are. It’s not just the gleam of their eyes or the way they stare. It’s not just their sleek fur or the pad of their feet or the ways they move. What it is–I don’t know what to call it except spirit of cat. Spirit of cat is in all of them, and it’s been there for hundreds–no, thousands–of years. What goes on in a lion’s head must be the same as it ever was. They might live in the twenty-first century and be kept in Wildlife Parks and have their pictures taken with digital cameras, but lion spirit never changes.