The new York Cat Crime Mystery is published on November the 5th. The date is no coincidence. The book is set on Bonfire Day & Night.
The first chapter is presented below.
Theodore did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every home-dwelling creature, fat or thin, hairy or furry, from New Earswick to Middlethorpe.
A protest march was planned for the city of York. Members of an anonymous anarchist group, who hid their faces behind Guy Fawkes masks, planned to descend on the city to protest about the government and the state of the nation. They were to be joined by several other groups: environmental protestors, students against fees, old people against death, cow welfare activists, badger cull protestors, members of a Radiohead Facebook group… You name it – they were descending on York in their thousands.
Theodore didn’t like to think too much of the greater concerns of the human world, if he could help it. He was beyond caring. As long as he had food in his bowl and a warm place to sleep, he was perfectly happy. Happy to be unaware. If only humans took the same view, the world would be a better place. He yawned with sleepy satisfaction. Then something hit him on the head.
He opened his eyes and glared at the dirty nappy that was inches from his head. He sniffed the offending parcel. It smelled of human waste. Baby waste to be precise.
‘Sorry, Theo,’ Emily said, fastening the poppers on Joseph’s babygrow. ‘Didn’t see you down there.’
Theodore looked up. Emily had just finished changing the baby, although Theodore preferred to refer to it as the Pink Hairless Interloper. He got to his paws and voiced his disapproval.
‘Come on. It didn’t hurt. We all have to poo, don’t we now?’
Perhaps it’s time you taught it to go outside, Theodore thought back.
Emily’s attentions returned to the baby. ‘You like tickles on the tummy,’ she said, and Theodore heard the Pink Hairless Interloper giggle.
‘You like that, don’t you… don’t you, Joey?’
And the Pink Hairless Interloper giggled again.
I think I’ll go downstairs, Theodore thought. There might be more intelligent forms of life down there.
Unfortunately there was just Jonathan, who was staring blankly at the television in the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hand. He was watching the news, as if it mattered; as if what was going on in the wider world was actually going to affect his existence. Why couldn’t I have had less ordinary humans? Theodore wondered.
Theodore padded past him and checked out the food bowl situation. His food had not been replenished since the night before. Even his water bowl did not have a cat’s whisker of water in it.
He miaowed at his bowls.
‘Shush,’ Jonathan said, not looking away from the television. ‘You’ll get fed as soon as Emily comes down.’
Jonathan knew that cats don’t miaow at other cats. Like human babies, they just use their undeveloped vocal cords to whine and bleat for food or drink from adult humans. They probably picked it up from human babies.
Theodore looked up at the television.
‘In other news today,’ the newsreader said, ‘a cat has been found in a child’s packed lunch bag on a roundabout in Tang Hall, York. A passer-by heard the cat’s cries and came to its rescue. It is now being cared for by the York branch of the Cats Protection League.’
Theodore’s ears flattened against his head. Best to stay indoors, Theodore thought, glancing at his cat flap. Bad things happen outside.
He looked over at his cat basket in the corner by the radiator. Bad things happen outside, the cat basket agreed. As soon as you’ve had your breakfast, you come for a nice long nap. A good eight hour snooze will set you up nicely for the day.
Theodore’s internal monologue was interrupted by the television newsreader in the corner of the room.
‘We have news just in… Milton Macavity, a convicted murderer, also known as ‘The Napoleon of Crime,’ is on the run from prison following a dramatic escape. Macavity was transferred to York Hospital early this morning, when it appears he faked an acute appendicitis.
‘Before going into the theatre for an emergency operation, he overpowered two prison guards and assaulted several people, including hospital staff and members of the public, before leaving the hospital on foot, wearing only a surgical gown. The police have warned the public not to approach the ginger-haired man, but to phone them and report it immediately. He has a history of violent behaviour…’
‘That’s only a stone’s throw away from us,’ Jonathan said. He picked up his mug and had a drink of Yorkshire Gold (‘a blend of 3 leaf origins from the top 10 tea gardens in the world’). ‘An escaped convict in the neighbourhood… Whatever next?’
Whatever, Theodore thought. We should never have moved to Haxby Road. I think I might have said so at the time. Next?
He approached the cat flap and stared through the rectangle of clear plastic, as a precaution to exiting.
A clothes line was hung across the yard. On it there was a row of babygrows, bibs, tiny pairs of socks and then a mixture of Emily’s and Jonathan’s clothes. The air was damp and there was no breeze. Rather optimistic, thought Theodore.
Then a pink-faced man with short ginger hair and ginger stubble appeared. He was wearing only a hospital gown. It must be the escaped convict: Milton Macavity, Theodore deduced.
The man turned his back to the house, exposing a pair of dirty grey boxer shorts. He cast off the hospital gown and tossed it into the corner of the yard. He snatched a pair of black jeans from the line and began to put them on.
Theodore turned and miaowed that Milton Macavity, convicted murderer and escaped convict, was in the back yard stealing a pair of Jonathan’s jeans.
Jonathan turned away from the television for a moment. ‘You’ve got a cat flap,’ he said. ‘Use it.’
Theodore turned once more to the cat flap. Milton was now putting on Jonathan’s red and black checked shirt. Theodore announced the latest development.
This time Jonathan didn’t even turn round. He just said, ‘I’m not going to get up and open the door. Just use the cat flap like any reasonable cat.’
Theodore looked back through the cat flap.
Milton was putting on a pair of light blue and dark blue hooped rugby socks.
Then came the voice from behind him. Why would you want to go outside? You don’t want to go chasing escaped convicts, now do you?
Theodore turned round and looked back at his cat basket. It was positioned in front of the radiator. It was brown and furry with the roof stretching over to form a warm cocoon. One of Emily’s old woollen jumpers lay in the bottom. Theodore had managed to knead the jumper to the point that she could wear it no longer and he had then inherited it. From the basket he could survey his food bowls, the cat flap and also any activity in the kitchen: the epicentre of the house. His cat basket was the perfect place.
Humans spend too much time looking for perfect places. Moving houses in the hope of happier lives. Expensive holidays in exotic locations. Retreats in remote wildernesses… They had yet to realise that the perfect place was a warm furry cave by a radiator. Life is oh-so-simple, if only you let it be.
Theodore blinked his eyes. He turned back to the cat flap.
Milton was wearing Jonathan’s shirt, jeans and socks. The escaped convict looked down at his stockinged feet and the wet grass and shook his head. He didn’t have any shoes, Theodore realised.
Then came the voice in his head again. Just let it go, it said. They’re just clothes. Who needs clothes after all? You come and have a sleep. This jumper is so soft. When you wake, everything will be just fine…
Theodore knew he had to resist the call of the cat basket. There was an escaped convict in his yard, who had stolen half of Jonathan’s wardrobe. He needed to take up the pursuit of this escaped convict. He nosed open the cat flap.
You don’t want to go outside, came the voice again. Bad things happen out there.
Oh, be quiet, Theodore thought, silencing the voice in his head. He pushed his head and then his body through the rectangular opening. With a snap, the cat flap shut behind him.
Milton was standing just a few yards away. He spotted the big grey fluffy cat. He caught the cat’s eye and placed a forefinger to his lips.
Theodore decided it would be wise to hold still his throat and not call out the alarm.
Milton walked over to the boundary wall. He jumped over it into the next yard.
Theodore padded over to where Milton had thrown the hospital gown. He sniffed it. It smelled of Old Spice deodorant and stale sweat. Theodore inhaled the odour, committing it to memory.
He glanced back at the house. From upstairs, he could hear the Pink Hairless Interloper squealing. From the kitchen he could hear the muted outpourings of the television. He miaowed at the house.
You know you don’t want to leave the comforts of home, the cat basket called back. Inside is good; outside is bad. Bad things happen out there…
He looked at the side wall, over which Milton had vaulted. Then he looked back at his own house. He was going to have to go it alone.
His tail raised up behind him, Theodore set off after Milton. He jumped up on top of the boundary wall and looked across at the rows of backyards separated by red brick walls. Milton was nowhere to be seen.
Theodore sniffed the damp autumn air. There was the faint smell of smoke; the smell of used nappies in the outside bin, moulding leaves in gutters, car exhaust fumes and the scent of urine sprayed by a neighbouring cat. But he could not pick out Milton’s smell and from that the direction which he had taken.
You can still come back, the cat basket called. It’s warm by the radiator. You can forget what you’ve seen. You can sleep away the day. You can dream beautiful dreams…
And Theodore did consider giving in to the voice and returning to the furry cave by the radiator. His perfect place.
But then he heard voices. Raised voices…
Theodore jumped down into the next yard and then up onto the next wall, following the voices. He hurdled several boundary walls.
You really don’t want to do that, came the voice, fainter now.
But Theodore’s ears were pricked back and his
tail was standing up straight. He was in hot pursuit. His next case had begun.
James Barrie 