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Pink’s been nagging me to publish an account of her adventures with the pirates, and because she’s a persistent little brute, I’ve decided that the only way to silence her is to let her have her own way.   I’ve agreed to write down the whole particulars, leaving nothing out except the whereabouts of Alleycat’s treasure cave, and that only because there is still treasure not yet brought to light. In the end she’ll probably force me to finish the story and publish it here in its entirely. She’s offered to dictate it to me chapter by chapter as the weeks go by and here, to get the ball rolling, is a link to the first 3 instalments.

The pirate (Barty Sharp) who figures in chapter 3 sailed with William Dampier and had a rather interesting career.  In something like 1697 (I forget the exact date) he returned from the sack of Panama and was arrested at the request of the Spanish Ambassador, put on trial, and escaped hanging by a hairs-breadth.  Having cheated the gallows, he purchased a derelict hulk that had been virtually abandoned on the shores of the Thames, fitted her out and hired a rag tag crew of scallywags and ne’er do wells, who sailed their rotten vessel into the channel, stole a flock of sheep from a farm in Dover and straightaway sailed for the West Indies, capturing a more suitable vessel en route.  It was probably around this time that he crossed swords with Susan Skew and met his match, so to speak. All this is supplied from memory. I read an account of Sharp’s adventures years ago in the Hakluyt series, but I haven’t checked the details in ages. There’s more about him in Basil Ringrose’s South Sea Waggoner, which you can find quite easily on the Web, and a few reference in Lionel Wafer Secret report, but most of the rest of the information you’ll find is quite inaccurate and if you want the truth the best thing would be to ask Pink.  She probably knows as much about him as anyone in these days.

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It’s ages since we posted (sorry) but we’ve had a bit of trouble with Pink. First off, she started pulling out her fur and we couldn’t stop it happening.  She was nearly bald in the end.  Then she stopped eating and we couldn’t make her start again. Alleycat and Bamber were worried, but there was nothing they could do and they expected us humans to put everything right.  Pink was so low she wouldn’t let us take her photo, but she agreed once that we could photograph her shadow (it’s up there at the top). Little by little she got better.  We brought her heaters, but that was no good, we purchased costly blankets, and she rejected them all, the fleeces, the silks, and even the mousseline. Then, one way or another, she gave us to understand that she required flowers, soft, scented flowers, so flowers were purchased, and after the flowers we had to supply her with golden saucers of full fat milk every other hour.  Little by little she started to improve, but her hair didn’t grow back until we sourced (at her explicit request) a reptile lamp, the sort of thing that snakes and other sorts of cold blooded critters love to bask beneath.  Once we’d provided her with all these things; the flowers, the full fat milk in endless supply and the reptile lamp she started to improve and now, I’m happy to report, she’s totally recovered.

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It’s been a while since I blogged, but I’ve been hard at work on a story that Pink told me while I was sleeping.  She crept up close while I was dozing in the armchair and whispered in my ear and said I’d better get on and write up some of her better adventures, not the latest ones, but the ones she had when she was younger.  Pink isn’t altogether stupid.  Mostly she just pretends to be silly because it means she can avoid difficult and lengthy tasks by claiming they’re beyond her.  But she’s clever really and she knows stuff.  She was quite right about the story.  I’d been letting things slide and it was high time I got to work.  Here’s a link to what she dictated.  While I was writing it Pink perched somewhat cheekily on the back of my office chair and watched what I was typing, in case I got anything wrong, and if there was anything she didn’t approve of she chirruped a warning and told me to blot.

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Pink’s had a shock.  All the animals have.  It’s all because of the bears, who’ve suddenly appeared and started to spread across the house. But now and then I wonder if there’s something hidden in the dark that the bears are just a symptom of.  Alleycat’s resorted to purely practical, military measures.  He drills the dogs and makes them line up and gives them instructions to watch and guard and report any weirdness; but dogs aren’t the type to take instruction, and Alleycat’s just marking time in my opinion.  But he’s done more too.  He’s been in dark places, under the floor (we’ve heard him down there) and he’s been in the cupboards too, searching for a reason, or a sign.  But oddly enough it’s Pink who’s trying hardest. She might seem a lazy and vain little cat, but she sits by my PC and stares at the keyboard as if she’d love to write me a message, and last night she appeared in a dream and spoke to me urgently, not in a miaow, but in actual human words. Unfortunately when I awoke I couldn’t remember what she said. That’s how it is with dreams. They’re different.

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Maybe it’s because it’s Halloween, but there’s a presence in the house, and Pink keeps looking behind her, scared of her own shadow. Last night she was with the dogs on the big yellow sofa, just as normal, when a nasty, grisly, horrid sensation gripped her and she wanted to turn around and look but she was too scared to move. The dogs felt the same as she did. Normally they’ll bark at the smallest disturbance (like a leaf blowing across the lawn) but they were so scared they couldn’t make a sound and it took all of Bernie’s courage to call for Alleycat with a little yapping bark. Alleycat ran in from the kitchen, but of course he’d been fast asleep and he’s not as quick as he used to be, so when he arrived on the scene there was no sign of uncanny intruders or walking shadows at all. You can imagine he didn’t take too kindly to be woken up for nothing, but Berne and Lucy were adamant that they seen (or felt) something nasty, and Bernie decided to put on her quilted jacket for extra protection and Lucy and Pink begged Alleycat to stay close and help them to settle down. As soon as they felt confident enough to be left alone, Alleycat returned to his gentleman’s chair in the kitchen, where he went straight back to sleep. But he must have half-believed that something was amiss because he kept one ear open, and presently he heard a weird, unaccountable sound that wasn’t normal at all, and he woke himself up to find a rather sinister looking bear snooping around the kitchen. As soon as it realized that Alleycat was on to it, the bear tried to escape through the outside door, but Alleycat chased it into the house and made it stay there. He’ll be questioning it later and that bear had better be sorry for frightening Pink and promise to mend its ways, or I wouldn’t like to think how angry Alleycat will be with that miscreant night-wanderer.

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Bamber doesn’t understand cameras; when I try to shoot him he grabs the cord that goes around my wrist, rips the whole thing out of my fingers and turns the lens on me. It’s different for Pink. When she gets her claws into something they usually get stuck because she’s so incompetent. Then she panics and calls for help and has to be rescued. Bamber doesn’t panic. He likes a tug of war. On top of that, Pink really wants to be on camera and she considers herself a local celebrity (although she seldom goes out of doors) . She’d definitely like her picture on all the front pages in all the magazines and she’s always yelling for attention from the newshounds. Bamber and Alleycat like a bit of attention, but mostly they like to keep a low profile and sleep as much as possible. They don’t want to be targeted by the local newshounds.

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It’s been a while since I posted because last week I fell ill and I’m still a bit under the weather if truth be told. Even so, there are things to report. The last time I went along the Six Foot I saw a black and white cat at the southern end (watching me) another black and white on the fence and yet another on the garden wall opposite. A fourth b+w gang-member was on guard halfway down Bugle Street and when I took a left into Hanbury Way a massive fifth was waiting halfway along the footpath. The five of them sleuthed me all the way to the station, dodging in and out of the gardens, making sure I saw them. Alleycat’s changed his tactics too and even when he’s dozing he’s alert. Occasionally his whole body wakes him up, and he stands on his chair, or on the windowsill and stares through it at something that I can’t see. It makes him cross. It may be a black and white cat, roaming around on his borders, but it could be anything really. In a moment he’ll spring outside and when he returns he’s often angry and agitated and trying hard not to show it. I know how it is. Once I came home from work and there were three black and whites at the end of the Six Foot, looking in, and when I turned into the Six Foot itself who should I see but Alleycat sat in front of them all with his big green eyes wide open. He was making sure they understood how important he is, just by looking, and though the black and whites made occasional eye contact with me, I was clearly of no importance at all by comparison and in a while the intruders just melted away, suitably awestruck by Alleycat’s presence.

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It’s business as usual in the Six Foot. Or is it? Pink’s retreated indoors, and the dogs are looking after her. Most of the time Alleycat’s glued to his gentleman’s chair in the garden, but Bamber’s decided he’s got to increase his patrols, and he’s also delved a lair for himself in the jasmine, overlooking the Six Foot itself. That’s his chosen spot.Indoors, the bears are reproducing. Don’t ask me why. They’re spreading over the furniture and generally taking over the house, whilst out in the world the black and white cats increase numerically, though sheer numbers aren’t the same as strength of arms and that’s why Alleycat isn’t worried and seldom moves from his easy chair. Bamber must be worried a bit though, or else he wouldn’t have built his look-out post above the garden gate, so he can watch for all-comers and cry to Alleycat if hostiles approach or seem to threaten. No one’s dared to encroach so far, and if they do Alleycat has plans. One thing I’ve noticed is that he’s getting fatter. Years ago he was poisoned and almost died (lots of local cats perished) but Alleycat survived. He lost a lot of weight back then, but his power and wisdom were so great that he lived through it all and learned to be even lazier (and wiser). Now he’s rebuilding his fat reserves in anticipation of a hard winter (or something like that) and being lazy is his secret weapon. So really, now that I think of it there’s quite a bit happening in the Six Foot after all.

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Not a lot of people know this, but Alleycat was living in Six Foot Way the day we all arrived.  He was in the house, looking after it, keeping it clear and keeping it clean and when we showed up out of the blue he allowed us in through the door and gave us permission to stay. It’s hard to say how old he is. Old certainly.  Years, decades.  He’s lived a long time because he’s lazy.  Sometimes you see him on the lawn, staring at a blade of grass, and then you realize he’s staring at the drop of dew that’s hanging on the end of it.  And then finally, you understand that he’s staring at something else entirely, something only he can see.  What I see is that he’s the laziest cat who ever lived. He’s the acme of indolence. Pink’s no better (is that a good thing?). Alleycat’s training her up to do nothing.  And doing nothing is the secret of living for ever where cats are concerned.

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If she could read, Pink would check out the tales of the Ginge Club and make sure she’s presented in the best possible light, as the most beautiful, alluring and fashionable pink cat who ever lived.  I’ve told her that’s exactly how she’s presented in the stories, and in the blog, but I don’t think she trusts me entirely.  That’s why she’s been staring at my Kindle, trying to see inside it.   She probably thinks it’s a mirror.  She knows what mirrors are because she spends hours every day staring into the one in our bedroom, preening herself and showing off to the looking glass.  Alleycat’s different.  He says he doesn’t care what anyone thinks so long as he can sleep whenever and wherever he wants and demand food at the drop of a hat.  Of course, he’s given me a few guidelines.  For one, thing. I’m never to give Snatcher too much attention or importance and for another I’ve got to impress everyone with Alleycat’s fine qualities.  Bamber alone of our three cats has little interest in such matters.  He doesn’t care about social media and his heart is set on being a cat and staying a cat and doing the best he can at being that.

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This afternoon we couldn’t find Lucy.  We didn’t think she’d be anywhere except in the house, but one of the neighbours called over the fence to say she was out in the Six Foot, running up and down.  She’d been ignoring us.  We ran outside and saw Pink a few feet away,  looking down from a high fence post.  That little cat had been there all the time, watching and acting important and we realized that she’d tempted poor Lucy to slide under the gate and run over the lawned garden where the cats hold court; and once past that gate you can see the Six Foot through Alleycat’s hedges. You can bet Lucy didn’t hesitate when Pink showed her how to negotiate the twisted boughs and the prickly spears of hawthorn that stand guard on Alleycat’s turf.  Bernie didn’t miss her daughter at all and was quite happy to be on the sofa alone, without Lucy getting in the way and demanding our attentions.  There she is in the video, pleased as Punch.

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