One Good Turn…

The little black and white cat hid in the hollow of an old hawthorn tree. There was a fence behind it, and he could just squeeze himself through the gap. He slept here most nights now, he felt safe. A deep wound on one side of his face where a larger, territorial cat, called Missy, from the house across the road had bitten him four days ago, was festering and painful. But being attacked, by other cats and people too, was just something he had grown used to.

Once when he had wandered into the garden of the house three doors down looking for food and water, the two cats that lived there had clawed and bitten him. Their owner, an angry fair-haired woman had blasted him hard with a hose pipe. The little black and white cat was terrified, and he never went into her garden again. Foraging and hunting for food were important if he wanted to survive. But he also had to look out for his well being as injuries healed slowly when they became infected.

The hawthorn tree was in the front garden of a small cottage. A maple tree grew from the circle of grass directly in front of the cottage, and a bird bath provided water for its regular visitors. A bird feeder, hanging in the tree attracted an array of small birds. Some would fly to the ground to gather fallen seeds, and often small rodents would too. It was a reliable source of cat snacks! But you had to be quick!

The little cat had been feeling strange. His head throbbed and he felt very tired. He did not know that his infection was spreading. He curled up by the tree in the sun, exhausted. A crow had been watching him from the rooftop of the cottage; his name was Malaki. He flew down to the ground keeping a beady eye on the little cat. He did not need any more injuries himself. He had flown too low over the garden gate, and a passing van had clipped his leg and a wing. He had spun through the air and landed awkwardly. He had crawled behind a shed while his damaged leg and wing healed. He could have easily starved behind there, but every-time he awoke there was fresh food and bread soaked in water to keep his energy up. He still limped badly, finding it easier to hop than attempt to walk. But it slowed him down. Magpies often stole food from him and followed him to his caches which they would empty with relish.

Malaki realised that there was something seriously wrong with the little cat today, he was not moving and his breathing was shallow. He picked up some scraps of food thrown out by the woman who lived in the cottage, the crow knew her well and liked to follow her around her garden. Malaki dropped the food in front of the cat; he sniffed the food and carefully tried to eat it. But his face was too swollen and sore. He slumped down. Malaki was worried, he knew cats were not usually a threat to a healthy crow, they generally avoided each other. Crows had very sharp beaks, but cats had sharp claws and teeth, but this little cat was in big trouble.

Malaki flew around to the back garden. The woman, called Mim, was hanging washing out on the stringy thing that spun around in circles when it was windy. The crow sat in the Paulownia tree in front of her and began to squawk. Mim looked up at him.

‘Hey Malaki, what is up with you today? I have just put some food out in the front garden!’ It was Mim who had given him his name.

Malaki continued to squawk, bobbing his head up and down. He flew to the washing line and sat on Mim’s peg bag.

‘Now come on you, I must get on, I have a lot of jobs to do today!’

In reply he flew to the ground hopping towards the front garden. When Mim carried on hanging out her washing, he hopped back and took a sock from the washing basket. She laughed at him.

‘Ah, so you want to play, do you?’

Mim went to get the sock from him, but he moved further away, continuing his game until she had followed him around to the front garden. As soon as Mim saw the little black and white cat motionless, curled up at the bottom of the tree, she knew he needed help.

‘Oh my!’ she said. ‘You poor little thing.’

Mim fetched a box with a folded towel inside and carefully put him in. He was breathing, but he was so weak he could hardly move. Within minutes the little cat found himself at the local vets. He was kept in overnight for treatment and observation and the following evening Mim was allowed to take him home to her cottage. He had his own bed and his own food bowls, which were regularly filled with food and water. The little cat was also given a name, Pusscat!

‘Not very original,’ Mim told him, ‘But I think it suits you somehow!’

When Pusscat was feeling much better, Mim let him out into her back garden. ‘You do not have to sleep behind the old Hawthorn in the front garden anymore. My home is your home now,’ she told him as he gingerly stepped outside for the first time in over a week. Malaki had been patiently waiting for his new friend to come out. He flew down to greet him. Pusscat was, at first, a little wary of the huge black crow as his sharp beak looked very intimidating.

But then something strange happened. Pusscat recognised Malaki.

‘Hey I know you,’ he said. ‘You are the crow that had the damaged wing and leg. I used to bring you food, and water-soaked bread and leave it behind the shed across the road!’ Malaki was astonished. He had always wondered who his benefactor had been. It had been the little black and white cat all along! They had both looked out for each other without either one of them realising it!

Mim would often watch in amusement as the huge black crow and the little black and white cat chased each other around her garden. ‘Such a strange combination,’ she thought. But Malaki and Pusscat remained close friends for many years, always looking out for each other.