High Clowder Cats

By Ruby Knight

Life is not easy for a feral cat at the best of times, but the difficulties Bushytail faces on his journey to search for a home are far from ordinary.

Bushytail wants to find his own territory, but the journey is dangerous. He has to avoid the humans and their noisy machines as well as being on alert for other toms that may want to challenge him. He is used to relying on his wits to survive: he is a cat and a cat walks alone...

...but this time Bushytail realises he is going to need help.

Bushytail joins up with a band of clowderless young toms, where he meets the enigmatic Bristle whom Bushytail reluctantly allows to guide him. Will Bushytail ever master the three rules and the mysterious powers Bristle is trying to teach him?

He needs to—the future of catkind depends on him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jul 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922812636

Ruby Knight

Award-winning author Ruby Knight was born in Australia and grew up in the Australian bush. After completing a degree in music composition, she toured in a rock band before becoming a teacher. She began writing her debut novel when a student she was teaching refused to read anything unless it was about cats. When she’s not writing or teaching, she can be found singing in jazz clubs.

Book preview

Prologue

She was exhausted, but she needed to hunt again now if her litter was to survive. She crept out of the den to begin her task as she had done so many times before.

Their den was well concealed, but now that her kits had grown, so had their voices. They were famished, the poor things, so you could hardly blame them for mewing so loudly, but little did they realise the danger in which they put themselves. Only last week a crow had carried off the youngest: she shuddered to think about it.

She knew she would have to take her chances and seek prey at the farmyard again. If she could avoid the dog, the chicks provided easy pickings.

When she finally got to the farmyard, she was in luck. The hens were out of their pen wandering around, chicks trailing after them. It was over in a trice; a flurry of feathers was all there was to show for the missing chick’s whereabouts. She hurried back with the meagre fare, eagerly awaited by her hungry offspring. Sharp little teeth ground through soft bone and cartilage, not even the extremities of the unfortunate fowl remaining unconsumed.

As she watched, her heart grew heavy. Endangering herself to provide for them conflicted with her instinct for self-preservation and yet something kept driving her to take greater and greater risks on their behalf. The almost mutually exclusive instincts constantly warred within her, each vying for dominance. Soon, she knew she would go. All she could leave them were the names she had given them — nothing more. She wondered if the little orange kit would survive on his own, given that his coat made him so visible.

Be safe, Bushytail! she thought. Nature is a cruel taskmaster.

Bushytail was always ravenous. The volumes of lizards, mice and birds he was able to catch provided subsistence sustenance only. It also took a lot of energy for Bushytail to catch his prey, resulting in a physique that was both lean and muscular.

Daily, Bushytail faced a myriad of dangers. Larger predators such as foxes were a threat, as were other feral toms, and then there was the omnipresent danger posed by humans, many of whom, for a variety of reasons, wanted to eradicate feral cats. He had cleverly camouflaged the entrance to his den in a thicket of blackberry bushes to provide a measure of security during his brief sojourns, but it paid to be vigilant at all times.

When Bushytail was a kit, he lived with his mother and siblings, but at a young age he had had to learn the solitary behaviours he now practiced. A wild mother cat couldn’t provide for herself and her kits for very long, but at least she had given him his name, derived from her remembrance of his bushy tail.

Bushytail had only briefly lamented the loss of companion­ship his family had provided, but oftentimes, when he caught the scent of other cats, he felt lonely. When he was old enough and strong enough, he would contest other toms for territory and have a family of his own, but in the meantime, he would hunt and sleep and bide his time. With each passing day he grew wilier. He became bolder in his quest for food, drawing nearer and nearer human habitation, and reaping the rich rewards these opportunities offered.

The depth of winter was no time to travel, but soon, he would have to leave these lands and find his own territory.

Chapter One:

A New Beginning

Bushytail felt strong and confident. Spring was in the air and the privations of winter almost a memory. His belly was full and the sun warm as he stretched out his limbs. He looked around at the scrubby country that was his home. The trees were low and stunted, allowing the plants underneath to flourish. There were any number of strappy plants and ferns and the occasional grasstree. It looked more lovely to him than it had for some time, and he felt a pang of regret that he may not see it again.

It was easy to live in the moment at times like this, but Bushytail knew that it wasn’t time for rest and relaxation. All winter he had been plagued by hunger and the threat of attack from other toms and now it was time to move on. The warmer months were better for travelling, as he would be able to find food more easily on his journey and the need for shelter wasn’t as great. Besides which, he was looking forward to the adventure.

Living as an outsider in someone else’s territory was simply existence, not living. He wanted to be the master of his own domain, with a family and a clowder. Apart from the lack of space here for the growing population of feral cats, there was also the problem that this land was increasingly home to more and more humans. They were exceedingly dangerous, and he wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

Starting out, however, wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The reason no one ever left was that this territory was surrounded by obstacles: the farmland on one side, an expansive concrete river on the other, and on the third an enormous pathway for the smelly machines.

Bushytail had been considering which direction to take for days.

The concrete river seemed the least dangerous, but it was very strange. It had slippery sides that made it impossible to get a paw-grip. From time to time some unfortunates had fallen in by mistake and none had returned. The farmland was good for a daring cat, as there was easy food to be found; however, that was the direction from which all the humans seemed to come, and Bushytail was sure there would be many more of them in the lands beyond. That only left the enormous pathway for the machines, and even though just as many of his kin had died there, it seemed as if it was the only option.

There was an inviting stretch of bushland on the other side of the pathway that awaited any cat who could figure out the secret of traversing the frightening obstacle. I know I can do it! Bushytail told himself.

Cats weren’t the only creatures that had attempted crossing this pathway. There were a number of kangaroos, koalas and birds lying dead along the causeway, delighting only the crows. Granted, cats may be swift, but the fast-paced machines seemed to come out of nowhere, and any contact with them was deadly. Bushytail wasn’t sure that he wanted to risk himself by relying on his speed to cross. He thought that there must be another solution to get across the pathway, and he’d spent many weeks watching and waiting.

Recently, he had noticed some humans behaving strangely. For a reason he couldn’t comprehend, they were building some kind of structure across the deadly path. It had two tall pillars on either side, connected by a long beam with cages at intervals. Inside the cages were bright things like stars flashing. The structure wasn’t large enough for humans to use as a crossing, and he wondered why they would go to the effort of making it. He had memories of his mother warning him of the dangers humans posed, and he was taking no chances. Seeking an opportunity to examine the structure more closely, he watched and waited, keeping his distance.

After the humans left one evening, he examined the structure carefully. Unfortunately, it was built out of strange materials like the river but much more slippery. Even so, Bushytail still thought it was his best escape route, and he felt confident in his strength and agility to cross to safety.

He had dreamed of escape for weeks, convincing himself that beyond lay salvation: a land that had plentiful prey, even in winter. With an optimism granted only to youth, he imagined himself accomplishing great deeds, fighting great battles and winning great victories. He wasn’t a vain cat, but it was natural for one so young to dream of great things to come. So, with this frame of mind, he decided it was time to attempt the crossing.

Today was the day. No more delays.

Bushytail approached the gantry cautiously, sniffing, but the humans were long gone, and the strange structure gave off no scent. Although it was early morning, the noisy machines that went along the path never stopped. He was determined to try his plan of crossing using the structure the humans had made. Getting up would be easier than getting down. There was an overhanging tree on this side of the road. He climbed up and prepared to spring. The large bushy feature for which he was named swished in anticipation as he attempted to balance and take flight. He landed lightly, but slipped slightly on the cold, unyielding surface. Nevertheless, he managed to keep his footing and focused on the beam in front of him.

He was distracted by the constant thrum that came from the machines and the smell emanating from them. He needed nerves of steel, so pushed any other thoughts aside to focus on the oasis on the other side. Eyes firmly forward, he relied on his natural grace as he walked a straight line no wider than a kit’s head. Although he was a skilled climber, the surface was so unstable that each time he placed his paw, there was no margin for error at all. He didn’t let himself think about the danger if he fell, and instead did what cats did best: he lived in the now. His concentration was bent entirely on the placement of his paws, excluding all else.

He didn’t at first notice the putrid stench that began to overcome him. For some reason, an enormous rumbler, much bigger than the rest, had stopped directly beneath him. On its roof, it had a pipe that spewed forth filth. Bushytail could hardly breathe and dropped to a crouch. It was much more difficult to balance in this position, and with the miasma making him weak, he feared to move forward. Self-doubt assailed him, and he began an internal dialogue of self-beration: Why do I attempt this when all others have failed? What is wrong with where I came from anyway? Bushytail knew that his chance of reaching the other side was greatly diminished without his self-belief, and so he tried to put the negative thoughts aside.

Fortunately, the enormous machine moved away, allowing him some respite, and he was able to refocus. It will pass. Focus. You can do it, he told himself. The noise of the machines that kept moving under him, however, still assailed him. Like all cats, Bushytail was proud of his sensitive hearing, but in this situation, it was extremely difficult for him to think clearly with all the noise.

Regaining his composure, he rose and continued as quickly as prudence would allow. He once again focused only on putting one paw in front of the other until he reached the pillar on the far side. By this time, he was trembling, imagining what might have happened had fate not intervened, and he felt dizzy and nauseous from inhaling the fumes.

Although he wasn’t normally scared by heights alone, in his current condition, the view from his position added to his dizziness. He shut his eyes and focused on centring his balance on the precarious perch, making the most of the brief rest this stance afforded him.

He decided to attempt the descent by dangling his back legs off the edge and trying to wrap all four paws around the pillar to slow himself. Cats usually relied on digging their claws into the surface to climb down a tree, but that wasn’t possible given the impenetrable hardness of the pole. Gracelessly, he landed at the bottom with a thud. His heart raced with elation. I’ve done it! I’m on the other side!

He was exhausted and shaking all over. His limbs felt like jelly, and he desperately needed somewhere to rest. He had no energy to go farther. The strange structure seemed to absorb the heat of the day, and right now he found its warmth comforting. He curled himself in a ball in an indentation at the base of the pillar and fell asleep immediately.

Bushytail awoke hours later to find himself huddled against an icy mass, disoriented and alone. Shaking himself awake, he assessed his situation. He had planned to begin his journey in the glorious warmth of a spring day, enjoying the new scenery stretching before him. Of course, cats often travelled at night, having excellent night vision, but most tended to be crepuscular, that is, most active at dawn and dusk. There was no food to be had in the middle of the night and no way to see what might lie further afield to give him a sign by which he might steer. Nevertheless, Bushytail felt it was best to move away from the machines and set off, trusting to luck.

His encounter over the pathway had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. His great adventure had only just begun, and due to his lack of experience and foresight, he had nearly fallen at the first hurdle. He was flighty, jumping at the small unidentified night noises and the wind whistling in his ears. After a time, his nerves settled and he began to feel reassured by the familiar smells of the bushland, its plants and creatures. The night sky was clear and the air crisp and invigorating. The strength had returned to his muscles, and he revelled in the feel of them moving in unison to propel him.

Shortly, however, his thoughts turned to water, and he realised that he did, in fact, have a raging thirst and a sore throat, probably on account of the foul air he had inhaled. He headed downhill, reasoning that that would be his best chance of finding a water source. It wasn’t long before he could hear the familiar sounds telling him that a watercourse was indeed nearby, but being experienced in such matters, he didn’t rush in to drink without looking, knowing that water attracted all kinds of other creatures.

The moon emerged briefly from a grey coat for just long enough for him to see that he had reached a wide bend in the river, which appeared almost as a lake, surrounded by impressive rotund river gums. The moonlight shimmered on its surface invitingly and he approached carefully, using all of his senses to confirm that the coast was clear. When he was sure that there was no scent of other cats or humans nearby, he crouched and lapped the water greedily.

Sated, he moved soundlessly into the understory and surveyed the scene. As he sat there, he took in the beauty of the country in which he found himself. Beyond the watery vista towered tall mountains, reflected perfectly in the pond’s surface. The plants were all ones he knew, but the trees had become taller, shooting so far into the sky that he couldn’t see their tops. It was a big country and a big sky, and he suddenly felt very small.

He searched for somewhere safe to rest for what was left of the night. Lone toms were vulnerable when sleeping and finding a temporary place to rest for an evening was an undertaking that required careful consideration. Bushytail had unusual colouring, light fur with an orange tinge, which stood out in the mute colours of the bushland, and therefore he had to take care that he was well hidden. Thorn bushes often provided good cover, but a cat had to be careful that they weren’t already occupied.

Being extra cautious, Bushytail opted to climb a tree. This wasn’t the usual preferred sleeping place for a cat, but Bushytail had excellent balance and, as this was unknown territory, considered it the safest option. Being lean, he was able to climb up a good way and still find strong boughs to support him. Although the tree didn’t do much to provide camouflage, from experience he knew that predators rarely looked up: particularly humans.

As the tree branches gently swayed, lulling him towards sleep, he finally had a chance to reflect on his success. He had taken a huge risk today crossing the path of the noisy machines. It was the first time in his short life that he had done anything so daring. In fact, as he was a very young tom, he had really not done much yet other than avoid danger, hunt and find safe places to sleep.

He had been vaguely excited by the idea of what might be awaiting him in the vast bushland, but he hadn’t really given much thought as to what to do once he got here or what possible dangers he might face. He decided that he needed more information and made up his mind to go looking for it tomorrow. Are there cats nearby? Humans? What dangers will I encounter? He was keen to test his strength against another tom in a real fight, but he had no desire to seriously injure any cat in the process. His exhaustion eventually outweighed his curiosity, and he continued his meandering thoughts through the pathways of his dreams, the sensations only serving to heighten his desire.

He woke with a longing to start his adventure.

Chapter Two:

Well Met, Stranger

Dawn was fast approaching, heralded by the onset of the early carollers. With interest, Bushytail observed the world awakening and in particular the many birds seeking the water source. As tempting as it was to make a sudden lunge in an attempt to catch one, he held still, waiting for the right moment, only to find another cat easily as big as himself make the catch gracefully, mid-air, avoiding the treacherous slide into the river. However, Bushytail remained still, hoping to stay unseen to give him time to weigh up his options.

He then decided that attack was the best form of defence and reasoned that catching this unknown cat off-guard while he was absorbed with his prey would give Bushytail the advantage. The other cat was heading his way and would pass directly beneath him. All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike. He planned to spring onto his opponent’s back, sharp claws digging in, and teeth latched on. He knew that it would be difficult to dislodge him from this position; the effort would be sure to tire his adversary.

Inexplicably, however, he went sailing through the air, missing his target altogether. He landed awkwardly, making an horrendous noise: his presence announced to all and sundry. To his surprise, the cat didn’t press his advantage, instead asking him a question.

‘Who are you?’ the stranger asked him.

Bushytail knew that this could just be a tactic to buy time, but he found himself responding anyway. ‘I’m an outsider. I walk alone.’

‘Stranger, I am no threat to you. Walk on by,’ came the response. There was no sense of fear or anxiety in the voice. The strange cat exuded confidence and calmness.

‘Stranger I may be, but not so green as to turn my back to you,’ replied Bushytail.

‘Then let me,’ said the stranger, and he turned and walked away.

The strange cat could have done nothing that would have surprised him more greatly. Were all the rules changed in this country that toms would simply let one another pass? How did I miss my opponent in the first place? Although he was inexperienced in fighting, he knew his reflexes were good and that his blow should have found its mark. The stranger had not even paused to retrieve the prey he had caught.

Warily, Bushytail eyed the fallen prey. He maintained his crouch for a full five minutes, using all his senses to detect the return of the hunter who had felled the prize, but eventually hunger won out and he devoured the creature rapidly. The feeling of a full belly quickly dispelled the uneasiness he had been experiencing. The sun was warm, but not too hot, and the temptation to bask was great, but he knew that while the sun was high, he needed to find a vantage point from which to get his bearings.

So, he started travelling uphill.

It wasn’t difficult terrain, but being out of his known territory, he flitted from tree to tree and the journey took much longer than it