Free Copycat by Colin Dann Page A

you still thinking of those rabbits?’
    ‘No. I’m not hungry right now. But I want your help in another way.’
    ‘Yes, there’s the smell of good meat on your breath,’ the fox commented. He gave a croak of amusement. ‘I suppose that’s the closest I’ll get to tasting it. Unless you can tell me where to find some?’
    Pinkie had to put him off this track pretty swiftly. ‘Er – no. It wouldn’t be possible for you. It was pet food. But look, have you eaten anything since that mouse I found you?’
    ‘A few beetles and slugs. Not much meat on any of ’em.’
    ‘The Pub Cat used to hunt with you, didn’t he? Long ago? I could take his place. I’m fast. I can catch things. Perhaps I can be of benefit to you? But I need a proper den. Somewhere secure. You can help me there.’
    ‘Look at me. Do you really think so?’ the fox said ironically. ‘You’re kidding yourself. And what’s the Pub Cat?’
    ‘The white cat – Snowy. He knows you from way back, doesn’t he?’
    ‘Maybe. I don’t remember much. My wits have gone.’
    ‘Nonsense. You still know what’s what,’ Pinkie said. ‘Don’t you have a den?’
    ‘Not a proper one. Best I can do is a hollow under a rock.’
    ‘It doesn’t sound very comfortable.’
    ‘It isn’t. It gets flooded when the river’s high,’ the fox replied. ‘But no other creature uses it or knows of it.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ Pinkie said bluntly. ‘Then it’s on the river bank?’
    ‘Beyond the bridge. That’s where the rabbits are.’
    Pinkie’s ears pricked up. This would be useful for the future. ‘When you’re ready to move,’ she said, ‘I’ll come with you. Maybe I’ll find a place to make my own den on the way.’
    ‘I’m too tired to move,’ the fox said. ‘I’ll be all right here. I don’t ask for much, or expect it these days.’ He lay down and wrapped his scanty brush around his nose. ‘If you spy an earwig or a moth anywhere,’ he muttered sardonically, ‘let me know. I might just be able to catch it.’
    Pinkie saw that the emaciated beast was ready for sleep. She left the fox where he lay and began to prowl around the copse. Under a pine tree a pigeon fledgeling flapped helplessly, having fallen from its nest. Pinkie pounced and carried its lifeless body, dangling in her jaws, to the slumbering fox.
    ‘Have that on me when you wake,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps it’ll give you the strength to take me where I want to go.’
    The rest of the copse yielded nothing. Pinkie found a warm tree-stump in the full rays of the sun and settled herself on it for a snooze. She contemplated the scarcity of food for a fox who could no longer hunt and wondered how he had survived the winter. ‘Beetles, berries and a flooded den,’ she mused. ‘What a life! Is that what I’m heading for?’
    Not far away, in Monty’s garden, Sammy was basking lazily. He had scarcely given a thought to Pinkie except to wonder what she would do. He had been grilling Monty about the Church Cat. He wanted to know everything about her. Monty was able to tell him very little and Sammy was all the more in awe of Hermione because of her mystery.
    ‘Why are you so interested?’ Monty asked him. As a house cat himself, the distinction between his and the Church Cat’s way of life was negligible. There was no contrast as there was with Sammy’s.
    ‘She’s the perfect pet,’ the tabby answered him. ‘She thinks I’m a tramp but I can learn.’
    ‘Learn what?’ Monty enquired in a puzzled voice.
    ‘To do as you do. Look!’ Sammy cried, jumping up and stalking in front of the black cat. ‘Don’t you think my fur is glossier? I’m being much more careful about it. And my walk’s not so stiff, is it? I don’t look so much like the typical old tom when I move. I sway more, I’m more – er – nonchalant.’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I see,’ Monty responded awkwardly. ‘Very good. You’re softening up, you mean?’
    Sammy’s attitude changed at once.