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Alleycat had a little word with me yesterday. He’d heard me talking and he knew I was contemplating writing a post that has nothing at all to do with cats.

“You know that’s not possible,” he drawled, “I can’t allow that, not in my blog.”

“I quite understand, Alleycat,” I said, deferentially. “Why don’t I start a new blog and then I can write about other things in that blog and carry on documenting the Ginge Club’s adventures here?”

“You mean you’d write about non-Ginge Club matters?” Alleycat was surprised; he obviously found the concept far-fetched and in rather bad taste; he wrinkled his eyes in disgust and curled his lip scornfully. “Surely you can’t be serious, old chap?”

I affirmed that I really was determined to depart from the norm and write about new things, and when he heard this Alleycat had a little smile at my expense. He narrowed his eyes and advised me to watch my step.

“I want you to make absolutely sure that the two blogs don’t overlap,” he said. “If you can promise me that I may give you my permission to divide your energies, but mark my words, I don’t want you slacking and the Ginge Club posts must always take precedence. I won’t tolerate anything less.”

Alleycat had made his humble wishes known and I had listened very carefully and obediently to his wise words. At least, that’s what I made him think. Later on we gave Pink the news, and she was really agitated and uncertain for about ten seconds and she wondered where it would all lead. With any luck it’ll lead you here.

Nothing much has happened in the Six Foot recently, except for the kestrel. It was seen hovering two days ago, and yesterday, all in a rush, it swooped down and took a pigeon from next door’s garden. Everyone heard the screams. Alleycat doesn’t mind kestrels, or hawks, unless they get too big for their boots and start to trespass on his territory. Some folk say that cats are the villains of the piece where Mother Nature is concerned (they’re always on the hunt, apparently, looking out for prey) but Alleycat isn’t like that.  He’s a sage, a meditative sort.  He says that it’s Mother Nature who’s responsible and everyone (cats and humans too) have to treat her with respect and understand that She contains them and gave them all their lives (nine if you’re a cat). If a hawk kills a pigeon, or takes a vole, well, that’s Mother Nature for you, red in tooth and claw. There’s nothing to be done about that sort of thing. It’s life. But Alleycat won’t tolerate conflict on his lawns. His lawns are private, sacred to his clan , and he maintains a careful watch on his fences and Bamber’s out all hours (he has his orders) patrolling the Five Streets and putting down markers, while Alleycat remains indoors and sleeps and thinks and lays his plans. When Pink saw the kestrel she was pretty scared, I can tell you. But Alleycat sent Bamber on to the roof of the car-port, to keep watch on the perimeters, and that hawk hasn’t been seen since. He’s probably heard of Alleycat’s great power and understands there are better (meaning safer) places to hunt and trespass than Alleycat’s private lawns.

Time is a funny old thing.  It catches you out.  Memories come back whenever they please and sometimes they surprise you. They never go away, they only seem to.  Take yesterday.  I was at work, getting ready to go home, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I wasn’t there at all,  I was something like eight years old and the school bell was ringing and it was time to go home for tea. Alleycat says that time’s like a long dark corridor with a bright light up ahead.  If you look back you can see the past, the places you’ve already been, because the light is shining towards those things, but if you look ahead the light’s too bright and you can’t see anything because you’re blinded.  He’s full of wise sayings like that.  Sometimes he acts like an ordinary moggie, other times he acts like a sage.  Pink doesn’t act much at all, except like herself.  She’s very happy at the moment because spring has sprung, seemingly, and instead of basking under the reptile lamp on the kitchen table  she can start to wander at large from hot spot to hot spot in the house.

I don’t believe in  déjà vu, but I like the theory. One of my aunties who enjoyed being the centre of attention was being shown around a Scottish country house; she pointed at a portrait of Arabella Stuart and exclaimed That’s me! She was half way up the stairs at the time and had to be caught in mild-faint by the rest of the tour party.  I don’t believe in time travel either, or reincarnation, though if I did they’d be the same boring old thing, like remembering yesterday.  Alleycat knows more about the hidden kingdom than I do, but he only knows the theory.  We talk of these matters often, usually at midday, when he’s at his most sleepy-headed and leisurely. But Pink’s the only one of us who’s ever (so she claims) been to and fro in time, and she doesn’t know how she did it and can’t repeat the experience, so that’s no good.  Alleycat says that if time flows just one way you can’t expect to travel to and fro in it independent of the moment in which you happen to exist.  He has lots more to say, about stretching time out and making it flat or round like a loaf of dough, but all of these things are far beyond me and I just pretend to understand and nod my head when he’s talking.  Apparently his idea is to pop time in the oven, bake it a bit, then eat it and know everything there is to know about every possible instant. Whatever he pretends to believe, Pink’s the only one of us who’s ever accomplished the deed of travelling beyond the present, and this is her version of the story (at least it’s chapter 4  of it).

We hear tell of cats who went on adventures  and travelled far and wide, or cats who bravely opposed injustice and fought for freedom, but in general cats have little truck with that sort of thing.  Now and then Alleycat and Bamber go out into the world and show themselves to the neighbourhood, but Pink never goes out at all, and that’s why I  think she may be the brains of the outfit.  None of the rival cat families ever come into Alleycat’s garden, because if they did Bamber would be straight out of the cat-flap to engage them in heated discussion, and if Bamber failed to impress them Alleycat would plod out and ascend to the top of the highest fence post and stare at them. That usually does the trick.   Pink on the other paw stays indoors all day and all night, profiting from the other cat’s exertions.  In the cold weather she has prime spot in front of the hearth and she’s allowed to sleep wherever she likes without being disturbed.  She can even walk over the heads of the dogs on her bony little feet and they know quite well that they’re not to complain.  Pink, for all her pretty ways and her silly habits,  may, in truth, be the most Machiavellian and formidable cat of all and easily the cleverest warm-blooded creature living on Nine Foot Way.  And that’s a frightening as well as an amusing thought.

Alleycat went missing and there was no sign of him for a day and half. He didn’t show up until yesterday morning.  No one knew where he’d gone to and when he came back (he always comes back) he looked fitter and stronger than he’s been for years. Obviously he’d been invisible, and whilst invisible he’d seen the solution to the problem of the bears.  The bears must have sensed that their reign of terror  was coming to a close, because they all came out and encircled Pink and surrounded her in a little bear-army on top of the kitchen table.  Then Alleycat whispered something in Pink’s ear, and a moment later all the bears were flat on their backs and Pink was in control.  Alleycat let her have all the glory, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have been able to overthrow the bears without his sage advice.

Yesterday evening there was a knock on the front door.  No one knocks on our front door, they always come in via the kitchen, so that was strange right away.  I never receive unexpected callers either and everyone knows it, so I was more than surprised when the knocking continued and didn’t stop, and I was more than annoyed when the dogs didn’t bark at all.  I hate to think of my dogs being cowed, so I ran to investigate and flung the door wide open. There on the other side of the threshold was an old, thin-looking woman with a gipsy ring on her outstretched hand and a hooky nose on her narrow face.  Yet she wasn’t thin exactly, more wiry than anything, and she had big bones, and steely muscles, and if I thought she was thin I didn’t think she looked puny. Far from it. This was a formidable woman, you understand.  Here! she said, and I stood my ground and said nothing because I was amazed and disconcerted. Here, she repeated. Here, you!  Do you want your fortune reading! Now, for all that I would love to have my fortune read, I am afraid to see into the future, so I held out my hand in front of me and opened the palm in her face to show her what I thought of her question.  The grim old woman didn’t speak again, but she stared through me and fixed her gaze on something behind me.  She crooked a finger and beckoned it to come and when I turned I saw bears, dozens of bears, crawling along the tiled floor of the hall towards me (or rather towards her).  Alleycat!  I cried. Alleycat, where are you!

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.

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.

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.

The bears have stopped reproducing for the moment. Alleycat’s instructed them to gather on top of one of the sitting room cabinets, and although he’s confined them more or less, one of them’s unruly and wayward and refuses to do as he’s told. When Pink’s on sentry duty that particular bear creeps up on her blind side and sneaks past her. He’s been seen in the kitchen, staring down at Alleycat (though Alleycat’s too polite to notice him) and once I caught that bear signalling to someone through the kitchen window. We don’t know the details yet but it must mean that the bears have allies somewhere in the Five Streets and they’re secretly communicating through the glass. Nothing bothers Alleycat though. He’s intent on sleeping as much as possible and won’t exert himself or take steps until it’s absolutely necessary.

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.

The cats are sharing the house with a gang of teddy bears who’ve appeared as if by magic on the sofa and (more worryingly) on the mantelpiece. The bears sit and stare and rarely move, and they’re a bit like the cats in the way they manage to retain their composure no matter what happens around them. Nothing can make them stir a limb or move a muscle, and that’s quite all right by Bamber, who lies among them and sleeps right next to them. But Pink is uncertain and feels a little uncomfortable in their presence; she sometimes stares at them quizzically, as if she can’t understand what it means to be a teddy bear and even when she’s cleaning her paws she’s thinking about them. Alleycat’s reaction is different. He has no reaction at all. He carries on sleeping in the gentlemen’s club chairs in the garden and he hasn’t come indoors to speak to the teddy bears since they first appeared. I think he’s waiting for them to come to him.

There’s a gentlemen’s club in the Six Foot. Pink and the dogs aren’t invited, and they know it’s not for them. Bamber and Alleycat sit facing each other on the garden chairs, like old men in Boodle’s or Brook’s, and if they’re asleep it means they’ve just had lunch, or brunch or dinner or any one of the many little meals that they like to indulge in, and if they’re awake it means they’re discussing the issues of the day, such as the supply and demand (and therefore the price) of catnip and the politics of the local cat families. The black and white cats have increased their numbers to an exceptional level in recent weeks, and no one quite knows why. Immigration is a possibility, but Alleycat and Bamber are perfectly relaxed about that and they never get worked up about much at all. The dogs are detailed to fetch and carry for them, and Pink’s expected to come and talk to them when she’s wanted, which isn’t very often. If there’s a crisis or an emergency (which there hardly ever is) Bamber ambles over and tells the cocker spaniels how to deal with it. That’s their function. Bamber’s function is to sleep as much as possible and spring out of bed at the crack of elevenses.

It’s not the turning of the year yet, but Alleycat and Pink act like it won’t be long (Alleycat has his mind on winter because he’s old and important and knows what’s coming and Pink talks about snowmen and storms because she likes to be contrary). They’re both making plans to enjoy the last of the sunny days before the big retreat indoors for the long months of stony cold. There’ll be icicles in the Six Foot and some of the cats can’t wait. The milk will be frozen in the pails. The drifts will be ten foot deep and the cattle will huddle in the sheds for comfort. Bamber of course pays no heed to any of that. He doesn’t blow on his nails in anticipation of the cold snap and he doesn’t actually want it. He’s happy as he is. He likes it when the wind is bitter and the snow is thick. He enjoys it but he doesn’t want it to come any faster than usual. Pink and Alleycat on the other hand are laying in the stores and getting ready for nights by the woodburner.

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.

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.

A fat cat thin or a thin cat fat?  When Alleycat was young he was thin, but suddenly one day he became enormously fat, like a bear getting ready to hibernate, or like a cat leviathan.  But there was method and purpose behind his bulking-up.  He was building his physical power in the knowledge that soon he’d be poisoned (and he was) but he got himself through his ordeal and burned off the poison by burning away his fat.  He came near the Door of Death, and he saw through it, and who knows what arcane knowledge he glimpsed out of the edge of his cat’s eyes in those days when the prison was attacking him. But now the poison’s gone and he’s as thin and fit as he was when he was young, and as for me I’m a little bit fatter than I’d like to be, so Alleycat and I have started running together.  We jog together along the disused railway line near my house, and sometimes we stop and listen for the ghostly whistling of the old-time trains.  By the way, it’s Alleycat in both of the photos, fat and young at the top, old and thin at the side.

When Snatcher lived in the Six Foot the rest of the animals spent their days and nights waiting for him to do something bad.  Now that he’s gone, they can all relax and be a little bit naughty and eccentric themselves.  Snatcher’s nastiness equalized everything and it wasn’t possible for anyone else to be bad while he was around, because compared to him their nastiness would have looked like the acme of good behaviour. Now that he’s left the pressure’s off, and Bamber can be naughty if he wants to. He doesn’t have to spend his time watching Snatcher and waiting for him to step out of line, and he doesn’t have to patrol the Six Foot and stop the neighbourhood cats from coming to paying Snatcher court. Instead he can try stealing my dinner (no one minds this) and Alleycat can sit in front of the dogs’ water bowl and stop them from drinking (he does this a lot, it’s his prerogative).  Everyone here’s the best of friends and yet in a weird, unexpected kind of way we all miss Snatcher and wish him nothing but the best, just so long as he never comes back!