Paula Hillman, author

When I left teaching in 2019, I had the urge to write a children’s book. This urge had been inspired by the great children’s writer, SF Said, and the effect his stories had on me and the classes I taught. I’d also written a Christmas show about two local cats who had to get posses of local cats together to save Barrow! Hence The Tabby Connection was born. It never went anywhere or got any traction, and the style is quite naive, but I learned so much from that initial few months of writing. Here, just for fun, is chapter one (any one who saw my Christmas shows will recognise Rollo and Lennon!)

Chapter one:

Rollo narrowed her eyes at the shadows beneath the garden wall. Lennon was getting worse at hunting, not better. A ragged blackbird burst upward with a panicked cry as he crashed out of the bare branches, all long legs and no stealth.

   ‘Missed again,’ he called, eyes searching for her in the draining light of the winter afternoon.

   ‘I’m coming down.’ Rollo stood up and shook out her long silvery-black fur. No matter how many lessons she gave him, Lennon’s legs always tangled at the crucial pounce. She unsheathed her claws and gripped her favourite tree trunk, old and gnarled and pressed hard against the crumbling wall. It was the first thing she had learnt to climb after Lennon brought her and her brother here, soaked through and terrified, nudging them towards the shelter of the empty house at the garden’s heart. But climbing still made her stomach twist. The pull of her own weight, the scrape of claw on bark, the horrible drag downwards — all of it made her want to let go. Usually, she did. Lennon might be hopeless at hunting, but he could always beat her to the top. Greenheart gave him plenty of chances to prove it, with its ancient trees, broken brickwork and wild corners where no people lived anymore.

   Rollo landed with a crackle and a thud. She heard Lennon’s soft snort of laughter.

   ‘Okay. I’m good at hunting, you’re good at climbing. Get over it,’ she hissed, rubbing a paw across her face. ‘But we’ve still got no supper.’

A finger of cold air ran along the soft fur of her back, and she shivered. Her gaze drifted to the empty house. Once, people had loved it. She was sure of that. She recognised the hollow openings they called windows, though now they gaped black and empty, and inside were rooms with the shapes she remembered as fireplaces. Jumping flames. Warmth. She pushed the thought away and shook out her whiskers.

   ‘My belly’s empty. So, I’m freezing. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

Lennon shrugged. His short brindled fur lifted slightly as a rush of salty wind swirled across the garden. He turned glittering eyes on his friend.

   ‘It’s fine. I’m hungry too. Shall we go out into the park and try again?’ He tilted his large head sideways. ‘You lead this time?’

Rollo cleared her throat. ‘I will.’

A small yellow cat sat by the chained gates as if he had been waiting for them all along. His fur glowed against the garden’s cool green light, and his eyes fixed on Rollo and Lennon with bright, nosy interest.

   ‘Are yous off out boyos?’

Tommy. Could they never do anything without him finding out?

   ‘Thought you’d be with your … keeper.’ Lennon narrowed his eyes. ‘Why are you in Greenheart?’ He never trusted cats who lived tangled up with people.

Tommy swished his tail, saying nothing.

   ‘Lennon didn’t mean to be rude,’ snapped Rollo, ‘did you?’ She swung her head upwards to face her friend, eyes wide.

His head drooped. ‘No. Sorry. Just thought….as it’s so cold….you’d be inside with….sorry.’

Tommy’s face lit up. ‘It’s alright boyo,’ he said playfully, ‘I was just having a nosy about, that’s all. You go right ahead.’

He stepped aside and Rollo grinned at him, squeezing herself through the bars of the gate. Flakes of green paint caught on the fluff of her coat.

   ‘Thanks,’ she called.

Lennon followed her, a scowl spreading across his stubby whiskers.

   ‘Did you just say thanks?’

It was no more than a whisper, but she gave him a hard stare.

   ‘He’s a friend. Why wouldn’t I?’

Lennon lifted his shoulders and strode ahead of her, away from Greenheart’s garden and into the washed-out afternoon. Rollo trotted after him, as they crossed the park’s gentle green slopes. Even on this wintery afternoon, the place looked beautiful to her. She could see broken light on the surface of a small beck that cut through its centre. Trees grew along the far side of the water, trailing down their spidery branches. This was the favourite drinking place of the Greenheart cats. Sometimes, people would come and play on the water’s edge, but Rollo liked it best when it was just her and Lennon. She didn’t trust people. They pretended to like you but could be cruel. So cruel.

She watched Lennon’s thin brown tail lift and give her a small wave. That was his way of saying he wasn’t cross. But why should he be? Tommy was a cat, same as them. Living with a person did not make him bad. Lennon was afraid of pet cats; Rollo was sure of it. The thought made her paws prickle. She had been a pet once. That didn’t make her something to fear, did it?

   Lennon stopped next to a patch of the twiggy shrubs that ran all the way along the border of the park. Some had bright green prickly leaves and red berries, but most were bare, their thin branches grey with cold. Rollo peered along the stony pathway.

   ‘It’s quiet, isn’t it?’ she breathed. ‘There’s usually a few people. And dogs. Where are they all?’ They stood together, glancing around, nostrils flaring. The scent of other creatures lay thinly over the salt-tang of the wind. Beneath it came something else. Hot. Bitter. Familiar in the worst way. Burning.

Lennon coughed. ‘Did you get that. It’s horrible.’

Sniffing again, Rollo nodded. ‘I can taste it.’ She lifted a paw and wetted its pad with her tongue, running it across the middle of her face. ‘And it’s stuck in my nose.’

   ‘The taste of juicy bird would get rid of it,’ began Lennon, but Rollo was already on to it, sniffing around at the edge of the path. Looking back at him, she nodded her head slightly.

   ‘In here,’ she whispered. ‘They love this place.’

Creeping into the dark hollow between two straggly bushes, they crouched down, tails tucked, eyes ready for every flicker of movement.

Before long, a pigeon landed on the path in front of their hiding place. Its black eyes flickered towards them. Rollo held her breath, willing Lennon to do the same. The bird swivelled its head back and forth for a moment then took two hops away from the patchy shrubs, its darting beak pecking and seeking in the gravel. Rollo inched forwards just enough to get height for her pounce. Head trained on the silvery sheen of the pigeon’s wing, she waited. Hunger kept her focussed. Only the bird’s jerky movements disturbed the sharp air. Picking her moment, she pounced, a flash of shimmering black shadow. Her spine made a perfect arc, suspended for a moment in the hush of time. Razor claws unsheathed and the spell was broken. But the bird reacted quickly, flying upwards with a spurt of energy. A flurry of soft downy feathers drifted to the ground.

Lennon crept from the shadows. Shook his shoulders against the cramping cold. ‘What happened? I was sure you had the bird.’

Before Rollo could answer, the quiet of the afternoon splintered into a thousand fragments of noise. Her heart jumped into her throat, body curling in on itself. The same happen to Lennon. His head almost disappeared into his shaking shoulders. His eyes were drawn towards the noise. It became a rumble under their paws and a roaring in the air above them. Fear made Rollo close her eyes. But the smell was there again. Oily, and catching in the back of her throat.

   ‘What. Is. That?’ Lennon croaked.

But Rollo couldn’t open her eyes. The violent sound pressed down on the inside of her ears and made her teeth rattle.

   ‘Rollo. Look.’ 

She felt a nudge on the side of her trembling face. A whisper.

   ‘Open your eyes.’

Moving slowly across the grass were three gigantic yellow monsters. Each had a long neck, held high and ending in an ugly head with rows of metal teeth, clamped tightly together. They had no feet. No paws. Just rolling tracks that churned up the soft ground. And the noise they made. Rollo felt it jarring her bones. She blinked. There were people inside these monsters. Wearing white hats and shiny coats. Had they been eaten? She could see that they were smiling and unharmed. That made no sense.

   ‘Do you know what they are?’ she shouted at Lennon, watching the look of horror that was spreading slowly across his face.

He shook his head. ‘No. But if we got in their way, that would be the end of us. We need to get back to the den.’

The monsters continued their slow roll, sending out spurts of smoky vapour and leaving a muddy trail behind them. Rollo tried to move but her legs were frozen to the spot.

   ‘I…I…can’t,’ she cried. But Lennon was already behind her, nudging her forward.

   ‘You can. Don’t look at them. Keep your head up and put one paw in front of the other.’

Doing what he said seemed to work. Rollo’s legs began to move, and her head lifted. The roar of the machines was terrible. Deafening. But she pushed forwards, with Lennon behind her, urging her on.

A jolt of her heart sent a rush of blood through her body, giving her the energy to run. Bolting away from the machines, she raced towards the safety of the den, hoping that Lennon was following. The vivid green of the park flashed past her and her eyes streamed with cold, but she’d never run so fast. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the gates of the garden and squeezed herself through.

Lennon came to rest beside her. Breathing heavily, he stood for a moment, head tilted sideways. ‘I can still hear those things. What are they?’

Rollo couldn’t answer. Fear had taken away her voice. She peered through the gates, shudders wracking her body.

   ‘Let’s get back to the den,’ he continued, panting heavily. ‘We should be safe in there. Shouldn’t we?’ But as they turned to go, Rollo could still hear the thundering roar of the monsters, and it was getting louder.