Deirdre, Tom, Drew, Jodie and Squeaker
They called him Squeaker because when he
meowed, it wasn’t a meow at all but a kind of gentle squeak like he had lost
his real voice.
Even when he wanted food, Squeaker would
look up at Deirdre or Drew with his big eyes, as if to say, ‘Come on, I’m
hungry.’
Sometimes he would even climb his front
paws up Tom or Drew’s leg as high as he could go, then looking up, let out a
little squeak.
‘OK Squeaker,’ Tom would say. ‘I give in,’
and he would go to the cupboard and pull out a tin of cat’s food.
Drew, who was only five, loved Squeaker. He
loved his sleek black coat and his long tail.
He often lay on the carpet in the lounge
while Squeaker rolled on his back and Drew rubbed his tummy.
And some days Deirdre put baby Jodie on a
rug on the carpet and Squeaker would watch and crawl closer, and Jodie would
squeal with delight and reach out and touch him.
