Tom and Jerry

by Tony Warner

Tom curled up lazily on his blanket. He stretched one forepaw, then the other. His whiskers had a little bit of old gravy on them but he couldn’t be bothered to clean it off. One of his ears itched. He scratched it, careful not to aggravate the scab which seemed to have formed over night. Perhaps it was time for breakfast?

Getting up nowadays was not as easy as it used to be. The cold in the church had seeped into his bones, making him slow and awkward. He limped towards the two metal bowls in the corner. There was plenty of water in one but the food bowl was almost empty. He finished the two mouthfuls which were left. He sighed. ‘Churches are not what they used to be,’ he thought, ‘people in and out all the time, ready to scratch the ears of the resident cat, give him the end of a ham sandwich or roll a ball about for him to play with under the pews. Just the churchwarden now, in twice a week to leave some food and clear away the litter tray. I could do with a christening or a nice healthy wedding. Burials are no use; people are too miserable at burials.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked a low squeaky voice. ‘Sighing and groaning all the while. You used to be such fun once upon a time. Do you remember when I got in among the communion wafers one evening and you chased me all round the church? Women were screaming and standing on the pews, the vicar pursued me with a rolled up newspaper and one of the men stood on my tail.’

‘That was your fault,’ said Tom. ‘If you’d run straight back down into your mouse hole like you were supposed to do, there wouldn’t have been so much fuss.’

‘Or so much fun,’ added Jerry. ‘We did have some grand times. There was the little old lady who sat through the service stroking you and feeding you the meat from the sandwich in her handbag.’

‘And you came along afterwards to eat up the breadcrumbs. None of them any longer. You are a proper poor church mouse nowadays.’

‘Not so poor,’ objected Jerry. ‘I can always slip out under the door, find the odd acorn or hazel nut in the churchyard. I’ll bring you some if you like.’

‘Pah!’ grunted Tom. ‘Can’t understand how you can eat such rubbish. Bread was one thing, but nuts or grains of wheat stick in my throat something terrible. Dear me, I’m so tired. I think I’ll take a little nap. Wake me up if the churchwarden arrives.’

‘He’s not due until tomorrow. Make sure you don’t snore; it is so disturbing.’

Tom returned to his blanket, curled up in a ball, dreamt he was climbing the large chestnut tree in the graveyard, being shouted at by Jay and Albert. Always ready to create a fuss, that pair. In his dream he imagined an ant was crawling along his belly. He snuffled, twitched a fraction crawled further along the branch.

There was no ant. Jerry had snuggled into Tom’s fur, poking his nose under the smelly armpit which was so warm and welcoming. Like Tom, Jerry also drifted off into a dream. He was locked up in a cheese factory, surrounded by cheddar, camembert, wenslydale, jarlsberg and other cheeses he had never seen before. The imagination of a sleeping mouse is endless!

Next day he was woken by Tom’s tongue licking the back of his neck, scratching at that irritating spot he could never reach however hard he tried. ‘That was delightful,’ he said to Tom. ‘A pity I can’t do the same for you.’

‘Never mind,’ said Tom, ‘the churchwarden will be here soon and I will get him to do it for me. They are so easy to train, these humans. If I rub myself up against his legs and purr loudly he will always scratch my neck and rub behind my ears. With a pitiful ‘miaouw!’ I can make him put out a plate of food. To get water, I sniff at the water tray and tinkle at it with my claws. Simple. I wasn’t always a church cat, you know. I started as a house cat with a family in town. Nice warm house, big garden to dig in, stupid fat town-fed birds to chase. Lovely!

‘The children used to carry me around, which was fun, except when they carried me upside down. That always made me travel sick. I didn’t care because I knew they didn’t mean any harm and they always gave me treats and little toys. Then one day they weren’t there any more. They’d gone away and forgotten to take me with them! So, I ended up here, as a poor church cat. No treats, no toys.’

‘But you have me,’ said Jerry. ‘And I have you. No-one else loves me, not even the little old lady with the meat sandwiches. The churchwarden strokes you, the children feed nuts to the squirrel and everyone says how pretty the bunny rabbits are with their fluffy tails. That must be it! Because I have a naked tail, you’re the only one who loves me. Perhaps I should gather some of the fur you are always shedding and stick it on my tail.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ laughed Tom, ‘you would end up looking like a monster, with your sleek grey fur and a spikey, fluffy ginger tail. Even I would be frightened! Listen, here’s the churchwarden. Scoot away into your hole and hide until he’s gone. If he sees you here he will think I’m not doing my job and will turn me out into the woods to forage for myself.’

Jerry did as he was told, listening behind the woodwork as Tom purred, miaouwed and tinkled his claws on the side of his water bowl. For around an hour the human did little jobs: sweeping the floor, wiping the single candlestick, cleaning the windows, making sure the back door was shut and locked.

‘Goodbye, old chap,’ he said, scratching Tom once more behind his ears, to be thanked with one final purr.

‘I’m exhausted,’ said Tom as Jerry crept out of his hiding place. ‘Humans are so demanding sometimes.’ He curled up on his blanket, wrapping Jerry into his fur.

Next morning Jerry rose early, chasing about to see if the human had dropped any bread crumbs or brought in nuts on the soles of his wellingtons. Disappointed, he returned to Tom’s blanket, ready for a good moan about unappreciative visitors.

‘I’m too tired to listen,’ cried Tom. ‘My legs are stiff and I can hardly move. Old age is such a difficult time.’ Truly, the cat’s forefeet hardly shifted from their curled position. ‘Rheumatism, arthritis, creaking bones. I can’t as much as reach my food bowl.’

Jerry knew what to do. He scurried across the church nave, stuck his nose into Tom’s bowl. It was full of bits of strange looking meat. With great care he urged a piece out of the bowl and on to the floor, then rolled it back across the church to where Tom lay on his blanket. Tom gulped the piece thankfully as Jerry made the long journey back across the nave. All day long he ferried food from bowl to cat until Tom could eat no more and the bowl itself was half empty. ‘Thank you,’ purred Tom. ‘One day I’ll do the same for you.’ And he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Jerry couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well and the sun was already well risen by the time he awoke. ‘Another hard day of cat feeding,’ he said to himself. His back was a little sore from the previous day’s efforts but he felt fit and ready to burst into action once more, his good deed having put him into a bright humour. First job was to say ‘good morning’ to Tom. But Tom was still asleep. Jerry nudged him, tickled his belly with his wet nose, nibbled at his paws. Still Tom did not move.

‘And he’s not snoring,’ said Jerry. ‘Not a good sign.’ He crawled along the cat’s back, hung over his head and tried his best to lift the left eyelid. It didn’t budge. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘How hard it is to lose a friend.’

For two days he waited and still Tom did not move. At last the churchwarden arrived, looking surprised there was no bundle of fur purring around his legs. He walked over to Tom’s blanket. Sighed. Picked him up in his arms and carried the body out into the churchyard. He dug a small hole and laid the dead cat inside, covering it with a mound of earth and a large gravestone. ‘To keep off the fox,’ he said.

Jerry watched from the shelter of a bush, shed a little mouse tear. ‘Now I have no friend left in the world,’ he said, miserably.