Paws and Whiskers by Jacqueline Wilson

springing out from the sides of his face, and he felt his tail curling behind him. His tread was light, and his fur was like the most comfortable of old woollen jumpers. As his pleasure in being a cat grew, his heart swelled, and a tingling sensation deep in his throat became so strong that he could actuallyhear himself. Peter was purring. He was Peter Cat, and over there, was William Boy.
    The boy stood up and stretched. Then, without a word to the cat at his feet, he skipped out of the room.
    ‘Mum,’ Peter heard his old body call out from the kitchen. ‘I’m hungry. What’s for supper?’
    That night Peter was too restless, too excited, too much of a cat to sleep. Towards ten o’clock he slipped through the cat flap. The freezing night air could not penetrate his thick fur coat. He padded soundlessly towards the garden wall. It towered above him, but one effortless, graceful leap and he was up, surveying his territory. How wonderful to see into dark corners, to feel every vibration of the night air on his whiskers, and to make himself invisible when, at midnight, a fox came up the garden path to root among the dustbins. All around he was aware of other cats, some local, some from far away, going about their nighttime business, travelling their routes. After the fox, a young tabby had tried to enter the garden. Peter warned him off with a hiss and a flick of his tail. He had purred inwardly as the young fellow squealed in astonishment and took flight.
    Not long after that, while patrolling the high wall that rose above the greenhouse, he came face to facewith another cat, a more dangerous intruder. It was completely black, which was why Peter had not seen it sooner. It was the tom from next door, a vigorous fellow almost twice his size, with a thick neck and long powerful legs. Without even thinking, Peter arched his back and upended his fur to make himself look big.
    ‘Hey puss,’ he hissed, ‘this is my wall and you’re on it.’
    The black cat looked surprised. It smiled. ‘So it was your wall once, Grandad. What’ya going to do about it now?’
    ‘Beat it, before I throw you off.’ Peter was amazed at how strongly he felt. This
was
his wall, his garden, and it was his job to keep unfriendly cats out.
    The black cat smiled again, coldly. ‘Listen, Grandad. It hasn’t been your wall for a long time. I’m coming through. Out of my way or I’ll rip your fur off.’
    Peter stood his ground. ‘Take another step, you walking flea circus, and I’ll tie your whiskers round your neck.’
    The black cat gave out a long laughing wail of contempt. But it did not take another step. All around, local cats were appearing out of the darkness to watch. Peter heard their voices.
    A fight?
    The old boy must be crazy!
    He’s seventeen if he’s a day.
    The black cat arched its powerful spine and howled again, a terrible rising note.
    Peter tried to keep his voice calm, but his words came out in a hiss. ‘You don’t take ssshort cutsss through here without asssking me firssst.’
    The black cat blinked. The muscles in its fat neck rippled as it shrieked its laugh that was also a war cry.
    On the opposite wall, a moan of excitement ran through the crowd which was still growing.
    ‘Old Bill has flipped.’
    ‘He’s chosen the wrong cat to pick a fight with.’
    ‘Listen, you toothless old sheep,’ the black cat said through a hiss far more penetrating than Peter’s. ‘I’m number one round here. Isn’t that right?’
    The black cat half turned to the crowd which murmured its agreement. Peter thought the watching cats did not sound very enthusiastic.
    ‘My advice to you,’ the black cat went on, ‘is to step aside. Or I’ll spread your guts all over the lawn.’
    Peter knew he had gone too far now to back down. He extended his claws to take a firm grip of the wall. ‘You bloated rat! This is my wall, d’you hear. And youare nothing but the soft turd of a sick dog!’
    The black cat gasped. There were titters