Cats in the County

This time I thought I'd tell you about some of the cats in Mellowdene. One reason is that I still find it incredible that, before I was born, there were absolutely no cats living in the village or, to the best of my knowledge, the county. 

In a previous blog post, over four years ago (is it really that long ago?), I featured my brother's description of the disaster that led to the hill cat community of Hawkshade living in Mellowdene until they recovered.

The cats eventually returned to the general area of where Hawkshade was destroyed and with our help a new village was built and named Catsholme. The shallow watercourse connecting us was developed into the canal we now use for trading and transport towards Acorn Valley. However, not all the cats were content to remain in Catsholme. Some had enjoyed the interactions with other critters to the extent that they decided to migrate and settle in Mellowdene.

The Harveys were the first, and the Fishers soon followed. 

Joyes, Bert and Macey Harvey

Albert Fisher

The Keats and Persis families also had their roots in Catsholme but came here. 

Milton and Louise Carol Keats

Wilhelm and Maud Persis with grandson Septimus

Some of the McCavity clan thought they'd like to come but, whilst they wanted to associate with other critters, they were more comfortable with other cats around them. This effectively led to the building of the Mews - streets that are effectively a cat district within Mellowdene. Mungo McCavity enjoys the best of both worlds; some of his family live in the Mews but he captains a canal boat that allows him to maintain regular contact with the branch of the family that remains in Catsholme - including his Uncle Artimus.

Mungo and Mary McCavity with Myrtle Catamaran

Not all the Mellowdene cats have their origins in Catsholme. We have a contingent who have connections with the sea cats. Mungo McCavity's wife is Mary Catamaran, and her family were famous sea cats. Similarly, Cecile's friend Atlanta Marlowe is descended from a long line of nautical felines. She married a cat who was in the business of boat building, leading to their moving here. 

Maybe the news filtered out because of the satisfaction of our hill cat settlers, but soon other cats started to appear in the county. The Golightly and Silk families were amongst the first but they are far from the last. Some cats are attracted to the Mews, but others take homes in the village enjoying close proximity to other critter races. Some live in other parts of the county, reveling in the open spaces.

Jacob Silk

In the relatively few years I've lived, cats now rival the dogs for their number of residents, second only to the rabbits. Maybe that's why I used the term incredible; so many over just a few decades. Their presence has enriched our community and it's difficult for me to conceive of Mellowdene without cats.

There we have it. An overview of our feline population. And yet I suspect some of you may wonder what prompted me to choose this as a subject to discuss.

It's Cecile's friendship with Atlanta... no. Let's not limit this to my darling wife. I enjoy the Marlowes' companionship too. Melvin is a scream. His dry, honest, unfiltered humour is refreshing and our conversations are always a treat. It's our friendship with Atlanta, Melvin and their children. Yes, that. That is what gives us an insight into aspects of the cat community. And that's how we heard of Felix Cheshire and his group; that and the tale he told Melvin a couple of years ago.. 

o 0 O 0 o

We were on our way from Acorn Valley to Mellowdene. By we, I mean my brother Nolan, my wife Kara, our daughter Naomi and our foster children Dion and Auden Catwood. It was a visit to see my cousin Adam and his family, prior to a likely decision to settle there. A small bit of land to be self sufficient but close enough to visit my relatives. Maybe even teach part time in the school. 

The journey had proved uneventful until we were roughly halfway through the break in the mountain range that led to the rest of Sylvania. Three young cats ran from the foothills, panicked expressions on their faces.

"Our home has collapsed!" cried one.

"They're buried alive!" wailed another.

The third grabbed my arm. "Please help!" she said, pulling me back towards the narrow pass from which they'd emerged. 

Of course we followed - but when the three youngsters came to a halt we saw no sign of a house, damaged or otherwise. When we asked where the house was, the first cat pointed to a mound of earth.

"It's not really a house," sniffed the second.

"We live down there," sobbed the third.

Eventually we extracted an explanation from her whilst the others returned to scrabble ineffectively at the ground. We discovered she was called Floella Tuxedo and her companions were Axel and Anton Golightly. They were part of a larger family of cats who lived in an underground chamber with "Papa Floyd".

We set to, trying to remove the earth as best we could, but we were making little progress. We didn't have any tools to help us and it was looking desperate, not knowing the degree of the collapse below.

   

We paused when Dion called, "Mum! Dad!" and we turned to see what he wanted. 

He pointed to another mound a short distance away - a mound that was moving. As we watched, the clay and stones fell away and a head poked out of a hole.

Axel and the others ran to the critter who hauled himself out from the tunnel he'd dug. "Papa!" they cried. It was a badger with an injured arm. He'd done well to create an escape route from the compromised chamber. He acknowledged the three young cats with a nod and then he saw us. He nodded a greeting.

"I am Cyrus Floyd Underwood," he said. "There are others climbing up from below. If you could help..."  

With that he sat down heavily. It was clear he was exhausted, and Nolan drew me to one side, telling me that the badger's arm needed treatment.

"They must come with us," said Kara. "There will be medics at Catsholme."

I agreed, but none of us realised the number of cats that had lived in the subterranean chamber. Including Axel, Floella and Anton there were nine. Three of those were kittens.

They didn't have many possessions meaning there was little delay once they agreed to accompany us on our journey. The oldest of the cats - a young adult called Cressida Tuxedo - thanked us but shook her head when we suggested they relocate to Catsholme.

"I've been told that only cats live there. What about Papa Floyd?"

We weren't in the business of splitting up families so, once we were convinced Cyrus Floyd Underwood would cope with the longer journey, we resumed our journey to Mellowdene.

o 0 O 0 o

Cyrus chatted quietly with us as we travelled. 

"I'm not their actual father," he said redundantly, "and until just over a year ago I lived alone. Happily so. They stumbled across me when I was foraging and they needed help. I shared my home and they sort of became attached to me."

    

"Do you know where they came from?", asked Kara.

"I don't think they know. They say they don't remember anything before they were brought to a beach and told to find a path. I think they went the wrong way and got lost."

"What were your plans for them?"

"I didn't have any. I know they a need proper family and some sort of schooling, and I'm not geared up for that. I can't seem to convince them of that; it's as if they've bonded with me. They are nice kids but... I'm a single badger who likes solitude sometimes."

"Maybe your accident was a blessing in disguise. They'll get a chance to meet other critters in Mellowdene."

o 0 O 0 o

They did, of course. They especially got on with our children. Cyrus's arm was treated and as we waited we discussed placing his wards with other families. 

We wondered if Cressida, Floella, Gilford, tiny Lief and Snowdrop Tuxedo might warm to the Marlowes. We suggested Axel, Anton, Anouska and Arya Golightly might prefer to live with their namesakes or the Silk family. It was a resounding "no".

"The nine of us are a family. We're not splitting up," said Cressida. "We were happy living with Papa Floyd..."

"But is that fair on him? He's fond of you all but he didn't wake up one day and decide to be a father to nine cats. He knows you need school and somewhere safer to live."

"We like the open spaces," Cressida argued. "Mellowdene is nice but we're not used to living in a village. Even if I could convince my family to give up Papa Floyd, where would we live?"

It was a good question. They were good kids and we were growing fond of them. They deserved a happy home. My brother later made a suggestion.

"I know you and Kara were thinking of settling outside the village, finding a place for a small holding. There's good land. Would it be too hard to have Cressida and the others live with us? You could do some of their teaching. Cyrus could have his own cabin and associate with us as and when he wanted."

And that's effectively what happened. The school system supports me so that I can teach off site. Nevertheless I still insist on periodically bringing the children into the village to brush up on certain academic subjects. It also doesn't do them any harm expanding their social contacts. 

o 0 O 0 o

They are settled now but I had been unaware of their history. Felix Cheshire's tale of the nine cats interested me, and I noted similarities with the arrival of the Umberhounds and the Murr-Grand elves. Were these young cats brought to our shores by the Sylvanian Order?

It's not important, but it does illustrate to me how Mellowdene has attracted cats from a wide variety of places, including some I cannot begin to undestand.

o 0 O 0 o

A Harry Christmas

Happy holidays, dear readers! Darcy here.

I was in the office a few days ago. I must have been looking out of sorts or something as Harry picked up on it.

"What's wrong, Darce?" he said, coming over to my desk. "Something worrying you?"

I smiled. "No, Harry. Just thinking about what's left to do before Christmas. The newsletters about Chunglewood took longer than expected. And then I'd agreed to help Spencer Maces redesign his plan for organising the Mouse Run."

"Right. But they're done now, aren't they?"

"They are, but they delayed me starting the usual tasks."

"Can I help?" 

"You do, mate. We can get all the pre-Christmas stuff done if I postpone some of our other work to the week between Christmas Day and the new year. If I come in each day, we'll be back on track."

"Give up all your Christmas holiday? That's not fair on you or your family. Didn't you say that you were inviting the little elf..."

"Clip. Yes. The little guys will have finished helping Lennox Murr-Grand during the Christmas build-up. He's a lovely little bod. He spent some time with us a couple of months ago. Really fits in with the family. Clop adores him." A recent memory popped into my head. One I had to share. "You'll like this. When Clip said he didn't know his birthday, Clop said that he could share his; pretend they were twins."

"Cute," said Harry. "That confirms what I was thinking. You can't miss out on those Christmas Holidays. Let me come in and help you. Two people means we'll free up half the week."

"I can't ask you to abandon your family."

"Tillie will understand. And besides, my house is packed at the moment. My brother and his family are staying with us as his new house isn't ready for them to move in."

"Willard?"

"Yes. I love him but... well, you'll understand how I would be glad of a break from him twenty-four hours a day."

"Okay. Double-check with Tillie but it does sound like we'll be doing each other a favour."

Harry and Willard. A shame they didn't get on better. It occurs to me that you don't know much about Harry and his family. I'll remedy that.

o 0 O 0 o

The Hawthornes are a long-standing family in Mellowdene. They have run "Hawthorne Horses" longer than living memory, with a love for equines that is reciprocated by those animals in their care. The relationship is almost symbiotic. The Hawthornes seem to know what the ponies are thinking and feeling and in return the ponies lend their strength and agility to those the Hawthornes trust.

Harry and his twin Willard were the sole representatives remaining in the family. It was a tradition established by one of their ancestors that the eldest child takes over the business at the relevant time. When it became time for Harry to take the reins (sorry about that; I couldn't resist) things didn't go to plan.

"We're twins," Harry had said, "so you can be in charge."

Willard had stared at him. "But you're the eldest. Tradition says it should be you. I can support you."

"That doesn't work for me," Harry had replied. "It's only tradition because our great great grandfather said so. Besides, you're more of a horsey person than I'll ever be. And I have other plans."

Whilst Willard was proud to do the job, he found it hard to accept Harry flouting the tradition. Not that Harry objected to helping out at times - it was just that his interests were elsewhere. "Finding things out".

This was an attitude present in his school days. It helped his grades but it went beyond that. He began "finding things out" to help people. He learned first aid. On one occasion a family had locked themselves out of their house. Harry was inspired to find out how to pick locks. He shadowed the Sheriff's Department to see if he might wish to join; he didn't because - whilst that would help people - it didn't offer enough of the "finding things out" element.

I was a little younger than Harry but I was still aware of him at school. I'd see him sitting in an empty classroom, pondering upon a book he had been reading. My upbringing and apprenticeship at the Mellowdene Examiner had given me observational skills and I had recognised in Harry a kindred spirit. Years later when I took over the running of the newspaper, Harry was the first person I employed. 

You're probably only seen Harry in his role as food reporter. He's much more than that. I have neglected to mention how he can be relentless when it comes to research. And perceptive. Unsurprisingly he found out about this blog and figured out Jackson's role in writing stories for you, that it should remain secret and that he could extend his loyalty to me to help cover up the whole "Life in Mellowdene" project. He even helped divert my daughter Una from prying too deeply. 

When Harry was seen as an established employee at the Examiner, Willard's hopes that his brother would return to Hawthorne Horses were dashed and the rejection created a barrier between them. Nothing un-Sylvanian, of course. Merely the conflicting approaches of a traditionalist versus a maverick.

Things thawed slightly thanks to Harry's wife Tillie. Tillie's niece Kirsty Hamilton used to visit her aunt from out of town. Kirsty is fanatical about horses and ponies and when she discovered her Uncle Harry was connected to Hawthorne Horses she pleaded to be introduced to her relatives. The Hamiltons now live in Mellowdene so Kirsty spends most of her spare time with Willard's children.

With Willard and his family staying at Harry's house over Christmas the signs were that relationships were in a much better position. However, when Harry volunteered to help me during the Christmas holidays it was clear that the original conflict still wasn't completely resolved.

I decided I'd see if I could help. I would begin by having a chat with Tillie...

o 0 O 0 o

With Christmas almost upon us Harry and I had completed the time critical work and we were about to close shop for the big day. I'd been keeping an eye on the door for a particular visitor and was beginning to think they weren't going to come. Was my plan unwinding before it truly started?

Thankfully no. There was a knock on the door and Willard entered.  

"Tillie said you wanted a word with me, Darcy," he said, glancing at his brother, greeting him with a terse "Harry."

I didn't procrastinate. No point in putting things off. "I wanted a few words with both of you. It pains me that there is a barrier between you, especially when I remember how close you were at school."

"Darce, you don't need to..." began Harry but I interrupted him.

"I do need to do this. I've got two young children coming together during the post Christmas holidays. My boy Clop and the elf boy Clip. Not related by blood but from the way they act they may as well be twins. Small children showing the best of Sylvanian values. And I contrast this with you two. It's a waste."

"You don't understand," said Willard.

"Really? Then correct me if I have anything wrong. You are twins and Harry is supposedly the elder by less than half an hour. An ancestor decided that the first born should take over the family business at an appropriate time. Harry had other plans and you, Willard, cannot forgive him because you feel that he betrayed the family and defied your father."

"That's oversimplifying it..."

"But is any of it wrong?"

Willard huffed and then shook his head.

"Right. Then let's first address this family tradition. Trying to force a career on someone isn't really a Sylvanian trait, is it? No. And presumably the second born is free to choose their own career. Hardly fair."

Willard's mouth tightened. "But it is our tradition, nevertheless."

"Fine. Then let's look at your birth. I've discovered that you were delivered at home by a locum doctor. Doctor Nelson Stoat. He had a reputation of being a little absent minded and he left the profession soon after you were born. Were either of you aware of that?"

"I wasn't," said Harry. Willard shook his head, commenting, "I'd be interested to know how you know this."

"Tillie told me, having learned of this from your mother."

"Presumably there's a point coming," said Harry.

"By all accounts it was a hectic birth. Twins weren't expected and Doctor Stoat's records weren't updated until the next day. Tillie dug out your birth certificate, Harry, and the scribbles aren't clear regarding time of birth."

"Meaning?" prompted Willard. 

"It's possible that Harry wasn't first born. He could be, but equally you could be, Willard." 

"That can't be right," said Willard.

"Check the documents. If the first born cannot be absolutely certain, why argue about the tradition? Why continue to fight? Remember how you used to be."

Harry laughed. "Darcy Fielding, investigative reporter supreme. Inspiring, dear friend."

Willard looked confused. "So if Harry isn't first born... I would be... and I'd be upholding the tradition..." He stared at me. "How can we be sure?"

"You can't be," I smiled. "The upside is that there's no point in arguing."

Harry beamed. "I think Christmas will be good this year."

"Good. And I don't expect you to come in over the holidays, mate. Spend time with your brother."

"No. You've got Clip and Clop. As for spending time with Willard... I'm thinking we'd be better starting off with quality time over quantity. I'll be in the office and we'll zoom through the work together, Darce."

Clip and Clop. I would like to spend some time with them during the Christmas holidays. Harry had a good point. I nodded my agreement.

With that settled, we had concluded our time at the Mellowdene Examiner and we shut up the office for Christmas. Looking at the Hawthorne brothers as they made to leave I was happy I'd given them a particularly good present this year.

o 0 O 0 o 

That should have been it but Harry came back.

"One thing," he said. "How much of that was fiction from your murine brain?"

"Ah. You guessed. Not all of it. I took the existing facts and spun a credible theory.  Nelson Stoat was competent at medicine but his paperwork was worsening. Undoubtedly that's why he retired."

"So what about the bit about our times of birth?"

"All possible."

"And if Willard hadn't grabbed onto that theory?"

"I thought he would. Glad he did. I didn't want to use Plan B."

"Should I ask?"

"You do like finding things out," I said. 

"Tell me."

I did. I couldn't help myself as I wanted a reaction.

"You had lots of visitors when you were born. Lots of cuddles for the identical twins. Might it be possible that you were returned to the wrong cribs? The wrong baby taken to be first born? That would make you Willard and..."

"Darcy! No!"

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

o 0 O 0 o

o 0 O 0 o