Kittie Camp

Arriving home unaccompanied after Rowan, Denzel and I had spent an afternoon with our daughters, I found Cecile on the coral sofa, a book by her side. She seemed happier than when Beverley and I had left her earlier in the day.

"Hello, lovebud," she smiled, "how was your Daddy Daughter Day? Is Beverley not with you?"

"We had a nice time," I replied. "She's at Denzel's and she'll be back soon; Lena wanted her to see the quads. But what about you?"

"What?" she said, dropping her gaze but maintaining an amused expression.

"From your happy face I'm guessing Brendan's back from Kittie Camp."

"He is. He's having a bath."

It had been the first time Brendan had spent nights away from his family, and Cecile had missed her little boy throughout the period. This had been particularly obvious when we had our breakfasts and evening meals and her reaction to laying out the table place settings. My lovely wife has been close to tears on one occasion.

I settled down next to her, kissing her cheek. "And he's alright, isn't he?"

"Yes. I know I've been silly..."

"No, my love. He's our little man and of course you care for him."

"You're being lovely, but I know what I've been like. I suppose it didn't help that Brendan didn't really want to go when he found Lucky wasn't going. I didn't like the idea of him being sad when he left."

"And now?"

"He enjoyed himself. He started to tell me all about it, but I had to interrupt him as he was absolutely filthy and stank to the high stars! He'd obviously fallen into something smelly. I sent him up to get clean."

I sniffed. There was a faint memory of his passage through the room.

"No doubt we'll get the full story when he re-emerges - in his role as Mink the Muckyless, do you think?" I commented, bathing in Cecile's happiness. "Come here and let me give you a cuddle."

We shared hugs a while, and when the sound of movement upstairs was supplemented with a front door click signifying the return of Beverley, we prepared for the family reunion. (Oh, in case anyone was wondering, Russell was asleep in his bed. He's always tired after spending time with his cousin Nugget.)

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I realise some people won't know about Kittie Camp, so some background information will be useful. It's a comparatively recent event organised by a contingent of hill cats, and an opportunity for groups of Mellowdene youngsters to meet up and have fun learning new skills. They do this for four groups spread over the month so that numbers aren't too high at each meet.

These summer camps are located just outside Mellowdene County heading northeast, but before one would reach the hill cat community. One of the canal boats drops off the youngsters close to a small secluded valley in the foothills.

As I understand it, there's a shallow pond there for supervised swimming, and it's sheltered enough for camping. Having said that, a couple of years ago the Waters family were engaged to build a log cabin there as a more permanent base of operations. Helps cope with poor weather too, I guess.

It's pleasing how the feline quota has increased in Mellowdene as they are lovely people. For a long time it seemed that cats didn't want to live here. I remember reports of Cecile's great grandfather not really trusting them, which was totally unwarranted. I know historically cats are considered independent, and it seemed grandpappy Ivory misinterpreted this. It made sense that they didn't need to settle in our village when they effectively had their own small village in the foothills. The canals allowed trade, and that was how things remained until a dozen or so years ago.

My sister-in-law Eliza had good connections with the canal cats as she worked in Rocky Babblebrook's store. A couple of cats from the Harvey family used to tag along on these trips and they became good friends. It was a pleasant surprise when they decided to move to Mellowdene, bringing their entire family along. Bert Harvey and his wife started to work for Rocky too. So the Harveys were the first cats to settle here. Their relations, the Fishers, came a few years later. And we now have a family of Persian cats here who look after a number of small kittens. Maybe the hill cat village has insufficient space? Whatever the reason, the cats living in Mellowdene have resulted in stronger ties with the hill cats.

One theory is that the Kittie Camp - or Pussyfoot Scout Camp, to give it its proper name - was set up for the benefit of the young cats brought up in Mellowdene, ensuring that they are aware of their heritage. The reason doesn't really matter, since it wasn't long before the intake of the summer camps was extended so that it was available to rabbits, squirrels, beavers and any other young crittizens that lived here and were of suitable age.

When Brendan and his pals became eligible, they were excited at the prospect. Both Lucky Snow-Warren and Coco Chocolate were looking forward to going with our boy. We later discovered that Lucky couldn't go because he was going away on holiday with his family. Coco was assigned a different week - apparently the organisers want a wide range of critters at these meets and didn't want any particular race to predominate. Given Brendan's original excitement, we thought his subsequent disappointment wasn't a good enough reason for him to back out - and although Cecile was tempted to allow this, she relented.

With Brendan's joyous return, Cecile was happy she'd made the right choice. We now awaited our boy's account of his stay at Kittie Camp. Even Beverley was curious.

o 0 O 0 o

We were sitting around the dining table when Brendan made an appearance, clad in a towelling robe.

"No," explained Brendan when he had taken a seat and the subject of his pongy adventures were raised, "I slipped in some stinky mud when I left the canal on the way home. I didn't do it at Kittie Camp."

I expected some retort from Beverley but she was still revelling in her own memories of the day, culminating in ice cream and a visit to see her four cute baby cousins. I doubted her restraint would continue much longer.

"I'll tell you what I did do there; I caught three fishes!" Brendan exclaimed, delighted to hold centre stage with a list of his exploits. Beverley moved some peas around her plate with her knife, smiling at her brother's joy, gently shaking her head as he continued. "We had a special net and I used that to catch two of them. I tickled the third until Hughie scooped it out."

Hughie is Rickie Grunt's son, and a new acquaintance for Brendan since they were in different classes at school. I gathered they had got on very well and - together with Nollie Persis - they had formed a little trio of friends that, I suspected, was likely to continue long beyond the conclusion of Kittie Camp. Brendan wanted to invite Hughie for tea next weekend.

Beverley squashed a pea. "How did you tickle the fish? And why, come to think of it?"

"I can show you," said Brendan, wiggling his fingers at her. "And it's just a different ten kick we were shown."

"Don't bother," said Beverley, "And I think you'll find the word is 'technique', not 'ten kick'."

"Suit yourself," said Brendan, sticking out his tongue.

Cecile interrupted the exchange. "Tongue back in mouth, please. What else did you do apart from fishing?"

"We did some climbing. Nollie was really good at that."

"You were careful?"

"Aw, Mum. 'Course we were. The instructors showed us. We used ropes and everything."

"Fancy that," I said.

"It was good," nodded Brendan, and his eyes widened as another memory popped into his head. "And there was some caves."

"Were some caves," corrected Beverley, her eyes rolling.

"That's what I said."

Thoughts of Rowan's tales of magic tunnels came to my mind. "You didn't go too deep into them did you? You can get lost if you're not careful."

Cecile regarded me quizzically. I mouthed to her, "I'll tell you later," as Brendan responded to my remark.

"The caves were only little, Dad. But they had some swirly patterns from different kinds of rock. They were neat."

"Glad to hear it," said Cecile. "Perhaps you can make your room neat tomorrow."

"Huh?" said Brendan, not realising the connection with his tale.

"Never mind," I smiled, "Go on, son."

"The best was the hunt."

Cecile's eyes widened with concern but I forestalled her by speaking first. "What sort of hunt?"

"Well," Brendan explained, "Over the first two days Mr Keats had been showing us different ten ki... 'techniques' ...to track and trail things. On the last day we had to follow tracks and stuff to find clues and stuff. Then we used them to hunt Mr Sandy.

"We had to work together to find him, but he kept moving. It was great. Hughie and me found him first."

"Hide and seek?" asked Beverley, sweetly.

"No! Well, a bit. But better. You had to use your head," he said, tapping his forehead.

I caught Beverley's eye and gave her a stare as a friendly warning to prevent further teasing.

She chuckled. "That sounds great, Brendan. I'm glad you had a good time."

Brendan beamed. "It was great, sis. I wish you could've seen us."

"I'm sure I will," she smiled in return, "I'm guessing you'll be using your ten kicks in your games."

Our son frowned at her, momentarily confused before laughing. Cecile reached under the table and squeezed my hand.

In the corner, Russell watched the exchanges between his family, then giggled.

Life is good.

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