Search for the Sunlight

“Phew, that was a close shave.” said a muffled voice from somewhere inside the room.

“Who said that?” The Constable grizzled, holding his neckerchief tightly over his nose to mask the horrible smell. He’d forgotten about the cat.

Mangey, matted and reeking of boiled cabbage - and something else, that Sherlock couldn’t quite put his finger on - Smelly Brian appeared from the broomstick cupboard and ambled slowly towards the table.

On his arrival, he began rubbing his chin up and down, like cats do, on the leg of Harry’s chair. As he rubbed and purred, he contorted his erect quivering tail into first, a skinny question mark sort of a shape, then a curly snaky thing, followed by another question mark, this time a mirror image of the first but a little fatter, until finally, with his repertoire exhausted, he finished on a wriggly hairy caterpillar theme.

“I think congratulations are in order!” he purred, stretching himself out to his full length and rolling over onto his back, on the floor. “Because you four, have single handedly rid this land of a most hideous evil.” He meowed in appreciation of the Treewoods brave achievement and in the process released a small, but highly volatile cloud of smelly gas into the room. Harry coughed as the fumes entered his nostrils, but the cat was too busy showing his affection to have cared.

He continued to rub his chin and body up and down. But now, he had progressed from the furniture and was working on Harry’s bare leg!

The stench was beyond description and no matter how hard the young Hawthorn struggled and kicked, there was no escape from either his chair, or Smelly Brian’s well intentioned advances.

“Somebody get me out of this!” he choked, pulling and tugging at the metal restraint that held him firmly in his chair. But try as he might, there was nothing he could do to release the strap.

For the cat though, this was an ideal opportunity to become better acquainted with his new friends. Purring loudly, he circumnavigated the table, rubbing himself up and down passionately on their legs and feet, until the smell of his rancid breath became so strong that all four began to wonder if perhaps they would have been better off, had the witch’s spell gone the other way! Eventually though, but not soon enough in Harry’s opinion, Brian got bored and, in a final display of his appreciation, he leapt up onto the table where, with his tail erect and quivering, he exposed his bare bum to each of the Treewoods in turn.

“If you like, I’ll release you from your chairs now,” he said…

At first Harry thought he was hearing things, until after a light coughing fit, Brian produced a shiny silver key from inside his mouth and set about unlocking the metal restraints that held his new acquaintances captive in their chairs. “I found this hanging on a nail behind the door,” he said casually.

Free at last, Harry leapt from his chair. He rushed towards the window where, fumbling with the catches, he opened the big casements as wide as they would go and inhaled a deep breath of damp fresh air.

As a consequence of sitting in the one position for such a long time, Herbert was suffering from cramp. He stood up, to stretch his stiff legs, and as he began massaging his numb buttocks with his twiggy fingers, the sensation made him smile

“A smart, talking cat, eh?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief that such a peculiar creature as Brian should actually exist.

“Correction,” Harry replied. “A smelly, talking cat is more like it!”

Poor Brian. There was no denying that his personal hygiene was at best suspect but, like everyone else, he had feelings and, in his opinion the scathing remarks he had suffered at the hands of the travellers had gone on for far too long. He was tired of their constant jibes and decided it was time to defend himself. “In all fairness,” he exclaimed, “how do you think you lot would smell if you had been denied access to a bath for more than eighty six years?”

He paused for a moment and looked sternly at each of the travellers, waiting for their reply. “Eighty six years!” he repeated, raising his voice, in case they hadn’t heard him clearly. “That’s a long time you know. So give me a break and stop stating the obvious will you?” With that, he stomped off sulking, and hid behind the heavy velvet curtains.

A long silence followed, during which the Treewoods had time to consider their cruel behaviour, and as they reflected on the shoddy way in which they had treated Brian, pangs of guilt gnawed at their conscience like woodworm. He had got them out of a dreadful fix after all. “Perhaps we have been a little hard on him,” Harry finally conceded.

At that moment, the cat popped his head out from behind the curtains.

“And d’you know what?” he said. “After the first fifty five years you don’t notice the smell anymore!”

With a cheeky smirk on his face, he looked at each of the travellers and began to wheeze with laughter so infectious, that they all joined in.

During their ordeal in the revolving circle, Sherlock had come off worst. He was still feeling a little woozy, but in spite of his nausea, he had a few important questions ready for Brian.

“First of all cat, thank you for helping us out of a fix,” he began, and without thinking, bent down to stroke the smelly creature. When he realised what he was about to do, he quickly withdrew his hand and continued smoothly with his line of questioning.

“How on earth did you end up here, with the witches?” he enquired, wiping his palm discreetly on the purple material on the back of his chair, in case the smell had crossed the narrow divide from cat to hand.

“A good question,” Brian replied his arsehole puckering up as it made contact with the cold stone floor. “If you’d like to make yourselves comfortable, I’ll explain…”