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Lara The Runaway Cat: One cat’s journey to discover home is where the heart is
Sophie Pembroke
Dion Leonard
Lara the Runaway Cat tells the story of Gobi, the loveable pub who followed Dion Leonard across a gruelling 155-mile trek across the Gobi Desert, and her mischievous cat sister, Lara, who runs away from her family, seeking a courageous adventure and different life.Lara doesn’t realise how good she has it in her home in Edinburgh with her owners, Dion and Lucja, and of course her sister, Gobi. If she’s being honest, she’s jealous of Gobi’s fame and the international attention she has received ever since Dion found her. Okay, Gobi may have survived an ultra-marathon across the Gobi Desert, but it’s not as if Lara doesn’t earn her fresh prawns! She dreams about the day when she can go outdoors and see the world, discover new friends and be free to make her own name.But Lara’s wishful thinking gets the better of her as she takes a leap into the unknown and is forced to decide between her loyalties to her family and need to experience an adventure to rival Gobi’s. Join Lara in her eventful travels from Edinburgh to France, Beijing to Australia, where she is faced with challenges that will change her life forever.Following on from the astounding real-life story of Dion Leonard, this fictionalised tale is a must-read for animal lovers everywhere.
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Copyright (#ua4429aac-4c80-58d5-8f35-d73f0a80d7e8)
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
FIRST EDITION
© Dion Leonard 2019
Cover layout design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Dion Leonard asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Source ISBN: 9780008316181
Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008316280
Version: 2019-01-09
Dedication (#ua4429aac-4c80-58d5-8f35-d73f0a80d7e8)
This book is dedicated to cats and their human slaves all around the world.
Contents
Cover (#u2b72cf2f-6a85-5153-a6df-fe07023b788a)
Title Page (#u88ba60e8-2947-50d6-8d7d-572b9e13a2eb)
Copyright (#ud5d4095e-93d7-5d13-b935-9c7f50cf628b)
Dedication (#udaf60c28-9365-5f02-89d5-f58c86dac6fb)
Chapter One (#u505f98a4-7808-5629-b599-60a56456a939)
Chapter Two (#ue421bd4b-b695-5b2a-ad83-63025cfe1c77)
Chapter Three (#u630034c0-9497-5e07-919f-e53171d4d530)
Chapter Four (#u2f631f51-18a4-56a8-a617-a1afb1a52f04)
Chapter Five (#u27041c5d-78b1-5ca4-a6bb-b4eeacd38423)
Chapter Six (#ubc477314-611e-5c9a-b603-0992b83a341b)
Chapter Seven (#udcfc24a8-847b-5dab-af88-0a2e5720e658)
Chapter Eight (#u69387017-0d9d-52d3-9538-d4c3fc301013)
Chapter Nine (#uade7fdbf-e099-5183-9e22-ec6a3152e304)
Chapter Ten (#u07772205-e63a-523c-be01-6172f53404f7)
Chapter Eleven (#u90174e62-cd93-52b6-832e-5a493caec59b)
Chapter Twelve (#ue7bac27a-2580-5f68-abf5-317cce4a6378)
Chapter Thirteen (#uc19f1bd1-b77a-5602-b7e5-5c9d330a3aa9)
Chapter Fourteen (#uffba5fa8-3832-557c-bea4-b180efce0307)
Chapter Fifteen (#ude7305ed-0489-5e15-9df1-c995fd56600d)
Chapter Sixteen (#u3e780609-fdc6-522f-9f22-c1ae449b6c45)
Chapter Seventeen (#u36168c7b-689a-5f3c-9357-7f5c07e149ae)
Chapter Eighteen (#ud4c8891d-2be1-5ee8-a6d1-f59b125528a6)
Chapter Nineteen (#u89bad180-fe6b-580a-83b5-d07212fdfcf2)
Chapter Twenty (#ud992dab1-1a78-5353-9fbc-e4a5df67f516)
Chapter Twenty-One (#udce5d468-670e-52d8-807d-d8b44108cdba)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u8676c559-ed90-5219-8acd-f7b38dd9862c)
Acknowledgements (#u6fd7eafa-d676-50f8-99da-4f3655bb2765)
About the Publisher (#u951dabff-4cfd-5baf-89cc-38f52094fb19)
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Humans are fickle. And easily led. At least, that’s my experience.
Picture, if you will, a perfect specimen of cat-kind. A beautiful Ragdoll cat, with dark face and paws and fluffy white fur all over. An intelligent, stylish cat who looks after your house, keeps your knees warm at night, has refined tastes, hardly ever wanders or gets lost, and generally adds a sense of elegance to your life.
That’s me: Lara.
Now, picture a stray dog, picked up in the Chinese desert, with ears that point almost directly outwards for goodness’ sake, who scampers along with you, wins her way into your heart then manages to get completely lost, resulting in you having to go back to China to search for her. Then imagine that you want to bring the dog home to Britain with you, but that means you have to live in another country away from your perfect cat – and your wife, actually – for months on end because of some rules about animal travel. Basically, imagine a scruffy dog that causes all sorts of trouble by having adventures.
That’s Gobi. My new sister pet, ever since Dad arrived home with her, 18 months ago.
I mean, really! Which would you prefer? It’s an easy choice, right?
Apparently not so easy as you’d think.
Ever since Dad brought Gobi into our lives it has been constant chaos.
I don’t like chaos, I like prawns for supper and quiet, predictable days.
Before Gobi came, all of my days were quiet and predictable. Ever since Mum and Dad brought me home as a kitten, from where I was born in Lancashire, more than 10 years ago now, my days have followed a pattern. Breakfast, cuddles, watching the world go by through the window, lunch, nap, play, more world-watching at my window, dinner, helping Dad watch TV by offering a constant commentary, supper, then sleep. And maybe middle-of-the-night snuggles if I felt them necessary (whatever Mum and Dad’s feelings on the subject).
There was the odd bit of variety, I suppose, but all of it familiar. Comfortable.
For instance, sometimes, if I was feeling energetic, for a while I might chase a ball or my catnip toy – elegantly, of course – or a moth. And if I felt the need for an adventure, it was easy to follow Mum and Dad into the garden to smell the flowers and chew the grass.
In fact, the biggest adventure I ever had was the time I hid under the house (because squeezing into small places is fun, right?). I thought it was a game, but apparently it took Mum and Dad a while to catch on. Even then, it turns out they’re rubbish at hide and seek because they could not find me. I could hear them calling, but they never even got anywhere close.
(Then I discovered – too late – that I was a bit stuck, and I had to meow really loudly to call them to me. It was dark and cold and I was hungry and lonely. I do not recommend it as a fun game for all the family.)
The point is, I never even dreamed about going any further than under the house. Why would I need to, when everything I wanted was right here at home?
But that was before Gobi.
The thing about Gobi is, everyone thinks she’s fantastic. Special. A miracle of dog-kind.
(I think it’s because of the book all about her. People think if you’ve had a book written about you, you’re important. But of course, Dad wrote that book, not Gobi. If Gobi had actually written the book, maybe I’d have been more impressed.)
I’m not denying that Gobi has led a more varied life – more adventures, more trouble, more chaos.
I mean, yes, she ran through the Gobi Desert with Dad when he was doing his ultramarathon there, a few years ago. I suppose that takes some sort of talent. Dad’s always talking about the training it takes, the physical and mental strength, that sort of thing. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to do it. So, okay, we can give Gobi some sort of credit for running long distances.
And yes, okay, she also survived getting lost in China, after the race was done, before Dad could bring her home. Mum and Dad were so, so worried about her. Nobody knew where she was or what had happened to her. Of course, at that point, Mum and I hadn’t met her, we’d only seen photos, but somehow it already felt like we knew her. Some people say she ran away, but I know the truth, even if Gobi doesn’t like to talk about it. Somehow she kept herself alive until Dad could find her again.
That’s how Gobi got famous – when Mum and Dad started a campaign on the Internet to find her and bring her home. It worked, sort of, even if she couldn’t come home immediately because of some stupid rule about where and when pets can travel. Still, I suppose Dad wouldn’t have spent all those months in China with her if she wasn’t a bit important. Or been so excited when they were finally allowed to come home and we were suddenly a family of four, instead of three.
Lots of other people were excited too, it seems, as many of them wrote to tell us how happy they were for us.
Really? Fan mail? For a dog? She can’t even read!
(Neither can I, yet, but I imagine it’s only a matter of time before that skill comes to me. Most things do – I’m a very accomplished cat.)
The worst part about having Gobi in our lives isn’t the fans, though. The worst part is Mum and Dad: they adore Gobi.
Before Gobi came, they talked to me, or about me. I was the centre of their world, and I liked being there. I knew exactly how important I was.
Until Dad met Gobi.
Now, they’re always talking about how special Gobi is, how strong and brave, how well behaved. And they keep taking her on new adventures – without me.
In fact, Gobi goes on adventures with them every single day. A walk along the street or into the countryside with Mum and Dad, leaving me to watch them disappear from the window. Or sometimes, they go even further. I hear them talking about planes and ferries and distant lands and cities I’ve only seen if Dad’s watching TV when I’m trying to talk to him.
Sometimes, Gobi even appears on the TV. That’s the worst! Mum comes and grabs me to make me watch, like I want to see my sister doing all these things I could never get to do. The furthest I’ve got to an adventure is being allowed out along the side of the road on my harness on a long car trip to somewhere else. I’ll sit behind a window and watch other people adventuring.
My whole life, I’ve watched the world through windows. That’s what I do, you see. I’m a Ragdoll cat, and Ragdolls are indoor cats, so mostly I stay indoors. (Sometimes I venture as far as the garden, or in the car on a harness if Mum and Dad have to drive a long way away.) I watch the outside world go by, but I’m not supposed to want to be out there too. Not supposed to imagine what might be beyond the window frame. And until Gobi arrived, that was fine by me.
But now … now, sometimes I can’t help but wonder what else might be out there. What draws Dad and Mum and Gobi out on their adventures? After all, what’s the point of all the adventuring that other animals and humans do? I mean, they wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important, or fun, right? So, I wonder. And I imagine.
What would my life be like if I was an outdoor cat, instead of an indoor one? If I went further than the garden wall one day? If, instead of hiding under the house, I went out beyond it?
Especially on the nights when Gobi steals my prawns, or gets excited and knocks me over, or even starts nibbling my tail. The nights when I remember what it was like when there were only three members of our family, and I was the most important one. I wonder what would happen if I decided to have an adventure.
But Ragdoll cats aren’t made for the outside.
Or so I always thought.
The trees outside my window were blooming with spring blossoms the day I first got the idea for my own adventure. I remember, because I liked chasing the blossoms in the garden when they fell. They were light and fun and they floated along on the breeze, filling me with excitement.
Normally, anyway.
This year, I just watched them blow over the garden wall into the great outdoors beyond, and felt depressed that I couldn’t follow them. So, I stayed inside instead, turning my back on the window and ignoring them.
Mum and Dad were talking about Gobi, again, and I was sort of half listening, half playing with a ball of fluffy hair (my own, of course) that had formed under the kitchen table.
‘Well, if they want to interview you with Gobi, why don’t we all go?’ Mum said, sounding totally reasonable. ‘Make a holiday of it. It would be nice to go back to China with you both.’
I glanced up at them. They were all going away this time? Last time Dad was in China, he was gone for months.
Already, I didn’t like this plan.
Dad had his long legs stretched out under the table, but his expression wasn’t nearly as relaxed as his position. ‘I don’t know. Is it wrong that just taking Gobi to China again makes me feel nervous?’
