In this YouTube reading, Lois Letchford narrates Chapter 16 of Anne Fine’s children’s novel The Killer Cat Runs Away. The chapter is delivered from the cat’s first‑person perspective as it recounts a chaotic series of events: being rescued by a veterinarian, placed in a fluffy pink towel, then forced into a cage and handed over to a man named Arif for transport to another vet. The cat reflects on the absurdity of being asked who needs a cat, the vet’s warnings about its fierce temperament, and the rough handling during the transfer. Throughout, the cat laments its lost hopes of a better life, mourns the loss of friends like Tiger, Bella, and Snowball, and confronts its own jealousy and foolishness. The narration is steeped in regret, self‑critique, and a resigned acceptance that there is “no hope of rescue.”
Chapters
Hello, I'm Lois Letchford, reading from Anne Fiennes' The Killer Cat Runs Away, chapter 16. No hope of rescue. None. Whistling cheerfully, the vet carried me back down to his van and unfurled me out of the fluffy pink towel. Into a cage! He dumped the cage down on the passenger seat. So boil me in bunny juice! I hissed and spat. Temper, temper! he said reprovingly. We drove a mile or two, and then his mobile rang. The vet pulled off the road and rang. The number back. I only heard his side of the conversation. Hi, Arif. What's the problem? Arif must have explained because the next words were, you need a cat? Excuse me? Was he talking to a madman? Who on earth needs a cat? I mean, we don't do anything useful. We cost a lot to feed. We ruin the furniture. We do exactly what we want. I ask the question again, who needs a cat? But clearly this Arif did, because when I tuned in again, it was to hear the vet ringing Miss Whippy to check she didn't mind if he'd lend me to some other vet he knew. It's only for half an hour, and I must say, Puskás would be perfect for the job. Hear that? Perfect! Obviously, Miss Whippy agreed. So I admit that by the time we met Arif somewhere around the park 5 minutes later, my head was already swelling. Watch him! The vet warned as he handed my cage off to Arif. He's in the foulest mood! But he's the only cat booked into the surgery this evening. I have to give him all his shots tonight so he can fly to Spain tomorrow. If the plane gets off the ground. I didn't get the joke, but they still shared a laugh, and then the vet climbed back in his van. Be careful, he warned Arif. Just before driving off. That cat is horribly fierce, so whatever you do, don't let anyone open the cage! Oh, thanks a bunch! What happened to my being perfect? I wondered as we set off down the street. I can't say that Arif was the most considerate cat carrier. He swung it till I was tipped from side to side like someone on board a ship in a gale. I paid him out by spitting through the bars and reaching out a paw to pull so many woolen threads out of his fancy jumper that I'd practically hidden behind the tangles. But my heart wasn't in it. I was miserable. You know, I am not one to wallow in despair and live my life in fear of what might lie around the next But I admit that I was feeling pretty glum. I'd set off with such high hopes— a better life, a nicer home, more appreciative company, people who recognized my true worth, people who saw me for the handsome, valiant, resourceful cat I am. Now look at me. Stuck in a cage, halfway to getting a heap of horrible injections I didn't need that leant out for the world as if I was some rusty loft ladder or a set of car jump leads. Not to mention the insults. Ellie had never in all her life called me horribly fierce, Or in the foulest mood. She called me spirited instead. She never lent me out, or swung me in a cage, or wrapped me up like a sausage in a fluffy pink towel, or threatened to take me off to Spain forever, far away from my old friends. My friends! Oh dear, Tiger, fun-loving Bella, sweet Snowball! Where would they be now? Mucking about, no doubt, as happily as usual on Acacia Avenue. Having a good laugh. Without me. Oh, how I wished I'd never got all huffy and run away. Why had I let Mr. Grumpy Glad to See the Back of the Cat drive me away? How silly of me to have allowed myself to become jealous of that tiny fluffball Tinker Bell and even that tiny human baby. A baby! Why, the sweet little poppet had probably not been laughing at me at all. She'd probably been laughing with me. That is so different. I had been so wrong, and I had nobody to blame but myself. And my own foolishness. And now there was no hope of rescue. None.
