The Cat

[John Ashworth]

The Cat

Anon - found on UK.railway group

All depots had them, as does the one I work at now. Originally these little hunting machines were employed to keep the vermin down, until the great big PR god said, “We cant have this, even mice need to make a living, even if they do bring with them these terrible diseases” and so the cats were made to feel unwelcome in their little habitats.
But...
But some survived.
I first met “the cat”, in the days of black and white. He was like any normal cat, although he was different in the respect that he had no owner as such. You could say that no cats have owners and are creatures that rule themselves but when I say “the cat” had no owners I mean it thusly: “the cat” lived on the railway and was fed and watered by the good nature of the railway people, no one took him home (he would have scratched and bitten if they had tried) and no one loved him as such. Although people did pet him occasionally, and “the cat” was most grateful.
“The cat” would wander into the mess room and would then sit and survey the scene.
Not unlike some of the Drivers or Guards I have known. “The cat” would look out for the “weakest link”, the one that he thought would be the most useful to him at that time. After spotting the victim “the cat” would then cut along and mew at the victim’s feet. The victim would then usually bend down and pet “the cat” and “the cat”, knowing he was on a winner, would purr a little and depending on his hunger or his comfort would either beg for titbits or would jump up and curl up in the lap of the unsuspecting victim (a nice bit of warmth).
At our depot “the cat” was the most well fed and healthy of all British Rail employees. Me and my mate Gary would often enter into conversation as to whether he, “the cat”, would be selected before us for the driving school. As far as I know “the cat” was never passed on diesels although I have seen him sitting in the driving seat of some 45s but never in the seat of a multiple unit (“the cat” was intelligent).
Jim Hardcastle knew “the cat” and was often known to say, “If “the cat” comes on my engine, I will throw the little bugger in the fire box, mice or no mice, I cant abide the furry little ficker”. And of course “the cat” being very self preserving and wanting to continue to live and live happily, gave the great JH a wide berth, although there is a story to tell.
“The cat” of course did sign steam engines and was known to be found asleep in the fireboxes of most types. It was not unknown to sling some wood and firelighters into the
fireboxes only to hear “the cat” shout out “meeeeooooow” meaning “Watch out you bugger, I was a-kipping in there”.
“The cat” is still there now at most depots and perhaps he should be recognised for the work he does: keeping the wildlife to a minimum and keeping the Driver community on its toes.
Picture the scene
“The cat” is sitting in his chair, well to be true this is not his chair. This chair belongs to Velcro, the shed driver. He is called Velcro because he likes to sit and train spot and observe other shed drivers take trains to and from the sidings.
Velcro walked into the room and espied the cat sitting in his chair. “What the f*ck do you think you are doing in my seat cat?” spake the Velcro chap.
“The cat” just looked at Velcro and purred.
“Purr all you want you furry beast, but you better move” said the Velcro boy.
The cat looked at Velcro and realising that he was no friend, “the cat” arched its back and spat. Velcro looked back and realising he had not got his shunting gloves leaned over and spake thusly, “I am sorry “the cat” (for that was its name). But you should not be sitting in my chair” he said with a mew and a purr (yes it is he, Velcro, it works both ways). Velcro then gave “the cat” a shove with his toe.
This was to be the worst thing he had ever done in his life. “The cat” waited until Velcro had sat down and then pounced upon Velcro’s legs and scratched and bit, until Velcro stood up and started jumping up and down. This was the fastest anyone had seen Velcro move and “the cat” endeared itself to some on that occasion. Velcro swore and swore and “the cat”, knowing it was in trouble, made its way to the Foreman's office. The Foreman liked “the cat” and would feed him and pet him and protect him.
“The cat” loved the railway and indeed he still does, I have seen him recently. And although he is toothless now he still gives great advice. I was talking to “the cat” chap the other day and he gave out some great advice. “Watch out for privatisation” said he.
Enough already. This is “the cat's” story.
As has been said already, “The cat” was a clever chap and knew where he could be fed and watered so to speak.
But...
But he owed no loyalty to any one and would poo on all and sundry as a way of life.
The Foreman Bill loved “the cat” and was often heard to say, “Here pussy, pussy puss” (these words I myself would be known to utter at a later date, but that’s a very different story) and “the cat” would come and snuggle up to old Bill the foreman. Bill would then feed “the cat” on his best left over chicken dinner (he was after all a railwayman and was not going to spend out on tinned food for a CAT). To be fair to Bill, the grub the cat got was mainly from M and S, Bill being old and well off.
Bill would leave the grub on the office floor and take himself off to the toilet. “The cat” would then happily eat its fill and afterwards happily curl up on Bill's paper work. “The cat” would walk over the paperwork a few times leaving paw prints all over the place and in the course of this walking would of course scatter a few pages onto the floor. “The cat” would then happily close its eyes to the world and sleep and dream of chasing mice dressed as engine drivers. Old Bill the Foreman would return from the loo and seeing “the cat”
asleep would often think to himself, “That’s a good idea”, and would himself nod off for a few winks.
Of course the cleaner would then walk in and seeing that old Bill was asleep, she would not bother to vacuum the place but would just pick up the fallen papers and pop them in the bin which she would then take out to empty into the big bin.
Ahh all very nice and cosy.
“What the ***'s going on here” said the new university educated five-minute manager as he entered the Foreman's office. “Get that ***ing furry flea-bitten animal out of this office, and where is that report I asked you to write up?”
“I have it here” said Bill rummaging through paper after paper all to no avail. “Obviously, you have been asleep on the job” said the new university educated five-minute manager “and as such you will be up on a fizzer, report to my office at four of the clock this afternoon.”
“But...
But my day's up at 1400” said the foreman Bill. “That’s just about right then” said the new university educated five-minute manager who did not understand the 24 hour clock at all. “Oh and bring your rep.”
Poor old Bill.
He stood there on that spot and, a-scratching at his head thought, “Now where did I put that report, I am sure it was here a minute ago”, the chap looked and looked but...

But found no report. “Bollox” thought he, and with that thought sat himself down and after a thought or two, shut his eyes to the world and drifted off to the land of nod, to dream of a time when railways were better and steam was king and university five-minute managers would have been thrown into the firebox and Santa existed and a happy whistling snoring sound was heard and everything in the garden was rosy and Mrs Jones and the kids were happy.
AHHHHH
“The cat” looked at old Bill and thought, “What a Charlie”, and knowing when it was not wanted, ***ed off.
Feeling awake now “the cat” decided it was time to police the area and went off to catch any trespassing mice. He later returned and dropped a headless trespasser at the feet of Driver Glen.
Driver Glen had no love for “the cat” but...
But he thought of him as a workmate and as he had brought him a present, Driver Glen rewarded “the cat” with a piece of rabbit meat from an earlier catch that he had made.
Driver Glen was most pleased with the headless mouse for he had plans for this item.
We had recently acquired at the depot a new recruit, a Driver from the far off reaches of Wales. Now all Drivers are brothers (it says so on their union badges) but...
But some are complete arses. Lets face it you can choose your friends but...
But you can't choose your brothers. On the railways, they seem to choose you.
This Welsh Driver chap was a Vegetarian and loved to preach and chastise and tell Driver Glen what a bloodthirsty murderer of animals he was. Driver Glen, not one to take offence or bear a grudge, would return this chastisement with words of wisdom such as, “If you don’t *** off I will set fire to your house you Welsh w*nker” and other wholesome sayings.
These arguments had been going on for some time and Driver Glen thought it time to get the better of the Welsh Vegi chap.
And this how it went.
Driver Glen took home the headless rodent and dissected it, he then took out the bollox and put them on the blender. And on his break in the messroom at work he waited for the Vegi chap to go to the toilet and, opening his sandwich box, he then poured the bone shreds into the sandwiches and waited to see the Vegi shout in anger.
At meal time the Vegi opened his sandwich and bit into it heartily. “Hmm delicious, you should try this Driver Glen, its lovely and no animals were hurt.”
“What is it you are eating, chap?” asked Driver Glen.
“Nut roast sandwiches” spake the Vegi.
“Well if you are happy with it that’s ok” said Driver Glen “But it ain't for me”.
The Vegi smiled a happy smile and Driver Glen smiled back at him and “the cat” went and sat in Velcro’s seat as he had gone off shift and watched the card game that was unfolding.
Jim Hardcastle did not like “the cat” and “the cat” did not like Jim Hardcastle. JH had “the cat's” cards marked and “the cat” had marked Jim's cards on more than one occasion.
Jim Hardcastle liked to play the card game cribbage. Cribbage is an old railwayman's game and many a penny could be won or lost during the playing. Jim would often play crib with Driver Alf. Alf would happily join the game but...
But would rapidly become unhappy as he was just no good at the game and would lose and lose and lose. And the more he lost the more angry he would become, and after three or four games the chap would jump up in the air and would shout “F*ck this for a game of soldiers, I ain't playing no more” and would throw the cards out of the window. “The cat” would then of course go and mark his territory making the cards very smelly, thus cutting into Jim Hardcastle's profits as he would have to buy a new set of cards for the messroom.
But...
But Jim had marked “the cat's” cards and was at this very moment developing “the cat's” punishment.
As Driver Alf walked out of the messroom in a huff in came Hardly Pete. Pete was a strange chap. He had been passed as a Driver for about a week longer than Jim and so regarded Jim as a baby driver. And Jim just to wind him up would call him son.
“Hello Son” said JH to Hardly Pete as he walked into the messroom,“what's up chap?”
“Less of the son chap, I am the senior driver chap, but...
But I must say that I was a bit worried this morning”
“What about son?” said Jim.
“Well as you know I live in the railway cottages across the railway track from the coal yard” said Pete, “and last night as I walked across the track to fill the bags it started to snow. Well I thought nothing of this and took home a couple of bags. When I awoke this morning there was two tracks across the main line, one going from my cottage and the next coming back to my cottage, I had to put on my old army snow camouflage uniform and shake a stick all the way across the railway, I was ***ing frozen when I got back home”.
“Well at least it did not cost you nothing chap” spake Jim.
“Well it did actually Jim because I was late for work and Curly Pipe the foreman booked me late” answered the Hardly Pete chap.
“Well son, at least you have kept yourself warm one way or the other.”
“I have told you and told you, less of the SON, chap” and so the conversation went on and on and on.
“Strange people”, thought “the cat” and wandered off to the sidings to see Henry the Shunter.
“The cat” arrived at the shunters' cabin and began to paw at the door.
Of course Henry was old but...
But had very good hearing and as “the cat” scratched at the door Henry opened it.
“Oh hello “Da cat”” spake Henry. “Oh do come in and make yourself comfy, I have some special leftover roast beef for you”. Even Henry was a railwayman and would not buy new stuff just for a cat.
Henry was a Pole. A Pole of Polish descent. He hardly spoke the English. But was a thoroughly English Gent.
He was you know. He had manners and everything. He would ask you into his cabin and offer you a cup of tea and would listen to your problems and would offer his advice.
I was of course a young shaver and would love to go a-shunting with Henry.
On this particular morning, I turned up for the Shunting, and Henry was already bashing the wagons about with the 08 shunting engine.
“Hello Young George”, he shouted “would you like a go?”
“Maybe later Henry chap, I am still a little bit worse for wear as I was a-disco-dancing all last night, I will just have a little nap and call me when you are finished”.
And so the clang and clatter of the bashing of the yard went on and I got my head down and “the cat” sat in front of the fire in the cabin and watched me snooze and perhaps he snoozed along with me,
About an hour later Henry came in and shook me awake.
“Here is some tea and toast young George chap, wake up, you have shunting to do, and after the shunting ve go feed the ducks”. Henry loved to feed the ducks.
But...
But shunting needed to be done and off I went to do the shunting.
As we shunted, the strangest thing happened, as I propelled the wagons over the points, the first set of wheels of this little 08 shunt engine became derailed. I of course slammed on the brakes and knocked my tea all over the engine floor.
“Whats going on Henry?” I asked.
“Is not to vorry George, I did this earlier, look the p-way men-chaps have left their re-railers for us to drive back onto the rails with”. And that is just what we did. We lined up the re-railers and drove the little beast back onto the track and thought no more of it.
We drank more tea and then Henry said his famous words, “Now ve go Ballast Pit”.
This was always an adventure and there was really no reason to go, but...
But Henry had this idea, that if we took a wagon or two to the ballast pit each day and brought one or two back, then the Managers would think that we had lots of work there.
And so for years and years we would take a wagon to the ballast pit each day and bring one back. Henry was happy and so were all of the young lads as this meant we all had a go on the little 08 shunting engine. Balmy stone-bonking days.
When we returned to the shunters' cabin, “the cat” had gone. Hunting perhaps, who knows.
I said my farewells to Henry for the day and took myself off home.
“The cat” had made its way back to the drivers messroom and little did it know that JH was waiting for it to exact his revenge.
Now I would not say that Jim Hardcastle was a vengeful person but...
But if he had something in his head that he wanted to do then he would do it. Jim was not happy about paying out for his playing cards and was in a playful mood.
As “the cat” walked into the messroom Jim spake in a cat loving way.
“Here kitty kitty kitty, you little shitty kitty” said the Jim chap.
“The cat” looked at Jim and thought “*** you” in a cat language.
Jim tried again.
“Here youlittleshit kitty kitty kitty” said the JH.
“*** off you old fart” purred “the cat.”
“I have food,” said Jim. “Look, real beef”
The smell of the beef got the better of “the cat's” judgement and off he went to see Jim Hardcastle. A big mistake.
Jim grabbed the cat. And as he had just had his finger in the mustard jar, he rammed his finger up “the cat's” arse. “The cat” of course was off like greased lightning. Jim laughed and laughed and was happy with his revenge. “The cat” finally stopped running and licked its arse. And of course again it was off on the four minute mile looking for something to drink.
“The cat” never did bother Jim Hardcastle again and it never did piss on his cards again.
But...
But what of old Bill and his impending form one?
Well the new university educated five-minute manager instructed his secretary, Sarah, to put out the paperwork on his desk. Whether the lazy Sarah ever did this is a mystery to this day.
All is known is that, about an hour before the hearing, “the cat” came into the office and made himself comfy. “The cat” licked himself clean and then circled about on top of the paperwork and fell asleep. The cleaner then came into the office and started the hoovering business. “The cat” jumped up and the paper work went all over the place. The cleaner seeing all of the paperwork on the floor, picked it up.
And popped it into the bin.
“Job done” said she
“The cat” looked on and thought, “Time to do a little security work” and went off on its rounds.
The new university educated five-minute manager sat at his desk as old Bill walked in to his office.
“Well you old dinosaur, what have you to say for yourself?” said the new university educated five-minute manager.
“I really don’t know why I am here sir” said the Bill chap.
“You are here, chap, to answer to these charges I have before me, chap” said the new university educated five-minute manager, sifting through the paper work.
“What charges?” asked the Bill chap.
“Why these” said the new university educated five-minute manager as he sifted and coughed and spluttered.
“Sarah!” shouted the new university educated five-minute manager, and then whispered in her ear, “Where is the paper work?”
“I can't find it” said she, a-whispering back to his ear.
“Oh dear and oh ***” and worrying thoughts along those lines thought the new university educated five-minute manager.
“Right Bill, cut along, and don’t let it happen again” spake the new university educated five-minute manager. And Bill was off the hook and everything in the garden was rosy.
As Bill walked to the messroom he espied “the cat” playing with some rolled up paper and this made him smile...
Smile as we all do when we see such things.
Old Bill then booked himself two hours over-time and went home.
The cat of course has no home.
But...
But he is one hell of a happy bugger.