In Zanzib everyone hated cats. People thought of them as very little better than the rats and mice they ate. If a cat came near you, you kicked it, and you drowned any kittens you could lay hands on. Accordingly Abdullah ran at the cat, aiming a flying kick at it as he ran. “Shoo!” he yelled. “Scat!”

The cat jumped. Somehow it avoided Abdullah’s lashing foot and fled to the top of the overhanging rock, where it spat at him and glared. It was not deaf then, Abdullah thought, staring up into its eyes. They were bluish. So that was what had sat on him in the night! He picked up a stone and drew back his arm to throw it.

“Don’t do that!” said the soldier. “Poor little animal!”

The cat did not wait for Abdullah to throw the stone. It shot out of sight. “There is nothing poor about that beast,” he said. “You must realize, gentle gunman, that the creature nearly took your eye out last night.”

“I know,” the soldier said mildly. “It was only defending itself, poor thing. Is that a genie in that flask of yours? Your smoky blue friend?”

A traveler with a carpet for sale had once told Abdullah that most people in the north were unaccountably sentimental about animals. Abdullah shrugged and turned sourly to the genie bottle, where the genie had vanished without a word of thanks. This would have to happen! Now he would have to watch the bottle like a hawk. “Yes,” he said.

“I thought it might be,” said the soldier. “I’ve heard tell of genies. Come and look at this, will you?” He stooped and picked up his hat, very carefully, smiling in a strange, tender way.

There seemed definitely to be something wrong with the soldier this morning, as if his brains had softened in the night. Abdullah wondered if it was those scratches, although they had almost vanished by now. Abdullah went over to him anxiously.

Instantly the cat was standing on the overhanging rock again, making that iron pulley noise, anger and worry in every line of its small black body. Abdullah ignored it and looked into the soldier’s hat. Round blue eyes stared at him out of its greasy interior. A little pink mouth hissed defiance as the tiny black kitten inside scrambled to the back of the hat, whipping its minute bottle brush of a tail for balance.

“Isn’t it sweet?” the soldier said besottedly.

Abdullah glanced at the wauling cat on top of the rock. He froze, and looked again carefully. The thing was huge. A mighty black panther stood there, baring its big white fangs at him.

“These animals must belong to a witch, courageous companion,” he said shakily.