None of the Ginge-Clubbers can climb as high as Bamber and up in his fir-tree-house (his home from home) he sees so much that it strikes him dumb. The little cat sees everything while he’s up there, and everything he sees has a story to tell; the winds speak to him of distant places, the leaves tell of the strength of the sap, and the branches sing of the heart that pumps the wind. And no one else – not even Alleycat – can climb so high or feel so much, and if Bamber understood a tenth of it his little heart would burst right open. But sometimes he leans into the wind and sings a little song like this:
I waited a year, in my old Scots Fir
For the moon to come by and look in my eye
Like a line in a song that goes on and on
Around and around on the moonlit ground
And that’s why he climbs so high and stays aloft so very long.