Kitten Kaboodle (21 page)

Dad laughed. ‘We’ll see,’ he said.

‘Just as long as you keep me out of it,’ hissed Kaboodle.

I grinned. ‘No worries,’ I whispered in one tiny ear.

‘And, Bertie,’ Dad added, giving my shoulder a squeeze, ‘you do realize how bonkers you’ve been, don’t you?’ he laughed. ‘Honestly! Can you imagine me
and Fenella – a couple?’

Kaboodle stretched and flexed his front claws. ‘Not really,’ he said.

I shook my head at the little kitten. ‘Your miaow is sharper than your claws, you know,’ I breathed.

Kaboodle nuzzled my cheek and purred.

L
ife was Full Steam Ahead after that. Pinkella was in the paper nearly every other day promoting the refurbishment of the old theatre and giving
loads of interviews about the play She got hordes of her old thespian ‘luvvies’ to pledge their money to the upkeep of the theatre and ran a campaign called ‘Keep Theatre Alive
and Kicking!’

And then, once the theatre was up and running, rehearsals started in earnest for Dad’s play
Love for Old Time’s Sake.

The opening night got such fantastic reviews that the rest of the run was a sell-out and Dad was soon hounded with calls from actors and directors alike, a sking him to write more plays. It was,
as he could not stop telling me, his ‘dream come true’, especially as it meant he could finally quit his boring old job on the
Daily Ranter
.

And it was pretty cool for me, as it meant he worked from home all the time and didn’t have to go out investigating stupid car park stories. We got to spend loads more time together.

We also spent quite a lot more time with Pinkella. But that was fine by me now I knew she wasn’t plotting to take Dad away. And I finally had to admit that she actually was quite a nice
person once I got to know her properly. Especially when Dad took her aside one day and put her straight about calling me Roberta and fussing over my hair and she actually apologized to me!

Pinkella’s career had taken on a new lease of life after the success of the play. She had been the star of the show, and received letters by the bucketful every day from directors who
wanted to put her in other plays and films.

‘And it’s all thanks to you, Bertie dear,’ she told me. ‘If it hadn’t been for your Pet-Sitting Service, I would never have come round that night after those
dreadful auditions and I would never have had that chat with your wonderful father. You have changed eve rything for the better, Bertie! You are an angel.’

She was so grateful, she asked me and Jazz to look after Kaboodle on a regular basis while the play was on, and she paid us a fiver a day – ‘Result!’ as Jazz put it. She could
have bought
ten
pairs of those trainers she’d wanted by the time the curtain dropped on the last performance!

But then suddenly it was all over.

Pinkella told us she was moving.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, taking in the looks of surprise and shock on our faces. ‘I just can’t live so glaringly in the public eye any more, darlings,’ she
said. ‘I need to get away from it all. And besides, I’m going to be on the road so much with all the new work I’m getting.’

‘We’ll miss you,’ said Dad, blushing. He was never very good at saying stuff like that.

‘And Kaboodle,’ I said, swallowing hard.

‘Yes, darling, and we’ll miss you too,’ said Pinkella. ‘We’ll come and visit you from time to time though. And of course you must come and see us.’

Dad took her through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and I sat down on the sofa, my head in my hands. What would I do without Kaboodle? He’d become as good a friend to me as Jazz. He
was almost as much my pet as Pinkella’s. Life was going to be so empty without him around. My brain was whizzing around in overdrive, and I was so preoccupied, I almost missed the tiny
mewling noise coming from outside the front door.

I went to the window and peered out on to the drive.

‘Kaboodle!’ I cried and ran to open the door.

He trotted up to the porch and said, ‘Mffuuggggle.’

I stared in horror as I realized there was a small bundle of fur hanging from his jaws. ‘Oh no, it’s not a . . . a
mouse
?’ I asked shakily.

‘Of course not!’ Kaboodle protested, dropping his offering.

Only then did I get a proper look at what he had been carrying.

‘A kitten?’ I squealed.

‘Full marks for observation,’ Kaboodle said coolly. ‘I thought you might like her.’

‘She’s – she’s
for me
?’ I asked, hardly daring to go anywhere near the tiny creature, which wasn’t much larger than the palm of my hand. ‘But
where did you get her?’ She was orange and white. A tiny stripy marmalade cat, with the largest crystal blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Kaboodle gave a rasping sound as if he was clearing his throat. ‘I – er – let’s just say she needs a loving home,’ he said cryptically ‘Best not to ask too
many questions. I thought you might like a farewell gift. You’ll have heard by now that we’re leaving?’

‘Oh, Kaboodle, thank you. She’s gorgeous! What’s her name?’

‘Well, her mother called her Perdita de la Chasse—’ he began.

‘De la Chasse?’ I asked. ‘But isn’t that your—?’ ‘Anyway, feel free to call her whatever you like You humans normally do, cut in Kaboodle. He washed a
front paw earnestly and then, as if to make it clear that this conversation was over, he turned, holding his tail high in the air, and called out over one shoulder, ‘I thought it was about
time you had your own cat. Especially now I won’t be around for much longer. And I think you’ll make a lovely companion for the little one.’

That was the closest Kaboodle had ever come to paying me a compliment, I realized, as I bent down to scoop up the tiny kitten. I watched as the black and white cat who had been my friend for the
past year trotted back over to Pinkella’s. I wanted to call out something, but my throat had closed up. He gave his tail a final flick in my direction as he disappeared down the side of the
house.

What on earth will Dad say? I thought, as I slowly turned to go inside.

‘Oh, look at that adorable little baby!’

It was Pinkella, who’d just come out of the kitchen with two coffee mugs in her hands.

Dad came after her. ‘Oh good grief, what’s that?’ he cried. ‘It’s not another blinking mouse, is it?’

Pinkella smiled at him as if he were a rather foolish small child and said, ‘Marvin, darling, it’s a gorgeous little kitten!’

I just stood there, holding the kitten and looking up at Dad with what I hoped were the hugest, most pleading, I’m-your-only-daughter-and-you-owe-me-big-time eyes.

Dad looked at Pinkella, and Pinkella looked at Dad. Then he turned to me, sighed, and said, ‘So what are you going to call her?’

When I was younger I used to be just like Bertie: totally and utterly petless and desperate to do something about it. I didn’t come up with anything as ingenious as a
pet-sitting service though. No, I just nagged and pestered my mum and dad. Over and over and over again. As you can imagine, this did not get me very far! I ended up with some stick insects, which
I got from school. We had been observing them for a nature project and were allowed to keep a few for ourselves in a jam jar. For some unknown reason I was not very popular when I brought them home
with me . Anyway, they died eventually and I persuaded mum and dad to let me have a tortoise. But sadly the tortoise died too and so I was back to square one .

Then (oh happy day!) my friend Helen announced that her cat had had kittens! I pleaded with mum to just come and look’ at the kittens, and that was when Inky entered our lives We adored
her and all her crazy habits, from the way she would sit on the windowsill and hurl insults at the birds outside to the way she would use the sugar bowl as an emergency loo (OK, that only happened
once but she’ll always be remembered for it!) She was the one who taught me that cats are trying to tell us things all the time if only we will listen properly. I quickly learned to
understand when

Many years later, I started dropping hints to my husband about how lovely it would be to have a cat in our home. He was (and still is) Definitely Not a Cat Person, so you can imagine his
response. But all was not lost – I remembered my old trick, and asked if I could ‘just go and look’ at two RSPCA rescue kittens . . . and what do you know? Jet and Inky Mark II
have been with us now for five years! Inky Mark II reminds me a lot of the original Inky,except that she hurls insults at me instead of the birds and is prone to turning her back and sulking if I
don’t feed her the minute she demands it. She has also been known to launch raids on the larder if she has completely run out of patience. J et is more mild-mannered and loves people. So much
so that she found herself a second home last year – but that’s another story, and one which inspired my next book, KITTEN SMITTEN.

Both cats have had to come to terms with sharing their lives with Kenna the Pooch, who was the inspiration for PUPPY LOVE and the other books in that series. When she first came to live with us
Kenna was the same size and colour (black) as Inky and Jet. I could just see her thinking, ‘Goody! Two little pups just like me!’ She would try to play with them, but they were never
interested and made their feelings clear by hissing and scratching! Now Kenna is five times bigger than the cats so they don’t bother with the hissing and scratching and instead reluctantly
put up with being animals, but I wouldn’t have it any other way! Do you have pets that do crazy things or are just plain cute? If so Id love to hear from you! Write to me at:

Love,

Anna

xxx

Moira Munro
, the illustrator of this book, is pitifully allergic to furry animals. It is a Terrible Tragedy not to have a pet to stroke and it can drive one quite loopy
This is why there is probably not a single story or picture by Moira Munro that doesn’t feature some kind of cuddly creature. Luckily Moira Munro does have a daughter (called Chloe) who is at
least as cuddly as a kitten. Chloe is also very useful as she can draw the cutest cat ever – for a year’s pocket money She did the one in the ‘Order of Service’ written by
Jazz on
this page
.