Kitten Smitten (7 page)

W
e got out of there eventually, with Jaffa hissing and spitting and sticking her legs out in all directions to make it as difficult as possible to
get her back into the box. The vet’s reaction to Dad fainting was as brusque as her method of dealing with the snake: she threw a large mug of water in his face, gave him another mug of water
to drink and told him to go and sit in the waiting room until he felt safe enough to drive.

‘Blimey, she was a tough cookie, that one!’ Dad said feebly when he at last felt strong enough to stagger to the reception area to pay the bill. ‘Not cheap either,’ he
muttered, as he handed over his credit card with shaking fingers.

I held my breath, waiting for what I was sure would come next:
Not sure about this having-a-kitten lark . . .

‘Still, she’s a sweetie, little Jaffs, isn’t she?’ Dad said, grinning weakly. ‘Come on, let’s go home. I don’t know about you, but I need some food
after all that excitement.’

I let out a whoosh of relief and grinned too.

‘Will you keep an eye on Jaffa for the rest of the day?’ Dad asked as we drove home (more slowly than we’d driven
to
the vet’s, I noticed – Dad was clearly
feeling more ropy than he was letting on).

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I won’t let her out of my sight.’

‘Only you heard what the vet said as we left? I must admit I didn’t quite catch all of it –’ No, still recovering from your fainting fit! – ‘but I’m
pretty sure she said something about how cats go and hide after traumatic experiences, and I think it’s fair to say this trip to the vet’s counts as one such experience. I feel a bit
like hiding myself!’

‘It’s all right,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll take her up to my room. She can sleep on my bed.’

But, as with a lot of things in my life, it didn’t turn out to be that simple.

When we got home, Dad set about cooking us some lunch.

I took Jaffa upstairs in the box and placed it on my bed. I carefully removed the lid and peered inside to see her looking at me with a definite note of reproach in her clear blue eyes. I could
have sworn the corners of her mouth were turned down too, in a heartbreakingly sad expression.

‘Oh, little Jaffa Cake!’ I cooed, picking her up gently and holding her close to my chest. She felt stiff and unyielding as if she were solid with fright. ‘I’m so sorry.
It’s been a horrible morning. But you’re safe at home now.’

Jaffa relaxed a bit and I felt a slight vibration from her body. I pushed my hands away from my chest slightly so that I could take a good look at her.

‘Are you purring?’ She inclined her head slightly. Oh my goodness! Maybe I was getting somewhere at last. ‘Are you trying to talk to me, little one?’

The vibrations increased a fraction. It was definitely the beginnings of a purr, although there was still no sound from her mouth.

‘Bertie!’ Dad was yelling up the stairs. ‘Can you come and lay the table, please?’

I rolled my eyes at Jaffa. ‘Better do what the man says.’

The purring went up a notch further. And a whole field of butterflies took off in my stomach. Was Jaffa finding her voice?

I held her softly to me as I went downstairs to help Dad. ‘Dad, you won’t believe this, but Jaffs is purring!’ I told him. ‘Listen!’

Dad came over and stroked the top of her head with one finger, the wooden spoon he was mixing the sauce with in his other hand. ‘Aw, that’s adorable! Hey – before I forget, we
ought to write the next vet’s appointment down on the calendar.’

‘What?’ I started.
Another
appointment? I felt Jaffa tense in my arms.

‘Yes, you heard what she said as we were leaving, didn’t you? Honestly, Bertie,
I
was the one that fainted!’ Dad ruffled my hair in that annoying way he had when he was
teasing me.

I brushed his hand away irritably. ‘She’s not going back there,’ I said firmly.

‘She has to,’ Dad insisted. ‘That injection today was just the first. She has to have a couple of follow-up jabs in four weeks’ time.’

Immediately Dad said this, Jaffa jabbed
me
– hard – with her pointy claws, leaped out of my arms and disappeared out of the kitchen, a blur of white and orange.

‘Yow! Go after her, Dad!’ I screamed, rubbing my arm.

Dad swivelled his head back and forth, the spoon still in one hand. He looked like a crazy meerkat up on its hind legs staring manically with huge wide eyes. It would have been funny if I
weren’t in such a panic.

‘Where’s she gone?’ Dad shouted. He darted out of the room into the hall and then sped around the house, checking in all the rooms under tables, chairs, wardrobes, beds.

I chased after him, shouting, ‘This is your fault, Dad! You should never have mentioned the vet.’

Dad stopped in his tracks and glared at me. ‘What are you on about?’ he demanded. ‘What’s the vet got to do with this?’

I huffed dramatically. ‘You know what a horrendous time she had this morning, and then you go and tell her she’s got to go back there in four weeks’ time!’

Dad put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. I was vaguely aware of the spoon dripping sauce down my back. ‘Bertie,’ he said slowly, ‘Jaffa is a kitten. She
can’t understand us.’

Whoops! ‘Y-y-yeah, I know that,’ I faltered and looked shiftily away. ‘It’s just . . . why else would she shoot off like that the moment you mention the vet?’ My
voice was rising and I could feel my chest knotting in panic. I didn’t want Dad to start suspecting anything about my attempts at cat-communication, but on the other hand, I had to get my
point across. He couldn’t go round saying things that might possibly upset Jaffa. ‘Sh-she was quite happy and cosy in my arms until you said the word ‘injection’,
that’s all. You know what they say about cats and their sixth sense . . .’ I tailed off before I dug myself in any deeper.

Luckily Dad seemed more concerned about me being upset than losing my marbles. ‘She’s probably hiding in a corner somewhere,’ he said calmly. ‘After all, she is so small
– she could get into the narrowest gap.’

I nodded miserably. It wasn’t as if Jaffa could get out of the house. I glanced into the utility room.

‘Dad! Why is the back door open?’ I shouted.

Dad whirled round and ran into the garden. ‘Oh no!’ he breathed. ‘I opened it to get rid of the smell of onions. You don’t think—?’

‘Well, we haven’t found her inside, have we?’ I snarled. ‘Thanks a bunch, Dad. You
know
we have to keep her in – she’s too young to go roaming the
streets,’ I added, borrowing one of Dad’s own favourite phrases.

He blanched. ‘I’ll go out now and see if I can find her. You stay here and watch the lunch and keep an eye out in case she’s still in the house somewhere.’

‘But—’

‘Please, Bertie,’ Dad said anxiously. ‘She may still be in the house, and there’s no point in the two of us wandering around out there.’

I could tell he felt really guilty. There was no point in me saying anything else. I would just have to sit tight and wait.

But of course I didn’t just sit there – I scoured the house from top to bottom. I stood in the bathroom, staring at the ceiling and thinking maybe I should go up into the loft,
although I knew that was a fruit-loop idea, as how could a kitten open the latch, get the ladder down and close the latch behind her? But then I’d known stranger things, such as escaping
hamsters. And snakes.

I shuddered.

I couldn’t bear the thought of Jaffa out there somewhere, lost and scared and all alone. What if she’d run out into someone’s garden and got herself locked in a shed or a
garage? What if it was dark and cobwebby? What if she’d been chased by a dog? She’d had enough frights for one day. So had I. I kicked the side of the shower in frustration and then
jumped as a high-pitched screaming noise started up in the kitchen.

‘The smoke alarm!’

I raced back down the stairs.

It was our lunch. I’d left it stewing away, and the sauce had boiled down and become a dark solidifying gluey mess.

Not that I cared. I wasn’t hungry. Where was Dad? When was he coming back? Would he come back with Jaffa?

I suddenly felt very small and alone. It crossed my mind that if I still had a mum, she would have stayed with me while Dad went out looking for Jaffa. She would have given me a cuddle and kept
me calm. And the lunch would not have been ruined.

A sob rippled through me as I went to fetch a mop and poked the handle end at the smoke alarm to switch it off, then opened the windows to let the smoke out. No point in keeping the house closed
up any more. Jaffa wasn’t there, I knew. I put the pans to soak in the sink and flopped down on the sofa in the sitting room and waited, tears streaming down my face.

‘Jazz!’ I said out loud. I should call her and tell her what had happened, then she could keep an eye out for Jaffa too. But then I remembered what she’d said about me being
obsessed with the kitten and not interested in anything else.

Still, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it? She was my best friend after all, and she might just be able to help. Especially if she knew how upset I was.

I picked up the house phone and dialled her number, praying she’d be in. Praying that she’d want to talk to me.

I’d just pressed the last number when the front door opened.

‘Dad!’ I put the phone down. He was carrying a bundle of something and looking very hot and bothered and he had streaks of dirt down the front of his T-shirt.

‘H-have you got her?’ I stammered.

‘Yes,’ Dad said, looking sheepish. ‘She was hiding under a car over the road, outside number 15! I went all round the close, and then I saw something flashing under the car as
I came round the corner – a pair of bright blue eyes, as it happened. Thank goodness she’s OK.’

‘How on earth did you get her out from under the car?’ I asked.

‘By sliding under it and talking to her and reassuring her,’ he said, flushing a deep red. What? I was glad I hadn’t been out there in the street with him. What if someone had
seen him? ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right about her understanding every word we say,’ Dad added.

My heart bounced into my mouth and did a backflip. ‘Really?’

‘I don’t mean literally,’ he laughed shakily, ‘but put it this way: when I spoke to her in a calm voice and told her everything would be OK and that I was really, really
sorry and wouldn’t let her see that bossy old bat at the vet’s again, she came slinking towards me and let me pick her up.’

‘But – well, is that true? About not going back? What about the injec—?’

‘Don’t!’ Dad said. And then he lowered his voice until he was all but mouthing the words: ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

I nodded, feeling slightly daft that we were whispering in front of a cat. I held out my arms to Jaffa and Dad put her gently in the palms of my hands and hugged me to him. Good old Dad.

‘Welcome home, little sweetheart,’ I breathed. ‘Don’t you go running off again, OK?’

Jaffa blinked at me and nuzzled my hand with her fluffy head and I felt that heart-racing vibration again. That faint, kitten-style purr.

Everything was going to be all right. Wasn’t it?

E
ver since the Great Escape, I had been on constant alert, walking around the place like a cat on hot coals in case Jaffa tried to do a runner
again. And Dad wasn’t much help because he was really busy with meetings about his latest play.

‘Why don’t you call Jazz and at least ask her to come round?’ he said. ‘She could help you keep an eye on Jaffs and it would be company for you.’

But I couldn’t quite face speaking to Jazz just then. She hadn’t exactly tried to get hold of
me
since our last conversation (if that’s what you’d call it).
Besides, I had Jaffa; I wasn’t lonely.

‘It’s OK, Dad,’ I tried to reassure him. ‘I’ve got my hands full with this bouncy kitten! I promise not to open the door or answer the house phone while
you’re out. I’m nearly twelve, for goodness sake!’

When I had Jaffa in my sights and wasn’t worried about her running off, it was fun hunkering down with my kitten with no one else to distract us. I made her some toys from bits of string
and paper and spent hours dragging them across the floor and giggling every time she pounced on them. She always looked so proud of herself when she ‘caught’ one.