The Kitten Hunt (18 page)

Something had just occurred to me. ‘But if Fenella’s too old to get a part in the film she was auditioning for, won’t she be too old to star in a play?’

‘You’re forgetting how much people love it when a celebrity does something local! And anyway, my play is written specifically for the “more mature leading lady”,’
said Dad. I rolled my eyes at the dramatic tone in his voice. ‘It’s tailor-made for the older actress. Fenella says it’s got everything: humour, pathos, romance. She thinks it
could be a hit!’

I rolled my eyes even more. As if Dad was going to be the next best thing in Hollywood since plastic surgery!

‘So you’re definitely not going out with her?’ I asked, just double-checking.

‘Come here, you noodle,’ he said. ‘There’s room for only one real leading lady in my life.’ Dad smiled and opened his arms. It was a bit of an awkward hug with me
still perched on the table, but it was a lovely one all the same.

‘Ahem!’

I peered over Dad’s shoulder to see Jazz had reappeared, and was holding a disgruntled-looking Kaboodle.

‘When you two have finished all that soppy making-up stuff,’ said Jazz, ‘I thought you’d like to see who I found skulking in the hallway.’ She held Kaboodle out to
me as if he were a parcel of sausages.

‘I was not skulking,’ said Kaboodle, through gritted teeth. His ears were so flat in indignation that I could hardly make them out. ‘I was trying to find a way out of this
overheated hellhole. I could tell that I wasn’t wa nted any more. And besides,’ he sniffed, ‘I needed the loo.’

‘Oh no! I hope you didn’t have an accident!’ I cried, and then gasped, my hand flying to cover my mouth.

Jazz was frowning at me with her you’re-a-nutcase look again. It was becoming a bit too regular an occurrence, her looking at me like that.

‘What’s going on?’ said Dad. ‘Who’s had an accident?’

‘No one,’ said Kaboodle. ‘We felines are far too hygienic to embarrass ourselves in that way.’

‘Good,’ I whispered.

Jazz sighed. ‘Like I said, now you and your dad are mates again, can you take this cat off me? He must have followed you here. I think you should take him back to Ms P’s.’

Dad said, ‘Oh, is that Fenella’s kitten? Strudel or something?’

‘
Kaboodle
,’ Jazz and I chorused.

‘Obadiah de la Chasse, actually,’ said Kaboodle. ‘But, oh, what’s the point?’

I giggled. ‘Yeah, we’ll take him home,’ I said, jumping down off the table and letting Jazz put the little cat into my arms.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Dad, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘Fenella and I can tell you a bit more about the play, then.’

‘Play?’ said Jazz. ‘What play?’

‘Oh yeah, Dad’s been writing—’

‘Nothing,’ said Dad hastily, gripping my shoulder a bit too tightly.

‘Da-ad?’ I said, looking up at him.

‘I – I’m not ready to tell everyone about it yet,’ he said.

‘Dad, you know what? I think we’ve got to make a pact,’ I said firmly.

‘Oh yes? What’s that then?’ Dad asked, looking worried.

‘We’ve got to promise not to keep any more secrets,’ I said. ‘I kept the pet-sitting from you, and that was wrong, I admit it. But you should have told me what you and Ms
P were up to, and not left me to put two and two together and make one hundred and fifty-six!’

‘You’re right,’ said Dad. He took a deep breath and looking at Jazz said, ‘I’ve written a play and Fenella reckons it’s quite good, so we’re hoping to
do a production of it in the old town theatre.’

‘Yay!’ said Jazz, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. ‘Can I be in it? I’ll do anything – I’ll even be backstage if you like.’

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?’