The Kitten Hunt (4 page)

We re you ever on it? I wondered.

‘I was
so
desperate for darling little Kaboodle here to go to the same cat hotel, where I
know
they would treat him most royally, but to my
utter
despair, when I
phoned them this morning, they told me they were fully booked! Well, I simply
cannot
cancel this trip. I’m auditioning for the leading role in a new romantic comedy by that gorgeous
man Richard Elton –
Love, Don’t You Know?
, I think they’re calling it – and the auditions are in
Scotland
of all places.’ She made a noise that sounded
rather like a shudder. ‘So,’ she continued, ‘how much do you charge?’

It took me a moment to realize that Pinkella had stopped wibbling and that she had asked me a question, and then it took me another moment to realize that she was offering me actual, real
money.

‘I – er . . .’ I hadn’t given one single thought to how much I would charge for this Pet-Sitting Service – what an idiot! Some Business Wo man of the Year I was
turning out to be. I could just see the angry potato man saying, ‘YOU’RE FIRED!’ in a booming voice, and it was not a picture that did much for my self-confidence or ability to
think clearly under pressure.

‘Erm – sort of a pound a day?’ I said.

‘My goodness, you do come cheap!’ she trilled. ‘Well, I think you’d better come round and be formally introduced to Kaboodle as soon as possible. He can’t wait to
meet you, can you, little kitty-kins?’

‘I’ll have to check with my dad,’ I said, my head still spinning, even though I actually had no intention whatsoever of checking with Dad.

‘Good girl,’ said Pinkella. ‘You can pop by any time. I’ll be in – I’ve still not packed my suitcases yet and I must practise my lines. Toodle-oo!’

Toodle-what?

I said goodbye and pressed the red button on my phone.

‘Yes, yes!’ I cried, thumping the air, and doing a little victory dance. My first customer! I had to tell Jazz.

The doorbell rang, jolting me out of my cheery prancing. I jumped and dropped my phone, narrowly missing the loo.

‘Ber-tie!’ Dad was calling me.

I unlocked the bathroom door, opened it and peered out. ‘Ye-es?’ I said, feeling a bit sick. What if it was Pinkella, come round right away to talk to me in person?

‘Are you still on the loo?’ Dad yelled. This immediately made my sick feeling turn into a grumpy one. That man has made being an embarrassment into an Olympic sport, I thought.

‘Hey, Bertie!’

Phew! That didn’t sound like Pinkella.

‘Jazz?’ I said, coming down the stairs.

‘Mum thought you might like to come round to ours for tea.’

‘Yay! Dad – can I?’ I looked at him with my most pleading face. This would solve all my problems at once! I could say I was going to Jazz’s, but just pop in on Pinkella
on the way. Plus I loved going for tea at Jazz’s. It was so full-on and noisy, with her little brother, Ty son, zooming round the place making aeroplane noises and the rest of the family all
talking at once. Quite a lot different from my silent-as-the-tomb-type house.

Dad didn’t look as though he would even be able to say what day it was, let alone take much notice whose house I was at, I realized as I inspected his face. He had his Deadline Head on,
which meant he had an article that needed to be handed in to the
Daily Ranter
very soon and it was stressing him out. Poor Dad. He looked terrible – as if he had not slept for more
than about ten minutes all week. Why hadn’t I noticed this when he picked me up from school? I thought guiltily. I had been too wrapped up in my own thoughts about pet-sitting and
money-making. I chewed my lip.

His hair (which is curly like mine, a lthough there’s not as much of it) was sticking up on end in a rather woolly sheep-type fashion, which is what it does when he runs his hands through
it a lot, and his eyes had sunk further into his head than is normal for a human being. The skin around his eyes was also quite dark. Actually, he looked more like a slightly baffled owl than a
sheep.

Come to think of it, I should have realized something was up that morning as he had drunk fifteen cups of coffee one after the other while muttering, ‘What am I going to write? What am I
going to write?’ These are the usual signs that a deadline is on the horizon, or indeed is charging towards Dad from the horizon at about one hundred miles an hour.

‘Sure. Be back by seven,’ he said finally, distractedly running his hands through his hair.

‘What’s up?’ said Jazz, as we closed the front door behind us. ‘When I arrived you looked like you’d just won a year’s supply of chocolate and now you look as
if you wish you hadn’t eaten it all in one go!’

‘Oh, yeah. Just a bit worried about Dad,’ I muttered. But I fixed a grin back on my face and said brightly, ‘But listen. This is a zillion times more interesting!’ I told
her about Pinkella and Kaboodle.

‘Kaboodle? What kind of weirdo name is that?’ she said, curling her top lip in her you’ve-just-said-something-random expression.

‘I know – not the coolest—’ I agreed.

‘And you didn’t ask for a POUND a day, did you?’ Jazz interrupted.

‘Ye-es.’

‘You doofus! A poxy pound a day! No wonder she wants you to look after her dear little pussy-cat. You should have said a fiver –
and
you should have asked for a deposit!
Don’t you know anything about business?’

‘But I don’t care about the money, Jazz!’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t you get it? I’m finally going to have a pet to look after I’m going to get to feed him and
cuddle him and play with him! YAY!’ I cried, dancing round and round.

‘No need to be freaky about it,’ said Jazz, but she was grinning. ‘So can I be your
business partner
then?’ she asked, putting on a posh voice.

‘You can be my official assistant,’ I said, hugging her ‘I told Pinkella I needed a new one.’

‘Eh?’

‘Never mind – come on, let’s go round there now Kitten-sitters R Us!’

Y
ou would have thought Jazz and I were celebrities the way Pinkella welcomed us.

‘Roberta!’ she cooed, opening her arms wide.

Please don’t hug me, I cringed.

She hugged me Tight. Urgh. My face was pressed into her pongy pinkness and I nearly gagged on her overpoweringly sick-making flowery perfume.

‘Ro-
who
?’ said Jazz.

I wriggled away as politely as it is possible to wriggle away from someone you don’t know that well, and scowled at Jazz warningly

‘And the beautiful Jasmeena!’ said Pinkella, reaching out and cupping Jazz’s chin in her spiky, jewel-covered fingers. ‘What gorgeous eyes you have, sweetie!’

It’s true, Jazz does have gorgeous eyes. They’re like those shiny chocolate drops in the sugar casing, and they’re huge. She’s got mega eye – lashes too. If I
didn’t know better I’d say she had false ones, but they’re not – her whole family’s got them. I’ve always been really jealous of the way Jazz can use her
chocolate-drop eyes to get pretty much whatever she wants from people.

It seemed she wasn’t going to use them on Pinkella though: she scowled and her smooth brown cheeks darkened as she squirmed out of Pinkella’s clutches. ‘I prefer
“Jazz”,’ she said sourly. ‘So where is Noodle?’

Pinkella dissolved into fits of hysterics about nothing in particular, as far as I could see. ‘Oooh! You are cute! Follow me – I think
Kaboodle
is having a little nap on his
cushion.’

Jazz raised her eye brows at me, a definite sign that her already unenthusiastic opinion of Pinkella was not improving by the minute. She held up one hand to me and splayed out the fingers,
mouthing, ‘A fiver!’

I put a finger to my lips and frowned at her.

Pinkella came back out into the hall with a small soft bundle of gorgeous black and white fur. ‘Here he is, the little
darling
,’ she said, nuzzling her powdery face into the
kitten’s coat. ‘You were sleeping, weren’t you, my little koochy-koo? But you must wake up and meet these lovely girlies who are going to be looking after you while Mummsie is
away.’

Kaboodle raised his small, neat head and stared at us, his ears alert and his yellow eyes widening into deep pools of cuteness. That shivery feeling overtook me again. It was almost like static
electricity, like when you walk on a nylony carpet and then touch something metal; and once again I was absolutely convinced that Kaboodle was trying to tell me something. But what?

‘Would you like to take him, Roberta sweetie?’ Pinkella asked, holding him out to me.

I was really nervous now. What if I dropped him? What if looking after him was going to be a nightmare? What if—?

Pinkella softly dropped him into my hands, a tiny parcel of warm kittenness, purring fatly, pushing his head against my arm as if
he
was stroking
me
! That purr was such a warm,
friendly sound. The shivery sensation settled down into a soft buzz and I let out the breath I’d been holding in. He liked me.

‘Look at you!’ said Jazz, pointing a chewed-off purple-painted fingernail at me and laughing. ‘Don’t go all soppy on me now!’

‘Hisssss!’ Kaboodle jerked his head away from me and spat at Jazz. I was so freaked, I nearly dropped him.

‘Now, now, Kaboodle darling,’ cooed Pinkella. ‘Don’t be a naughty boyThese sweet little girls will look after you just like Mummsie does.’

I tentatively stroked Kaboodle’s back to try and calm him down. The fur on the back of his neck had gone spiky and he felt tense and uncomfortable in my arms. ‘Shh, it’s all
right,’ I whispered in one flattened ear. ‘I promise I’ll take care of you.’

Jazz rolled her eyes and waggled her head at me, setting off the beads in her hair. ‘You are too much!’ she drawled. ‘Chatting away to that little kitty-cat like he understands
every word. You kill me!’

‘Oh but he does understand, don’t you, Kaboodle sweetie-pie?’ said Pinkella.

I would have joined in with Jazz and rolled my own eyes, but before I could say anything, Kaboodle twisted his head around to look up at me. And I was sure, absolutely positive, that he
winked.

I gasped and flicked a glance at Jazz. Had she seen it too? But she was still laughing at me and shaking her head as if I was a complete nut-brain. Which I was beginning to think I was . . .

Imagine if I told Jazz that this adorable little cat had just winked at me! She would take one look at me and circle her finger round next to her brain and say, ‘Tick-tock, tick-tock,
curly-wurly CUCKOO!’ or something equally intelligent and insightful.

Instead I forced a grin and said, ‘Looks like he does understand me, Ms P!’

Pinkella beamed. ‘Well, it certainly seems you two – sorry, three,’ she added hastily, seeing the set expression on Jazz’s face, ‘are going to get along like a
house on fire. Now, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve drawn up a short list of things to remember while I’m away, and I’ve left the number of the hotel I’ll be staying at
too, just in case.’

Normally I hate it when grown-ups fuss like that. It’s so annoying; it’s like they think we can’t handle things on our own even though we seem to manage OK – catching
buses to and from school, doing our homework and getting to after-school clubs on time . . . This time, though, I
wasn’t
listening. I was totally focused on the warmth in my arms,
listening to Kaboodle purring and thinking:
this
is what I have been waiting for.

What if Pinkella is right and he
can
actually understand every word we say? I wondered dreamily, as Pinkella and Jazz wittered on to each other somewhere in the vague and cloudy distance.
Wouldn’t that be cool?

But then I realized it would all be a waste of time unless I developed the magic gift of being able to talk to animals, like that Doctor Dolittle guy I’d seen in a film once. I shook my
head. I would end up as bonkers as Pinkella if I wasn’t careful.

I became dimly aware of Pinkella handing Jazz a piece of paper and saying, ‘If you think I’ve missed anything, or there’s anything you don’t understand, please
don’t hesitate to call.’

‘Oh, right, thanks,’ I muttered, and reluctantly handed Kaboodle over to Pinkella, who was beaming at him with outstretched arms.

‘That’s right, come to Mummsie,’ she crooned through puckered lips. ‘Mummsie’s got to get as many cuddles as she can before she has to leave poor little Kaboodle,
hasn’t she?’

Jazz shot me a look of utter contempt and said, ‘Well, thanks, Ms P. I think we know what to do. There’s just one small matter we have to discuss before we go, though.’ She
looked meaningfully at Pinkella with one eyebrow raised.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’ Pinkella asked, still cooing over Kaboodle.

Jazz coughed and said, ‘Er – we at Bertie Fletcher’s Pet-Sitting Service always require a down payment before taking on any job—’

‘Jazz!’ I couldn’t believe this.

But Jazz shook her head at me and frowned. ‘It’s like protection against you changing your mind or anything?’ she added, putting a hand on one hip and rattling her bangles
officiously.

Pinkella chewed her bottom lip. If I hadn’t been so worried she was about to bawl us out for being cheeky, I would have said she was trying not to laugh.

‘Of course, dear. How much did you say it was going to be?’ she asked, looking at Jazz, not me, I noticed.

‘Five—’

‘A pound a day,’ I said firmly, ignoring Jazz’s fierce stare of disbelief.

‘That’s right, I remember now,’ said Pinkella. She set Kaboodle down on a hideous bubblegum-pink cushion and fiddled in an equally gross-coloured handbag for her purse.
‘Here you are – I’ll give you five pounds for now, and we’ll settle up when I come back. How does that sound?’

‘Great,’ said Jazz, stepping in front of me and snapping up the money.

I rolled my eyes, but decided not to say anything.

‘Now – one last question, Ms P.’

‘Yes, Jasmeena?’

‘What do we do if Kaboodle catches a mouse or something?’ she asked, pulling the corners of her mouth down and giving an exaggerated shudder.