Холли Вебб - The Missing Kitten

“I can’t believe you followed me all the way, Bootle!” Scarlett told him again, as she cuddled him in between putting her shoes on for school the next day. “Everybody wanted to know about you. Even people in the year above came to ask who you were – they saw me carrying you up to the office, on their way back from PE.” She sighed, and placed him down on the stairs so she could put on her other shoe. “But Miss Wilson made Dad promise he wouldn’t let it happen again. He said Miss Wilson was really scary. You’re going to hate being shut up for the whole day.” She stroked his head, looking at him worriedly. “I suppose in a few days you’ll stop wanting to follow me. But I sort of wish you wouldn’t. I love it that you’re so clever!”

Bootle clambered up a couple of steps – it took a little while, as his legs were still quite short – so that he could rub his chin on to Scarlett’s hair while she did up her shoe. He wasn’t sure what she was saying, but it was definitely nice. She was fussing over him, and he liked to be fussed over.

Jackson came stomping down the hallway, and Scarlett turned round and dropped a kiss on the top of Bootle’s little furry head. “I’ve got to go. Be good, Bootle!”

Bootle sat on the steps and stared at her crossly as she slipped quickly out of the front door, pulling it closed behind her. She had done it again! How many times did he have to follow after them before she decided it would just be easier to take him with them? He jumped down the stairs in two huge leaps, and made for the cat flap at a run. But it was locked. He scrabbled at it furiously, until Dad came and picked him up.

“Sorry, Bootle. Not happening, little one.”

Bootle wriggled out of his arms, and stalked away across the kitchen. He was going to follow Scarlett – somehow.

He would have to get out of the house a different way. Bootle prowled thoughtfully through the different rooms, sniffing hopefully at the front door to see if it might open. He could smell outside, but the door was very firmly shut. And so were all the windows.

But when Scarlett had taken him upstairs to play the day before, her window had been open. Bootle sat at the bottom of the stairs, and gazed upwards doubtfully. They were very big. But he could do it, if he was careful, and slow.

Determinedly, he began to scrabble and haul himself up, stopping every little while for a rest, until at last he heaved himself on to the landing. His legs felt wobbly, but he made himself keep going, on into Scarlett’s room, where the door was open just a crack. As soon as he pushed his way around the door, his ears pricked forward excitedly. The window was open! Just as he had remembered it!

Forgetting how tired his legs were, Bootle sprang up on to the bed, sniffing delightedly at the fresh air blowing in.

The windowsill was too far above the bed for him to reach though. His whiskers drooped a little. How was he going to get up there? He padded up and down the bed and stared at Scarlett’s pile of cuddly toys. She liked to tease him with them, walking them up and down the bed for him to pounce on. But why shouldn’t he climb up them instead? He put out a cautious paw, testing the back of a fluffy toy cat. It squashed down a little, but it was still a step up, and then on to the back of a huge teddy, and the stuffed leopard … and the windowsill!

Bootle pulled himself up, panting happily as he felt the cool breeze on his whiskers.

Now he only had to get down again on the outside…

“No kitten today?” Sarah asked Scarlett, a little sadly.

Scarlett shook her head. “Miss Wilson made my dad promise he’d keep him in. Poor Bootle. He’s going to be so cross.”

“He’s the cleverest cat I’ve ever seen,” Sarah told her admiringly. “Imagine coming all that way! And he’d never even been to the school before – I don’t know how he worked out where to go!”

Scarlett smiled. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I think he must have heard us all in the playground.”

“You ought to stop in at the shop and buy him a treat on the way home,” Izzy suggested. “I’ve got some money, if you haven’t any on you.”

Scarlett nodded. “It’s OK, I’ve got some. That’s a really good idea.” She grinned at Izzy. “You can help me choose.” It was so nice having a friend back for tea – it felt like being back at her old school. Izzy’s mum had been fine about her walking back with Scarlett – Izzy usually walked back home too. She had a big sister in Jackson’s class.

“He might just about speak to us, if we bring him cat treats…”

Bootle scrabbled frantically at the branches of the creeper. It had looked so solid, and easy to climb. But it turned out to be much harder to get down than up. It was also more wobbly, and he didn’t like that. The first bit had been easy, just a little jump to that sloping bit of roof, then across the tiles. It was the drop down from the roof that was the problem. His claws were slipping. Bootle gave up trying to cling on, and leaped out, as far away from the wall as he could, hoping that he remembered how to land.

He hit the ground with a jolt, but he was there! In the front garden, right by the gate and the lane. Bootle darted a glance behind him. Then he scrambled under the gate, and set off to find Scarlett, trotting along jauntily. He knew the way now, he didn’t have to sniff and search and worry.

He was halfway down the field when it started to rain. A very large drop hit him on the nose, making him shrink back. It was shortly followed by rather a lot of others, and in seconds his fur was plastered flat over his thin ribs. He hid in the hedge, his ears laid back.

He would wait for it to stop, Bootle decided, gazing out disgustedly. He certainly didn’t want to go anywhere in that. But it went on, and on, and he needed to find Scarlett. He put his nose out cautiously, and shivered as he felt the drops on his whiskers. It was horrible. But he couldn’t stay here all day…

At last he slunk out from under the hedge, plodding through the wet muddy ruts, and hoping that Scarlett would have something warm and dry to rub him with when he got to the school. He scurried down the pavement, through the puddles, so miserable that he didn’t even bother to dart into the hedge to avoid the car going past. The driver of the car didn’t see the soaked little kitten, and even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have been able to avoid the huge puddle that splashed up over Bootle like a wave.

There was so much water that he staggered back, letting out a mew of cold and dismay. Then he flat out ran for the school, racing across the playground towards that lovely, warm, open door.

But it was closed.

It had been wet play, and no one had wanted the rain blowing in. All the doors were closed, every single one – as the soaked, mouse-brown-striped kitten found when he ran frantically all the way round the building.

Remembering the window he had climbed out of at home, Bootle looked up to see if there were any he could get through. There was a bench up against the wall, with a window right above it, and he jumped for the seat, scrabbling desperately until he could heave himself up. Then it was a little hop on to the arm, and then again on to the windowsill. But the window was shut, and everyone was gathered together at the other end of the classroom, looking at something and talking excitedly. They didn’t hear him scratching hopefully at the window, and at last he jumped down.

Bootle sat under the bench and mewed miserably, calling for someone to come and let him in. He didn’t care if they took him back to the cottage again, as long as he was out of the rain. He would stay at home, and never try to follow anyone, if only he was dry.

No one came. No one heard him over the hammering and splashing of the rain, and the bench was dripping all over him. Bootle crawled out, looking around for another place to shelter. There were trees, over on the edge of the path to the field. Perhaps it would be drier there. He ran through the wet grass, shivering as the stems rubbed along his soaked fur, and shaking water drops off his whiskers. He was so cold. Sitting still under the bench had made him shiver, and now he couldn’t stop.