Холли Вебб - The Secret Kitten

That morning, before they went to school, Lucy had nipped out with some Weetabix and milk. It wasn’t the best thing for a kitten, she knew, but they didn’t have any proper cat food. Anyway, the kitten hadn’t seemed to mind. She had buried her face in it eagerly and when Lucy finally had to go, the kitten had been blissfully licking milky gunge off her whiskers.

She hadn’t looked very wild and fierce at all. She was still shy, of course. But when Lucy had arrived with the bowl, she hadn’t run away, or hidden herself behind the wobbly towers of flowerpots. Instead, she’d just pricked her ears, wary, but hopeful.

Lucy and William lagged behind Gran for the rest of the way home. “Did you hear what Gran said about stray cats being fierce?” William asked anxiously.

Lucy nodded. “I know. I was really wishing we could tell her about Catkin.”

“Catkin?” William blinked in surprise. “You named her?” He frowned a little. Lucy could tell he was hurt that she’d given the kitten a name without talking to him.

“Gran used to have a black-and-white cat called Catkin,” Lucy explained. “She was telling me about her. It’s a really sweet name and I thought that maybe if we called the kitten Catkin, too, it would remind her of it. But now Gran’s thinking about nasty fierce cats instead. It’s the worst timing ever.”

“Ohhh.” William nodded. “I see. But our Catkin’s sweet, Lucy. She’s not fierce at all. Gran will see that, won’t she?”

“Mmmm. But let’s not tell her just yet that we’ve got Catkin in the greenhouse. She’ll have to go on being our secret kitten. And don’t tell Dad, either!”

“Come on, you two!” Gran called back. “It’s starting to rain.”

Lucy and William sped up, the first fat drops splashing on to the pavement as they dashed after Gran.

“What if she gets wet?” William hissed. “The greenhouse has got all those big holes in the roof! She’ll get wet!”

“You’re right,” Lucy muttered back. She smiled at William. “You know that big old wardrobe in my bedroom… Perhaps we could hide her in there?”

“Why not my bedroom?” William said.

“Because you haven’t got a wardrobe, just drawers. And because your bedroom’s next to Dad’s! Mine’s up those creaky stairs and I can always hear people coming. So I’ve got time to hide a kitten in my wardrobe before they get to the top, you see?”

“I suppose so.” William sighed heavily.

Lucy smiled to herself, imagining falling asleep tonight with the faint sound of purring echoing out from her wardrobe. Or maybe even a small furry ball of kitten on the end of her bed. “I hope she understands we’re trying to help,” Lucy said suddenly. “She might not want to come inside. She’s probably never been in a house before.” Lucy had thought they’d be able to tempt Catkin inside gradually. She’d never thought of doing it so soon.

William grinned at her. “I think if you gave her a chicken sandwich she’d probably go anywhere!”

“Distract Gran! Show her your cut knee,” Lucy muttered, thinking of Macey and her scratch. She had the wet kitten and her old sweatshirt bundled up in her arms and there was a lot of squeaking and wriggling going on. She’d taken the cold sausages from her lunch box (she’d saved them on purpose) and they’d nipped outside while Gran was taking off her coat and changing into her slippers. Catkin had been so excited about the sausages, she’d hardly minded when Lucy had picked her up. But now Lucy needed a clear run upstairs. “Go in the utility room… Pretend you’re looking for the first-aid box. Quick!” The armful of sweatshirt was wriggling like mad. “It’s all right, Catkin. Just a tiny bit longer.”

William nipped in through the back door and then into the utility room. If he could get Gran to follow him in there, she wouldn’t see Lucy dash past.

“Gran! My knee’s bleeding! Can you get me a plaster? I fell over at school.”

Lucy could hear Gran bustling through the kitchen and then the squeak of the utility-room door. It was on Dad’s DIY list to oil that door, so she was glad he hadn’t done it yet. Huddling Catkin close, she darted through the kitchen, into the hallway and up the stairs.

Up in her room, she kicked the door gently shut and put her bundle down on the floor. Catkin shook her way out of the sweatshirt looking indignant and hissed faintly at Lucy.

“Sorry,” Lucy whispered back. “I couldn’t let Gran see you. And it’s really pouring with rain out there now. I bet your box is soggy already. I’ll make you a new bed, look.”

She grabbed another cardboard box off the teetering pile in the corner of her room and put it sideways in the bottom of her wardrobe, shoving all her shoes to one side. Catkin was still standing on the sweatshirt, so Lucy made a nest shape out of her woolly winter scarf and put that in the box instead. Then she put the last half of sausage down in front of the box, too. It was still sitting in one of Gran’s neat little plastic lunch pots, which made a perfect cat-food bowl.

“I’ll get you some water in a minute,” Lucy promised. “And the litter tray. Your things are just outside the back door. William brought them in from the greenhouse.”

She looked at her kitten home thoughtfully and then at Catkin, who had slunk under her bed. The kitten looked worried.

“I know it’s strange,” Lucy told her quietly. “But we’re nice. Really. And there’s more sausage, look.” She tapped her fingernails against the wardrobe door to make Catkin look and then tipped up the lunch pot to show her. “Did you want another chicken sandwich instead? Are they your favourite? They’re my favourite, too.”

Catkin edged out from under the bed, sniffing. She was confused. But she had never had so much food before – her brother and sister had always fought for more of their mother’s milk and the same with the scraps. It wasn’t just the sandwiches and the cereal or the sausages, either – the two children had been so gentle. Lucy and William had whispered to her and tried to purr at her and that morning Lucy had run one finger softly all down her back, which had made her quiver. It had been strange and different, but she had liked it. And now there was another soft box bed and more food. She liked being inside, all warm and dry. So she padded cautiously across the room and stopped to sniff at Lucy’s fingers. Then she butted her head up against Lucy’s hand and went to nibble daintily at the sausage in the pot.

Lucy sat watching her, smiling to herself. Her own kitten. In her own bedroom. Almost, anyway.

Then she froze. The steps up to her room were creaking. She was just sitting forward, ready to scoop Catkin further into the wardrobe and close the door, when she heard William hissing, “It’s only me! I’ve got the tray!”

Lucy wriggled back slowly and went to open the door. “You star! How did you do that?”

“Gran’s on the phone to Auntie Susie. She’ll be ages. Angel Katie got a distinction in her ballet exam.” Angel Katie was what they called their perfect little cousin. “Gran was in the living room and she didn’t see me at all. I’ve got the water, too.”

“That’s brilliant. Look, if I move my shoes and put them under my desk instead, we can put the litter tray in the corner of the wardrobe. And this newspaper I used to wrap my photo frames can go underneath, just in case. Don’t worry, Catkin. We’re just making it nice for you.”

“I hope she understands what to do,” William said doubtfully. “What if she wees in the wrong place? Like, I don’t know, in your slippers?”

Lucy grinned at him. “Yuck. But actually, I don’t think I’d mind. She’s only little. I remember when you were a baby and you weed in Dad’s face when he was changing your nappy.”