Холли Вебб - A Cat Called Penguin

Grace ran up next to him, jumping over a row of flowers. “It’s him! You found him, Alfie!”

Alfie hugged her, without actually meaning to. “He sounds all right, doesn’t he? Not hurt or anything? I can’t see him!”

Grace looked along the shed to the door. “And we can’t get in. It’s locked.”

“What are you children doing?”

Alfie yelped and jumped round. It was the old lady who’d been watching them. She looked rather annoyed. “It’s my cat…” he whispered. “He’s been lost. He’s shut in this shed. We came looking for him, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t be poking around the allotments,” the old lady said firmly.

“He’s been missing for two whole nights,” Grace said pleadingly. “He could have been shut in here all that time. We’re only trying to get him back, we’re not hurting anything.”

“You’re standing on a row of winter cabbages!” the old lady snapped, and Grace jumped back against the shed. “But if there really is a cat in there, we shall certainly have to get him out. The problem is that that’s Joe Orton’s shed, and he’s on holiday this week.”

Alfie swallowed back sudden tears, looking at the padlock on the door. Was Penguin going to have stay in there for the rest of the week? He supposed they could poke food through the little holes… “It’s all right, Penguin,” he murmured. “We’ll do something…”

There was only a very small meow in response.

“Don’t worry.” The old lady seemed to have decided she was on their side since Grace jumped off the cabbages. “The allotment committee keeps telling Joe he needs to sort out this shed, but for once it’s a blessing. The roof’s half gone. Huge hole in it. It might well be how your cat got in there in the first place.”

“I could climb up there,” Grace said, looking at the water butt. “Or I could if you pushed me, Alfie.”

“You won’t be able to get out again.” Alfie shook his head. “Then you and Penguin would both be stuck in there. I suppose at least it would cheer him up. But your mum would kill mine if she came back home and Mum said you were stuck in a shed.”

“Joe’s got a stepladder in there that he uses for pruning his apple tree,” the old lady said thoughtfully. “You should be able to use that to get out.”

“Alfie, crouch down so I can climb on your back,” Grace ordered.

Alfie did as he was told. Since he’d heard Penguin mewing, he was so happy he didn’t mind Grace bossing him around. “Ow, you’re so heavy!” he yelped, as she half-jumped off his back on to the top of the water butt, which thankfully still had its lid.

He straightened up and watched anxiously as she pulled the tarpaulin aside and peered into the hole.

“Is he all right?”

“I think so – he’s walking round and round in circles,” she reported back. “He’s not limping or anything. Hi, Penguin! We’re going to get you out!”

“Can you get down in there safely?” the old lady called.

“There’s a wheelbarrow,” Grace told her, swinging one leg into the hole, and then the other. Alfie clutched the rim of the water butt nervously as he watched her jump. He should have climbed up really. After all, Penguin was his cat. Alfie hadn’t realized how brave Grace was. He was suddenly glad she’d come searching with him.

There was a loud clanging as Grace hit the wheelbarrow, and an anxious hiss from Penguin.

“Are you all right?” Alfie yelled.

Grace’s voice came back echoey but somehow muffled.

“Yes. Ow. I’ve got splinters, but I’m all right. Penguin’s sulking; he didn’t like the bang. I’m getting the stepladder.”

There was a series of scraping and scuffling sounds, and then an angry yowl, followed by some muttering, which Alfie thought sounded like, Stupid ungrateful cat. Then Penguin’s front paws, very stiff and cross, appeared out of the hole in the roof, quickly followed by the rest of him, and by Grace, looking scratched but pleased with herself.

Penguin saw Alfie and skidded out of Grace’s arms and down the roof with a joyful yowl. Alfie caught him laughing, and hugged him.

“You’ve got thinner.” He grinned. “The vet’ll be pleased.”

Penguin put one paw on each of Alfie’s shoulders, as though he was trying to hug him back, and purred like a lawnmower.

“Do you need help?” Alfie called up, suddenly remembering Grace, but she was already half out of the hole, wriggling back to the water butt.

“He isn’t the slightest bit thankful!” she told Alfie as she slid down the side. “Look, he scratched me all over!”

“He was scared,” Alfie said apologetically, hugging Penguin even tighter. He didn’t even care if Penguin wanted to go to Grace’s house sometimes, he realized. As long as he knew he’d come back.

Alfie turned over in his sleep, reaching out automatically to cuddle Penguin close. He startled awake when his hand stroked the cold paint of the wall. Penguin had gone again!

“It’s all right, he’s here.”

Alfie sat up, shaking his head blearily. The room was quite dark, just a little moonlight coming through his curtains, and for a moment he couldn’t imagine who it was speaking to him. He blinked and narrowed his eyes at the figure in the window. Then he remembered – Grace. She had been on his ready bed on the floor – he had offered her the real bed, as Mum had said he ought to, but she said she didn’t mind.

“What are you doing?” he asked sleepily. “What time is it?”

“About two in the morning, I think. I was just looking out of the window. I woke up and I couldn’t get back to sleep again. Then Penguin came and sat on me. It’s quite nice up here.”

Alfie wriggled himself up in bed and sat leaning against the wall so as to talk to her properly.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

Grace shrugged, or so he thought in the half-light. “Just can’t. Worrying about my gran, I suppose.”

Alfie nodded. “But that’s sort of good, isn’t it?”

Grace sighed. He heard her, a soft, miserable breath floating across the room. “Ye-es. But it still isn’t, you know, nice worrying. I was thinking that if she dies, I’ll probably have to move again.”

“You wanted to go back to your old house!” Alfie said, feeling confused.

Grace shrugged. “Someone else is living in it now, I think. I’d like to stay here. I like it here.” She started to stroke Penguin; Alfie could hear him purring, deep in his throat.

“I was going to say…” He tailed off, then took a deep breath and started again. “You rescued him; that makes you his part-owner. I don’t mind if he goes to your house sometimes. I don’t mind much , anyway.”

Grace didn’t say anything.

“If you do have to move, he’ll still be partly yours. I’ll send you pictures.”

She laughed. “He could come and visit me on the train. You could tie his ticket on his collar. I read about a cat that did that on buses. I bet he could.” She was quiet for a minute. “Thanks, Alfie. You can have half shares in the tree, if you like.” Then she sniggered. “Yeah, you can have the top branches…”

Alfie snorted.

Grace sighed again. “I hope we don’t go.”

“I’ll buy him a season ticket for the train…” Alfie murmured sleepily. “Go back to bed, Grace.”

But he didn’t think she moved. As he settled back to sleep, he could still see her, curled up against the window glass, Penguin’s ears pricked up in little dark triangles against the moonlight.